"You wouldn't dare," I whispered, my heart freezing.
"Try me," Richard said, bringing the flame closer to the edge of the journal's yellowed pages. "Sign the proxy transfer. Give me the company, and I'll let you keep the land. Refuse, and I will burn everything your son ever wrote, and I will make sure you and Eleanor spend your remaining years in a state facility."
I looked at the journal, the leather cover worn from the hours Julian had spent holding it.
I looked at Richard's smug, victorious face.
I felt a profound, crushing weight of defeat press down on my shoulders, the lowest point of my entire life.
I had failed my son when he was alive, unable to protect him from the wolves he chose as partners.
And now, I was failing him again.
"Alright," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Alright, Richard. You win. Just... don't burn it."
Richard's smile was blinding, a flash of white teeth in the shadow of the library.
"Smart man, Arthur. I always knew you were a pragmatist."
He tossed the journal onto the desk and slid the proxy document toward me, along with a heavy gold pen.
My hand shook as I picked up the pen, the ink dark and heavy like blood.
I signed my name on the dotted line, sealing the fate of Carter Enterprises and giving away the legacy we had spent decades building.
Richard snatched the paper back, blowing on the ink to dry it, his eyes shining with absolute triumph.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "Simply beautiful. Thank you for your cooperation, Arthur."
With a sudden, brutal movement, Richard grabbed Julian's journal from the desk and threw it directly into the center of the roaring fireplace.
"No!" I screamed, lunging forward, but my ruined knee gave out entirely, and I collapsed onto the thick rug, my fingers scraping uselessly against the floorboards.
The dry paper caught instantly, the flames roaring to life, consuming the handwriting of my dead son in a bright, hungry blaze.
Richard laughed, a loud, triumphant sound that echoed off the high ceilings, as he turned to walk out of the room.
"You're a fool, Arthur," he said, not even looking back at me as I lay on the floor. "You always were."
But as he reached the door, the heavy oak panels swung open, and Eleanor walked in, her face calm and serene, flanked by Sarah Jenkins and a tall, grey-haired man in a dark blue suit.
And in Eleanor's hand was a familiar, worn leather purse.
Richard froze, his hand still extended toward the brass doorknob, his eyes darting from the purse in Eleanor's hand to the empty leather bag still resting on the armchair across the room.
The silence in the library was absolute, save for the crackle of the flames behind me, consuming the decoy book he had so eagerly burned.
"What... what is this?" Richard stammered, his voice losing its confident edge, his eyes wide with sudden, sharp confusion.
I slowly pushed myself up from the floor, using the edge of the heavy mahogany desk for support, a cold, hard smile finally spreading across my face despite the pain in my ribs.
"Did you really think we would bring the only copy of Julian's journal to a den of wolves without a backup plan, Richard?" I asked, my voice steady and strong.
Eleanor stepped into the room, her eyes locked on the man who had tried to destroy our family.
"The purse Marcus stole from Sarah's office was a decoy, Richard," she said, her voice dripping with quiet contempt. "We knew Marcus was on your payroll the moment we saw his watch and the text messages on his phone. We knew he would try to steal the evidence."