Chapter 3: The Weight of History
Liam pulled out a heavy silver ring. It was an antique, thick and tarnished by time, holding an exquisite black agate seal carved with an ancient, interlocking crest—the symbol of the Blackwood founders, a piece of jewelry thought to be lost in the archives for over a century. He placed it on the wooden table with a soft, heavy clink. The sound seemed to resonate through the entire lecture hall, heavier than a gavel.
"You should check whose name is on that expulsion letter," Liam said, his voice calm, chillingly precise.
Julian’s smirk faltered. He looked at the ring, then back at Liam. He recognized the crest, even if his brain couldn't quite process the implication. "What is that? A prop? Did you find that in a thrift store?"
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"My grandfather built this school, Julian," Liam declared, his voice rising just enough to be heard by every person in the room. "The trust that funds your father’s shipping lanes, the land this building sits on, the endowment that keeps this school afloat—it all traces back to my family. And as of five minutes ago, I just froze your family's accounts. Every single one of them."
The class erupted in a chaotic mix of confusion and murmurs. Julian felt a sudden, inexplicable coldness settle in his marrow. His phone, which had been buzzing with notifications, suddenly chirped.
