Chapter 5 - The War at the Manor
Three hours away in the rolling green hills of Normandy, a storm was brewing at the construction site of Château de la Rose.
Julien’s leased BMW pulled up the gravel driveway, kicking up clouds of white dust. Standing in front of the half-finished, two-million-euro stone manor was Tristan Vance—twenty-eight years old, wearing designer workwear, holding a glass of scotch while supervising a team of contractors working on an infinity pool.
Julien hurled his car door open and marched across the lawn like a madman.
"Tristan!" Julien roared, grabbing his brother by the collar of his denim jacket. "Where is the money?! Where is the four hundred and eighty thousand euros Mom sent you?!"
Tristan stumbled backward, splashing scotch onto his shirt. "What the hell is wrong with you, Julien?! Get your hands off me!"
Éléonore scrambled out of the passenger seat, waving her hands frantically. "Julien! Stop it! Don't hit your brother!"
"He stole my life!" Julien screamed, his face turning purple with rage. "I am getting evicted! Claire locked me out of the triplex! My bank accounts are frozen because of corporate audits! And you're building an infinity pool with my sweat and blood?!"
Tristan sneered, shoving Julien back with a cold, mocking laugh. "Your sweat and blood? Don't make me laugh, big brother. You spent the last five years boasting about how much of a big-shot executive you were in Paris! You gave Mom that money voluntarily! Nobody held a gun to your head!"
"It was meant to be invested for my child!" Julien yelled.
"Well, it was invested!" Tristan gestured grandly toward the sprawling stone facade behind him. "Into Mom's estate! And guess what? Mom signed the sole ownership title over to me last week!"
Julien went dead silent. The wind rustled through the oak trees as he slowly turned his head toward his mother.
"What... what did he just say?" Julien whispered, his voice trembling. "Mom... you signed the title over to Tristan?"
Éléonore looked at the ground, unable to meet her son's eyes. "Julien, darling... Tristan needs security... you have your high-paying job in Paris... you can always make more money..."
"I don't have a high-paying job in Paris!" Julien broke down, falling to his knees on the gravel driveway, clutching his head in utter agony. "The board of directors launched a formal audit on my expense accounts this morning! I’m going to be fired! I’m going to be prosecuted! I have nothing left!"
Tristan looked at his broken brother on the ground, then turned to his mother with a cold, disgusted expression. "Mom, take him away from here. He's ruining the mood for the contractors."
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The realization hit Julien like a physical blow to the chest. The family he had sacrificed his marriage for, the mother he had elevated above his pregnant wife, didn't care if he rotted in a prison cell. To them, he was never a beloved son or brother.
He was merely an automated teller machine that had finally run out of cash.
