Chapter 14

Julian stood in the manicured gardens of Maxwell's mansion, surrounded by perfectly trimmed hedges and imported flowers that probably cost more than his monthly salary. His voice was hoarse from shouting, raw from twenty minutes of hurling accusations at silent windows. The Miami night hung heavy and humid around him, thick with the scent of jasmine and money. Security lights cast harsh shadows across pristine lawn furniture and a marble fountain that burbled indifferently to his pain. Everything here screamed of wealth and privilege: the hand-carved statues, the geometric precision of the rose gardens, the subtle landscape lighting that made even the grass look expensive. His collar stuck to his neck with sweat, his borrowed designer shirt now wrinkled and damp – a perfect metaphor for how out of place he was in this world of old money and new power. The mansion itself loomed behind its carefully curated greenery, a Mediterranean palace of white stone and terracotta tiles, it