Chapter 12 - The Unannounced Visit and the New Tenant at the Malibu Gate
The heavy oak doors of my office had barely closed behind Rosa when my desk intercom chimed sharply, breaking the quiet sanctuary of the room.
"Mr. Vance?" my executive secretary’s voice filtered through the speaker, sounding slightly tense and hesitant. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but... you have a visitor at the front gates."
I frowned, glancing down at my watch. "A visitor? Did someone schedule an appointment with the corporate office?"
"No, sir," she replied nervously. "It’s... it’s your brother, Julian."
The name hit the air like a physical shockwave, instantly freezing the relaxed atmosphere of the room and bringing back the bitter memories of the Malibu beachfront confrontation.
I had given Julian twelve hours to sign over his assets, relinquish his trust fund claims, and leave the country permanently.
To my knowledge, he had packed his two suitcases, surrendered the Malibu beachfront estate to the charitable foundation, and boarded a private one-way flight to Europe two weeks ago.
"Did he give a reason for coming here?" I asked, my voice tightening into a cold, cautious register.
"He says he needs to speak with you personally, sir. He’s standing outside the security gates on foot—his sports car was repossessed by the bank yesterday."
I stared at the intercom speaker for a long moment, debating whether to have security escort him off the property or grant him a brief, final audience.
"Let him in," I instructed firmly. "Have security escort him directly to the garden patio by the courtyard fountain. Do not let him wander inside the house."
"Understood, sir right away."
I stood up from my desk, grabbed my suit jacket from the armchair, and walked slowly out of the office toward the rear French doors leading to the courtyard gardens.
The afternoon breeze was cool and crisp as I stepped onto the stone patio, where Julian was already waiting by the edge of the sparkling fountain.
He looked drastically different from the arrogant, perfectly groomed playboy who had sipped espresso in his silk bathrobe three weeks ago.
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He wore a plain black cotton hoodie, faded denim jeans, and scuffed sneakers, his blonde hair unstyled and his face pale, gaunt, and lined with the heavy weight of absolute destitution.
When he heard my footsteps crunching against the gravel path, he turned around, his shoulders slumping in total defeat as he met my cold, unyielding gaze.
