The Executor's Inspection

Elena froze as the doorknob turned. The lock held, the metal clicking against the striker plate.

"Elena!" Julian’s voice was muffled by the heavy oak, but the anger was clear. "Open this door."

Sarah stepped back, the gun still pointed at Elena. Her eyes darted from Elena to the door, then back again. "He doesn't know I'm in here," she whispered.

"If you open that door, he'll see the gun," Elena said, her voice low. "He'll know you betrayed him."

Sarah’s grip tightened on the revolver. "Or I can tell him you threatened me. That I took the gun from you."

"And Arthur?" Elena gestured to the bed. "He's awake. He's talking. Julian will see that."

Arthur watched them, his gaze sharp. He made a small motion with his good hand, pointing to the window.

Elena understood. *Get out.*

"Open the window," Elena said to Sarah. "Go out onto the porch roof. I'll deal with Julian."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because if Julian comes in here, this becomes a hostage situation. And you're not a victim anymore, Sarah. You're an accomplice."

The handle rattled again, violently this time. "I'm getting the key!" Julian shouted.

Sarah hesitated. She looked at the gun, then at the window. Self-preservation won. She shoved the revolver into her pocket and ran to the window, sliding it open and slipping out onto the roof of the veranda.

Elena waited until she was gone, then grabbed the tote bag. She kicked the metal box of letters under the bed again. It wasn't safe, but it was out of sight.

She went to the door and unlocked it just as Julian shoved his key into the lock.

The door swung open. Julian stumbled in, almost losing his balance. He regained it quickly, his eyes scanning the room.

"What were you doing?" he demanded. "Why was the door locked?"

"I was scared," Elena said, stepping back. "You left the house open. Anyone could have walked in."

Julian ignored her. He pushed past her, heading straight for the bed. He looked at Arthur.

Arthur’s eyes were closed. His breathing was heavy, rhythmic. Feigning sleep.

"He's out," Julian muttered. He turned to Elena. "Where's the ledger?"

"I told you, I don't have it."

"Then what was in the box? The one from the ramp."

"Old papers," Elena said. "Nothing important."

Julian laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "Nothing is unimportant in this house. Everything has a price tag."

He began to search the room again. He opened the nightstand drawer, shoving aside the rosary and the reading glasses. He checked under the lamp. He pulled the books from the shelves.

He was frantic. Sloppy.

He stopped at the foot of the bed. He looked at Elena.

"You're hiding something," he said. "I can smell it on you."

He walked toward her. Elena backed up until she hit the armoire.

"Empty the bag," he said, pointing to the tote bag on her shoulder.

"No."

He grabbed the strap. "Give it to me!"

He yanked. Elena held on. The bag tore, the canvas ripping with a loud *shrrrk*.

The contents spilled onto the floor.

The tapes. The notebook. The forgery.

Julian stared at them. He picked up a tape. *September 15, 1990.*

He looked at the notebook. He opened it to the page with the prosecutor's number.

His face went pale.

"You found it," he whispered. "You actually found it."

He looked at Elena, and for a second, she saw something other than anger. She saw fear. Pure, unadulterated terror.

"You don't understand," he said. "If this gets out... it's not just Dad who goes down. It's everything. The trust. The company. My reputation."

"Your freedom," Elena corrected.

Julian dropped the tape. He stepped closer, crowding her against the armoire. "I can't let you leave with this, Elena. I can't."

He reached out, his hand closing around her throat.

Elena gasped, clawing at his fingers. He was strong, stronger than he looked.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I really am."

Suddenly, a crash from the corner of the room.

Julian flinched, his grip loosening just enough for Elena to suck in a breath.

He turned.

Arthur had swept the lamp off the nightstand. It lay on the floor, shattered.

But it wasn't the noise that stopped Julian. It was what Arthur was holding.

He had the other lamp. The Tiffany lamp from the guest room. The one Julian had tried to steal earlier.

Arthur held it in his lap, his good hand gripping the heavy bronze base.

"Dad?" Julian said, stepping away from Elena. "Put that down."

Arthur looked at Julian. Then he looked at the lamp.

He didn't put it down. He lifted it, his arm shaking with the effort.

"Don't," Julian said, taking a step toward the bed. "That's valuable. Don't break it."

Arthur smiled. A small, cruel twist of his lips.

He wasn't threatening to hit Julian. He was threatening the object Julian coveted.

"This is Tiffany glass," Julian said, his voice rising in panic. "Worth a fortune. Dad said you'd try to hide the good stuff."