Chapter 10 - Blood and Porcelain
Julian groaned, his cheek pressed firmly against the sauce-stained oak floorboards. A sliver of broken crystal had cut his jaw, leaving a thin trail of red that mixed with the brown gravy and spilled wine. He was pinned under the weight of two hefty state troopers, his expensive bespoke suit coated in food scraps and dust.
“Get off me! Do you know who I am?” Julian spat, thrashing weakly. “Call my attorney! Call Harrison Vance at the firm!”
“Mr. Harrison Vance recused himself from all family representations three hours ago,” Agent Hayes remarked dryly, watching the officers hoist Julian up. “He was the one who verified your signature on the Zurich wire transfer, Mr. Vance. It turns out even your uncle has limits when it comes to twenty million dollars missing from the family foundation.”
Eleanor did not fight. When the sheriff stepped toward her with handcuffs, she simply extended her frail, grease-streaked wrists, her aristocratic pride utterly crushed beneath the weight of absolute defeat. She looked shrunken, pathetic, and frail—an old woman who had traded every scrap of her humanity for the illusion of perpetual control.
As they led Eleanor past Clara, the matriarch stopped. Her cold eyes locked onto her daughter-in-law.
“You think you’ve won, don’t you?” Eleanor whispered, venom dripping from every syllable. “You think you’ll walk away from this house with Arthur’s money? You’re just a common girl who got lucky with a wedding ring. You’ll always be nothing.”
Clara didn't flinch. She leaned in slightly, meeting Eleanor’s gaze without blinking. “I’m not taking Arthur’s money, Eleanor. It’s going back to the pension fund. Every single cent. But what I am taking is my freedom. And you... you’re going to spend the rest of your life eating from plastic trays in an institutional cafeteria. Enjoy your dinner.”
Eleanor gasped, as though struck, before the sheriff guided her out the double doors.
Julian was dragged out next, swearing and thrashing, leaving behind a wide smear of turkey grease and blood on the threshold.
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Marcus remained standing in the wreckage of the dining room, his laptop clutched against his chest. He looked at Clara, the silence between them thick with grief, shock, and finality.
“What now, Clara?” Marcus asked quietly.
