Old Money
Sound Mind

Percival's Choice

August 25, 2026 · Part 8 of 10 · 2 min

Percival showed up unannounced again the next morning, and this time he didn't wait for Cornelius to set anything on the table between them.

"I need to tell you something," he said, before he'd even sat down. "About Toby."

Cornelius went very still. "Tell me."

"Odalys doesn't like when he's 'too much.' That's what she calls it — too loud, too clingy, too anything." Percival's hands were shaking now, and not from the drinking Cornelius had long suspected. "Barnaby doesn't hit him. I want to be clear about that. But he yells, and he locks doors, and once I saw Toby standing outside the guest room for forty minutes because nobody remembered he was out there." He looked up, eyes wet. "I told myself it wasn't my business. I told myself a lot of things this year, Dad, so I wouldn't have to think about what I was helping Barnaby do to get you declared unfit."

"And now?"

"Now I've seen the footage Minnie showed me." Percival's voice cracked clean in half. "Whatever you need. I'll say it under oath if I have to."

Cornelius reached across and gripped his son's arm, the first unguarded gesture he'd allowed himself toward Percival in months. "That's exactly what I need."

They spent the rest of the morning building the case in earnest — pulling bank statements that traced the collections letter back to a debt Barnaby had known about and dangled like bait, printing the forged signature page beside the real one so the strokes could be compared side by side, drafting a statement Rosalind would sign about the cameras and their dates.

It was almost noon when Rosalind burst into the study without knocking, phone in hand, face pale.

"Barnaby's on the house line with the security company," she said. "He's asking them to pull the guest-wing camera logs. He knows something's recording him."

Cornelius felt the floor tilt slightly under a plan that had taken four months to build.

"How long until he has access?"

Rosalind checked the phone again, and her answer landed like a dropped glass.

"Twenty minutes. Maybe less."

Continue the story Part 9: The Room Goes Quiet →

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