Chapter 13 - Tangled Debts
The smell of sawdust and varnish in Julian’s workshop usually brought me an overwhelming sense of safety. Tucked away on the southern bank of the Elizabeth River, the converted warehouse was where Julian restored vintage wooden yachts with meticulous, loving care.
When I pushed through the side door, Julian was beneath the hull of a 1948 Chris-Craft, his broad shoulders tensed as he planed a teak plank. Wood shavings fell like golden curls around his boots.
"Is it true?" I asked, my voice cutting through the hollow quiet of the shed.
The plane stopped. Julian didn't immediately turn around. He blew a breath of air across the wood, set the tool down on his workbench, and slowly wiped his hands on an apron. When he finally looked at me, there was no anger in his eyes—only a profound, sorrowful exhaustion.
"Vanessa came to your office," he said quietly.
"Did Richard fund your original lease on the waterfront?" My voice cracked, betraying the raw betrayal clawing at my throat. "Did you know who he was before you met me at that diner? Did you seek me out, Julian? Tell me the truth. I survived one man’s lies; I won't survive another."
Julian stepped away from the boat, closing the distance between us until he was standing just inches away. He reached out to touch my arm, but seeing my hesitation, he let his hand drop to his side. That restraint hurt more than an argument would have.
"I didn't know you existed until the day you walked into the marina office trying to rent a slip under a fake name to hide from your husband's lawyers," Julian said, his voice deep and steady. "That is God’s honest truth, Emily."
"And the lease?"
Julian took a heavy breath, looking up at the high wooden rafters. "Six years ago, before I moved here, I lost everything in Maine. A fire took my shop, my inventory, and my partner’s life. The insurance company claimed arson because the wiring was faulty. I was cleared of criminal charges, but civilly, I was destroyed. An offshore investment group called Harborstone Capital offered me a lifeline—a low-interest commercial lease down here to restart."
"Harborstone," I whispered, the name striking like a hammer. "That was one of Richard’s auxiliary shell companies. The one we couldn't trace during the deposition because it was registered in the Cayman Islands through Vance."
"I didn't know Richard owned it until three weeks ago," Julian said, his eyes pleading for my understanding. "When Richard's accounts were frozen, Harborstone's ownership defaulted to Arthur Vance. Vance called me personally two nights ago. He told me that if I didn't convince you to sign a non-disclosure agreement and drop your counter-claims on the family patents, he would foreclose on this entire property and call in a balloon payment of four hundred thousand dollars."
The walls seemed to close in around us. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you were finally smiling again!" Julian’s voice broke with rare emotion, his hands framing my face gently, defying my distance. "For the first time since I met you, you weren't looking over your shoulder. You were laughing on the boat. You were designing again. I would rather lose this entire shop, every piece of wood, every boat I own, before I let that bastard drag you back into the dirt."
Tears pricked my eyes as the knot of terror in my chest unraveled into fierce resolve. Richard thought he could isolate us. He thought he could use Julian’s vulnerability as a lever to pry open my defenses.
"They think we’re going to play defense," I said, wiping a tear from my cheek and stepping closer into Julian's chest. "They think we're going to scramble to save your lease while Richard parodies himself as an innocent victim on television."
"What are you thinking, Emily?" Julian asked, his thumb gently catching a stray tear.
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"Arthur Vance siphoned pension funds thirty years ago," I said, a dangerous calm settling into my bones. "My father kept the original microfiche records in a safety deposit box at the Old Dominion Bank. He told me never to open it unless Vance came back from the dead. Well... he's back."
***
