Julian's Warning

The memory of the sleeping bag clung to me like a physical weight, settling in the marrow of my bones. I put the car in drive, merging back into traffic, the slush gray and dirty against the frozen asphalt.

I needed to act normal. Normal was driving home. Normal was checking the mail. Normal was letting the contractor measure for the bathroom remodel.

Julian’s truck was parked in the driveway when I pulled up to the Tudor. He was standing on the front porch, reviewing a clipboard, a thick roll of blueprints tucked under his arm. Not my altered vellum. Proper, newly drafted plans.

I parked in the detached garage, gripping the steering wheel for a long second, willing the adrenaline to subside. I grabbed Leo's textbook and my purse, and walked up the front steps.

"You're back," Julian said, looking up from his clipboard. His brow furrowed instantly. He dropped the clipboard to his side. "Eleanor, what happened? You're shaking."

"Just cold," I said, forcing a tight smile and struggling with my keys. "The heater in the car takes forever to kick in."

Julian didn't buy it. He reached out, his calloused hand gently closing over mine to steady the key in the lock. His palm was warm, solid. Real.

"You're not just cold," he said quietly. "Are your brothers leaning on you about the wall?"

I pushed the heavy oak door open, stepping into the foyer. The house felt massive, the silence echoing in the high ceilings. I dropped my keys into the silver bowl and set Leo's textbook beside it.

"Arthur wants the renovation stopped," I said, moving toward the kitchen. "He cited a codicil in Mother's will. If I touch the structural integrity of the second floor, he can revoke my life estate."

Julian followed me, setting his clipboard on the granite island. He poured a glass of water from the tap and slid it across the counter toward me.

"He's threatening to kick you out over a closet partition?" Julian asked, his voice thick with disbelief. "That's an extreme reaction, even for a control freak."

"Arthur doesn't do anything casually." I took a sip of the water, the cold glass steadying my hand. "He's terrified of what we might find behind that drywall."

Julian leaned against the island, crossing his arms. He looked at the floor, then back at me. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Eleanor, I need to tell you something. Before you got back, I got a call."

My stomach tightened. "From who?"

"My boss at the firm. And before that, he got a call from Arthur's clerk." Julian rubbed the back of his neck, leaving a smudge of sawdust on his collar. "They were asking a lot of questions about my background. My licensing. My previous project history. They even asked if the firm carried specialized insurance for discovering... historical hazards."

The air in the kitchen went perfectly still. Arthur wasn't just threatening me. He was circling the perimeter, looking for weaknesses in my defenses.

"Did they say anything else?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"My boss told me to tread very carefully," Julian said, his gaze locking onto mine. "He said Judge Vance strongly implied that if my firm pushes forward with unpermitted structural exploration, he'll personally see to it that we never pull a city contract again."

The scope of Arthur's power was suffocating. He wasn't just a judge; he was an institution. And he was using the full weight of that institution to protect the void.

"I'm sorry, Julian," I said, guilt flushing hot against my skin. "I didn't mean to drag your job into this."

"It's not just my job, Eleanor." Julian pushed off the counter, stepping closer. He lowered his voice, glancing toward the hallway as if expecting Arthur to manifest from the shadows. "They asked if I had physically breached the wall yet. They wanted to know exactly what I'd seen."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He slid it across the granite. It was a business card. A criminal defense attorney.

'Whatever you're looking for, Eleanor, they don't want you to find it.'