Chapter 7 - A Knock in the Middle of the Night
I stepped in front of Jared, instinctively putting my body between my son and the front door.
“Stay behind me, Jared,” I commanded in a low, even tone.
I walked to the entrance, keeping the heavy brass chain latch engaged, and cracked the door three inches. The icy wind slipped into the foyer, bringing with it the sharp scent of expensive cologne.
“Mr. Blake,” the man outside said. He was in his late thirties, with slicked-back dark hair, high cheekbones, and piercing gray eyes behind rimless glasses. He looked remarkably like the photographs of Harrison Sterling I had seen in old business journals, but younger, sharper, and far more lethal.
“You called my cell phone an hour ago,” I said through the cracked door.
“I did,” the man replied smoothly, offering a polite, humorless smile. “My name is Julian Sterling. Harrison was my father. May I come in? It’s extraordinarily cold out here, and what we have to discuss isn't suitable for the neighborhood watch.”
“You have five minutes,” I said. “And your bodyguards stay on the porch.”
Julian glanced back at his men and gave a subtle flick of his finger. The two security guards immediately stepped back toward the driveway. I unlatched the chain and swung the door open.
Julian stepped inside, shaking the snow from his leather loafers onto the mat, his gaze instantly sweeping over the renovated foyer before settling on Jared, who stood in the kitchen doorway with fists clenched white.
“Jared,” Julian said, nodding with an air of patronizing familiarity. “You’ve done remarkably well for yourself. The diagnostic platform passed its phase three trial last week. A billion-dollar valuation within the quarter, I presume.”
“What was Lauren to you?” Jared demanded, stepping forward, his voice vibrating with rage. “What did you do to my mother?”
Julian unbuttoned his coat and took a seat on the foyer bench without being invited. He looked completely at ease, as if he were attending a routine board review.
“Lauren was an investment,” Julian said coolly. “When my father suffered his stroke seven years ago, our family’s venture arm needed to ensure that your diagnostic algorithms didn't drift away from our contractual reach. When you founded your startup, Jared, you were entirely too independent. You refused our buyout offers. So, Lauren was reintroduced into your social circle. Her task was simple: marry you, isolate you, drain your liquidity, and force you to sell your company’s controlling stock to Sterling BioTech at a distressed discount.”
The monstrous calculated brutality of it made the air leave the room.
“She bled my father dry,” Jared roared, taking another step forward. “She stole eight thousand dollars a month from me while my father was eating canned soup in a freezing apartment!”
“Lauren became greedy,” Julian conceded, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “That was her error. She brought Marcus Vance into the fold without my authorization. She started funneling your money into Vance’s offshore Ponzi schemes. That was never part of our operational parameters. I don't care about Lauren. She’s already ruined, and she’ll spend the next ten years in federal prison where she belongs.”
“Then why are you here?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet.
Julian turned his gray eyes onto me. “I am here because of Diane Blake’s logbook.”
He leaned forward, the casual smirk fading from his lips, replaced by predatory intensity.
“My father made mistakes twelve years ago. He kept a dual set of clinical trial logs regarding an experimental gene vector. Your wife took the original research ledger when she resigned from Northwestern. She hid it. We searched her office, we searched your old apartment, and when Lauren ransacked your financial papers over the last five years, she couldn't find it either.”
Julian reached into his pocket and placed an elegant leather checkbook onto the console table.
“Give me Diane’s original safety logbook, Mr. Blake. Name your price. Ten million dollars. Twenty million. Cash, transferred to any offshore trust of your choosing within the hour. Do that, and Jared’s company will be entirely free of our shadow forever.”
I stared at Julian Sterling. A slow, cold smile crossed my face.
“And what if the logbook doesn't exist?” I asked. “What if my wife destroyed it before she died?”
May you like
Julian’s eyes darkened into slits. “Then, Mr. Blake... I will make sure the federal restitution case against Lauren Montgomery is dismissed on procedural grounds, her assets will be tied up in litigation for twenty years, and the original Northwestern negligence claim against Jared will be leaked to the Wall Street Journal by tomorrow morning. Your son’s IPO will be dead on arrival.”
***