Chapter 7 - The Investigation
For the next week, the house was a powder keg. Nathan didn't fire Julian; he did something much worse. He acted as if nothing was wrong. He invited Julian to dinner.
Evie prepared a meal that was a masterpiece of tension—a roast that fell off the bone, paired with a wine that Nathan knew Julian loved.
Julian was smug, arrogant, and entirely off-guard.
"I’m glad to see you're finally coming around, Nathan," Julian said, swirling his wine. "Selling the estate is the smart move. I’ve got the buyers lined up."
"I have questions about the insurance settlement," Nathan said, his voice flat. "The Hawthorne Ridge accident. There was mention of ice, but I checked the weather archives. It was sixty degrees that night."
Julian didn't blink, but his grip on the glass tightened. "Records are often flawed. It was a dark, treacherous road."
"I found a copy of the original adjuster’s report in the archive yesterday," Nathan lied. "It says the brake line was severed. Not snapped. Severed."
Julian’s face went white. He stood up, his chair clattering to the floor. "You’re delusional, Nathan. You’ve been grieving for so long you’re losing your mind."
"Maybe," Nathan said, standing up. He was taller than Julian, and for the first time in years, he felt the full weight of his authority. "But if I'm losing my mind, I have nothing to lose. Which means I’m going to spend every penny I have to find out exactly what happened that night. And if you had any part in it, Julian, I will burn your world down."
May you like
Julian turned and ran. He didn't even grab his coat. He scrambled out the door, his silver sedan screeching as he fled down the mountain.
Evie walked in from the kitchen, holding a tray of coffee. She looked at the empty chair and then at Nathan. "Well. That was certainly more productive than a salad."
