Chapter 3 - The Gathering Below
From the grand foyer below, the muffled hum of arriving guests began to reverberate through the floorboards. The orchestra had started to tune their violins, a series of hollow, searching notes that echoed down the long marble corridor.
"Eleanor, please," Clara pleaded, kneeling down beside the elderly woman's chair. The silk of her dress pooled around her knees. "Julian has worked three years to reform the inner city housing initiative. If the press catches wind of Arthur’s fraud tonight, Julian's entire program will be canceled. The city council will pull the permits. Hundreds of real families will lose their homes tomorrow morning."
Eleanor touched Clara’s cheek with cold, delicate fingers. "You are loyal, Clara. That is why I welcomed you into this family when others thought you too fragile for the Vance name. But you confuse self-preservation with virtue. You want to save the program to save your own husband's pride."
"I want to protect what we are trying to build!" Clara snapped, her voice breaking the hush of the room.
Julian walked over to the tall French doors overlooking the rear garden. Down in the courtyard, valets were parking luxury sedans beneath the canopy of ancient oaks. Among the crowd of arriving donors, Julian spotted an older man in an ill-fitting charcoal suit standing near the fountain, looking up at the manor with a tired, solemn gaze.
May you like
"Grandmother," Julian said, his voice dropping into a hollow register. "Who invited Mateo Ortiz?"
Eleanor turned her head toward the window. A ghost of a smile, sad and resolute, touched her lips. "I did."
