Chapter 9 - The Line in the Mud
Julian wheeled himself through the doorway, his expression thunderous. Behind him stood two burly site workers holding steel wrenches, their faces set in hard stone.
"Victoria," Julian’s voice cut through the room like cold iron. "You are trespassing on private industrial property."
Victoria pivoted, her posture immediately softening into a rehearsed pout. "Julian! I came to check on you. This woman was being completely insubordinate—"
"This woman is the associate director of this project," Julian stated without raising his voice, each syllable measured and absolute. "She has more integrity in her smallest finger than your entire family has in its trust fund."
"Julian, you're making a fool of yourself!" Victoria snapped, her veneer cracking. "Look at this mud! Look at these people! You belong with us!"
Julian looked around the trailer—at the blueprints on the walls, the honest mud tracking across the linoleum, the rough-hewn faces of the workers who had stayed late to fix a broken sewer line, and Clara, standing dignified and unyielding.
"I belonged to a world of ghosts, Victoria," Julian said quietly. "Now I live in the daylight. Miller, escort Miss Vance to her vehicle. If she steps onto this property again, notify the sheriff."
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Victoria glared at them both, her face pale with indignation. "You'll regret this, Julian. You'll die alone in that metal chair!"
"I may die in this chair," Julian replied, looking at Clara with a serene confidence he had never possessed on his two feet. "But I will never live on my knees again."
