Chapter 5 - The Glass House
At 9:45 p.m., headlights cut through the heavy rain outside the mansion’s front driveway.
A slick black Porsche Panamera pulled up to the main entrance.
A minute later, the front door swung open, and Richard Sterling stepped into the foyer. He was thirty-four, sharp-featured, with the same gray eyes as mine, wearing a custom camel-hair coat and carrying a dripping umbrella.
"Julian!" Richard called out, shaking the rainwater off his coat as he hung it on the hall tree. "What's going on? Harrison texted me saying you wanted to celebrate the logistics deal tonight!"
I stood at the top of the grand marble staircase, looking down at him.
The house was completely dark except for the single chandelier hanging above the foyer.
"Come upstairs, Richard," I said, my voice echoing through the empty marble hall. "I have a bottle of Dad’s 1982 Macallan waiting in the library."
Richard grinned, brushing his wet hair back. "Now you're talking. I could use a drink after the week I've had."
He walked up the stairs, his leather shoes clicking loudly on the marble steps, completely unaware that Frank Vance and two security officers were standing silently in the dark shadows of the balcony above.
We walked into the library. A crackling fire burned in the stone hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the mahogany bookshelves and gold-framed family photos.
I poured two fingers of amber scotch into two heavy crystal glasses, handing one to my brother.
"To family," Richard offered, raising his glass with an easy, boyish smile.
I didn't raise mine. I set it down on the side table.
"To truth, Richard," I said softly.
Richard hesitated, his glass stopping inches from his lips. He looked at me, a subtle flicker of uncertainty crossing his eyes before he forced another smile. "Truth? What's that supposed to mean?"
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the silicone thumb drive containing the mirrored files from Harrison’s safe, and tossed it into his lap.
Richard looked down at the dark blue drive resting on his trousers.
"What is this?" he asked.
"That is thirty-five million dollars worth of wire transfers from Sterling Mutual Capital through my charitable foundation," I said, stepping closer to the fire. "Along with Harrison Vance’s full confession, recorded four hours ago at the LAPD Financial Crimes division."
The crystal glass slipped from Richard’s fingers.
It shattered against the hardwood floor, dark whiskey splashing across his polished shoes.
Richard didn't move. He sat frozen in the leather chair, staring at the thumb drive as if it were a venomous snake ready to strike him.
"Julian..." he whispered, his voice suddenly stripping away all its charm, sounding small, weak, and pathetic. "Listen to me..."
"You put a thief in my home, Richard," I said, my voice cracking slightly with the raw pain I had been holding back all evening. "You let him steal eighteen thousand dollars from a housekeeper who cleans my floors so you could cover your fraudulent offshore losses."
"I was going to pay it back!" Richard yelled, jumping out of his chair, his face contorted in a mixture of fear and rage. "You don't understand, Julian! The market collapsed in Shanghai! I was facing sixty million in margin calls! If the SEC audited my accounts, I was going to prison!"
"So you decided to ruin me instead?" I shouted, my voice booming through the library like thunder. "You used my foundation! You used my name! You put my freedom on the line to save your own pathetic skin!"
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"You have hundreds of millions, Julian!" Richard screamed back, tears of frustration spilling from his eyes. "You have everything! Dad gave you the main firm! He gave you the glory! What did I get?! A scraps fund in downtown LA! I was just trying to build my own empire!"
"You didn't build an empire, Richard," I said, stepping up to him until we were chest-to-chest. "You built a glass house. And tonight, it shattered."
