He had come for Marcus. The official was the guest of honor, celebrating a new development project that promised to bring 'revitalization' to the town. Julian knew it for what it was—a way to pave over the secrets of the past with fresh concrete.
He spotted Marcus near the buffet, a glass of champagne in one hand and a look of smug satisfaction on his face. Julian approached him, moving through the crowd with a predator’s grace.
“Enjoying the party, Marcus?” Julian asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Marcus turned, his smile faltering for a second before snapping back into place. “Julian. I didn't think you were the gala type. I thought you preferred the company of crabs and shadows.”
“I prefer the company of honest men, but they’re hard to find in Cromer tonight,” Julian replied. “We need to talk. About the Northern Star. And about why you’re so eager to see Thomas’s death forgotten.”
Marcus took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes scanning the room. “This isn't the place, Julian. People are watching.”
“Good. Let them watch. Let them see the man who’s helping Bartholomew Vane’s ghost run this town. I know about the coordinates, Marcus. I know about the money that went down with that ship. And I know you’ve been taking a cut of the smuggling operation ever since.”
Marcus’s face went pale, the redness receding to leave a sickly, mottled gray. He grabbed Julian’s arm, his grip surprisingly strong. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. That ship is a graveyard. Nothing more.”
“Then why are your men breaking into my office? Why are they hunting a twenty-year-old deckhand?” Julian leaned in closer, his voice a harsh whisper. “I have a ledger, Marcus. Or at least, I know where one is. A record of every bribe, every payoff, and every life that was traded for a piece of that cargo.”
Marcus leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “You’re bluffing. If you had that, you’d be at the police station, not here.”
“Maybe I like to see the look on a man’s face when he realizes the tide is finally coming in for him,” Julian said. “The eviction notice you sent me? It’s a nice touch. But I’m not leaving. Not until I see you in a cell.”
A tall, elegant man with silver hair and a face like carved flint approached them. He didn't say a word, but the air around him seemed to drop ten degrees. Julian recognized him from the old photographs Siobhan had found. It was Bartholomew Vane’s son—and the man who now held the strings of the town.
“Is there a problem here, Marcus?” the man asked, his voice smooth and cold as a marble floor.
“No, Arthur,” Marcus stammered. “Just a misunderstanding with a local... contractor.”
Arthur turned his gaze to Julian. It was a look of absolute, chilling indifference. “Mr. Julian. I’ve heard a great deal about your persistence. It’s a rare trait. Often a fatal one. My father always said that the sea eventually takes everything that doesn't belong to it. I suggest you remember that before you find yourself out of your depth.”
Arthur turned and walked away, Marcus following him like a whipped dog. Julian stood alone in the center of the ballroom, the music and laughter sounding like the discordant notes of a funeral march. He felt the weight of the silver watch in his pocket, a cold reminder of the task ahead. He had poked the hornet’s nest, and now the swarm was coming.
He left the hotel, the transition from the warm, scented air to the freezing coastal wind hitting him like a physical blow. He walked toward the promenade, his mind racing. He needed to find Siobhan. He needed to find that ledger. And he needed to do it before the storm that was brewing on the horizon finally broke.
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