Chapter 14 - The Empty Mansion
On the cliffs of Oakridge, the limestone mansion grew silent.
Eleanor Vance sat alone in the vast dining room, the polished mahogany table reflecting only the light of a single chandelier. Her former friends at the country club had slowly drifted away, repelled not by her cruelty, but by the public vulgarity of her conviction. The social calendar on her desk was blank.
Her attorney had retired; her staff moved through the halls like wraiths, terrified of her bitter, silent scowls.
She walked to the front parlor, stopping by the walnut credenza where the inhaler had once been hidden. On the mantle above sat a photograph of Julian as a boy, dressed in a stiff boarding school uniform, his eyes distant, unsmiling, and empty.
May you like
She looked at her own hands—perfectly manicured, spotless, yet hollow. She had demanded respect at the cost of love, control at the cost of blood, and authority at the cost of family. In her pursuit of perfection, she had built a mausoleum and sealed herself inside.
Outside her window, the wind howled through the manicured trees, blowing away the withered leaves until nothing remained but bare, unyielding stone.
