Chapter 3 - Hostage to the Truth
Julian stepped between Clara and the table, his earlier arrogance dissolving into raw panic. “Clara, stop this. Please. You don’t understand the whole picture. Just give me the drive, and we can talk about this like civilized adults.”
“Civilized?” Clara laughed, the sound bouncing harshly off the high ceiling. “Civilized was watching your mother grind me into dirt for five years while you laughed in my face. Civilized was sitting at this dinner table and letting her hand me a menu of my own inadequacies before carving the turkey. We are way past civilized, Julian.”
Eleanor stood up slowly, her knees shaking as she braced herself against the table. She pulled a napkin from the ring and dabbed furiously at her ruined silk blouse, though the smear of poultry fat only spread further. “You don't have the courage to take us down, Clara. If you go to the board, if you go to the federal authorities, you destroy Julian’s career. And without his money, you leave this marriage with nothing. The prenuptial agreement leaves you penniless in the event of public scandal.”
“That’s the beauty of it, Eleanor,” Clara said, stepping closer until she was inches away from the trembling matriarch. “The prenup explicitly states that any infidelity—financial or marital—renders the entire agreement null and void. And fifty million dollars funnelled through a shell company to keep your defunct art gallery from defaulting constitutes massive marital fraud.”
Julian grabbed Clara’s forearm, his grip bruising. “Clara, let’s go upstairs. Let’s talk in private. Mother needs a doctor, and you need to calm down.”
Clara didn’t pull away. Instead, she stared directly into Julian’s eyes with an intensity that made him flinch. “Let go of me, Julian. If you leave a mark, I’ll add domestic battery to the charges.”
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Julian loosened his fingers immediately, retreating a step as if burned. He looked between the drive on the platter and Clara's cold face. Before he could utter another word, the heavy mahogany double doors of the dining room clicked open, revealing Julian’s younger brother, Marcus, holding an open laptop.
“Julian,” Marcus said, his voice flat and dreadfully calm. “Why is the estate’s primary liquidity fund displaying a balance of zero?”
