We both turned to look at him.

He had not moved from his spot near the entrance, despite his uncle being loaded into the back of a police cruiser outside.

“That is a very touching speech, Nathaniel,” Julian said, taking his hands out of his pockets.

“But you are forgetting one very important detail.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, black leather-bound notebook.

The leather was scuffed and worn at the edges, exactly like the ledger I had seen in Arthur’s office years ago.

“My uncle was careless, yes,” Julian said, stepping closer.

“But he was not the only one keeping records.”

He flipped the book open, his gold signet ring catching the harsh fluorescent light of the lobby.

“This is the original deed of trust for the land Brindlewood sits on,” Julian said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“The deed that was signed twelve years ago, before your father passed away, Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened, his posture stiffening instantly.

“That deed was nullified,” Nathaniel said.

“It was,” Julian agreed, a cold smile spreading across his face.