Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Penthouse
The private ICU wing at Manhattan Presbyterian looked more like a five-star hotel than a hospital. Two security guards stood at the entrance to Sarah's room, while three top pulmonologists and a cardiac specialist worked through the night to stabilize her core temperature and drain the fluid from her lungs.
At dawn, Edward escorted me to Evelyn’s legendary penthouse on Fifth Avenue to get me out of the hospital environment.
Walking into that apartment felt like walking onto the set of a fairy tale. The ceilings soared twenty feet high, framed by panoramic glass walls overlooking the snow-covered expanse of Central Park. Golden molding lined the walls, and antique portraits hung beside modern masterpieces.
A maid named Maria took me to a massive marble bathroom where she prepared a hot lavender bath. For an hour, the warm water melted the months of subway grime, soot, and bone-deep cold from my skin. She gave me clean silk pajamas and braided my wet brown hair before serving me a bowl of hot chicken broth and fresh buttery rolls in the grand breakfast salon.
I had just taken my third bite when the double oak doors swung open.
Julian walked in, having removed his wet coat. He poured himself a glass of bourbon from the bar cart, despite it being seven in the morning. His eyes were cold, scanning me like an appraiser assessing damaged property.
"Quite an entrance you made last night, Maya," he said smoothly, taking a seat across from me. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the polished mahogany table.
"Thank you," I murmured, holding my spoon tightly.
"You're a clever little thing, aren't you?" Julian smiled, but the warmth never reached his dark eyes. "You know, before you and your mother suddenly rose from the grave, Aunt Evelyn had already drafted the paperwork to make me the sole trustee of the Whitmore Foundation. Four hundred million dollars. And now... here you are."
"I don't know what that means," I said honestly. "I just wanted someone to help Mom. She was dying."
"Oh, I believe that part," Julian whispered, his smile vanishing. "Sarah was always weak. Always too soft for this family. That’s why she ran away twenty years ago when she was caught stealing funds from the family bank. Or... at least, that’s the story Aunt Evelyn believed."
My heart jumped. "My mom isn't a thief!"
"Of course not," Julian sneered quietly, leaning closer so Maria in the kitchen wouldn't hear. "She was framed, you poor little fool. And the people who framed her twenty years ago didn't spend two decades building their empire just to watch an alley cat and a bastard child take the throne. Tell me, Maya... what do you think happens to little girls when their grandmothers get too old to protect them?"
I shrank back in my chair, clutching the velvet cushion. Before I could answer, a walking cane struck the parquet floor right behind Julian's chair with a deafening crack.
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"They inherit everything," Evelyn’s voice rang out like thunder. "And they bury the jackals who dare threaten them."
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