Chapter 11 - The Clearing of the House
By dawn, the Vance estate was deserted. The caterers had packed away the untouched hors d'oeuvres, the orchestra had departed with their instruments, and the security staff had been dismissed.
Julian, Clara, Eleanor, and Mateo sat around the large kitchen table—not the grand dining room with its twenty-four chairs, but the old wooden prep table in the basement kitchen where Eleanor had spent her early married years before the money grew too large for modesty.
The legal ramifications were already unfolding across national news networks. Cable chyrons scrolled relentlessly: VANCE HEIR CONFESSES DYNASTIC FRAUD.
"The federal prosecutors will call by noon," Julian said, rubbing his tired eyes. He wore an old woolen sweater now, the tuxedo discarded on the floor of his dressing room like a shed skin.
"Let them call," Eleanor said, sipping tea from a chipped china cup. "We will hand over the keys, Julian. We will move to the cottage in Vermont."
"You love this house, Grandmother," Julian said softly.
"I hated this house from the day Arthur installed the marble pillars," she answered, her voice surprisingly steady. "A house that large is not built for living. It is built to keep people from touching you. I spent forty years keeping people from touching me. I am tired of being clean, Julian. I want to be human before I die."
May you like
Mateo looked across at the young couple. "The Mirasol community won't welcome you with open arms, Julian. They will take your money because it belongs to them, but they won't make you a saint."
"I don't want to be a saint," Julian said. "I just want to pay the bill."
