Chapter 7 - The Bloodline Ledger
""Step back, Damian,"" Eleanor said coldly, her hands remarkably steady despite her age. The small firearm pointed straight at Clara’s chest. ""You are throwing away a three-billion-dollar empire for a parlor maid and a defective bastard.""
Damian stood between the barrel and Clara, his eyes narrowed into lethal slits. ""Put the gun down, Mother.""
""She ruined you five years ago, and she is back to finish it!"" Eleanor hissed, rain blowing into the doorway, soaking the hem of her designer gown. ""The board was prepared to oust you when you disappeared searching for her! Julian and I have kept the Vance family legacy intact while you chased ghosts! Do you think I will let this nameless girl claim the trust fund that belongs to this lineage?""
""She is not a bastard,"" Damian said, each word vibrating with raw power. ""She is my daughter. Look at her face, Eleanor. Look at the eyes you see in every painting hanging in your gallery.""
""She is sick!"" Eleanor shouted, her composure finally breaking into ugly hysterical spite. ""She has the Thorne-Vance defect! She won't survive till ten! Why sacrifice the family's standing for a corpse?""
Clara felt something snap inside her. The five years of hiding, the starving nights, the humiliating cleaning shifts, the constant terror of footsteps behind her—it all vanished behind an avalanche of sheer motherly rage.
Clara lunged.
She didn't aim for the gun; she threw her entire body weight into Eleanor's knees. The older woman shrieked, losing her balance on the slick marble threshold and tumbling backward. The small gun fired blindly, the shot ricocheting off the reinforced concrete wall with a high-pitched whine.
Julian Thorne panicked. He turned to flee toward the armored Maybach parked in the center of the subterranean garage, but Damian was already upon him. Damian dropped the rifle, grabbed Julian by the lapels of his tailored suit, and slammed him against the concrete pillar with enough force to crack the plaster.
""Where is the master key to the clinic bypass?"" Damian growled, his forearm pressing against Julian's windpipe until the lawyer's eyes bulged.
""C-console... center console of the Maybach!"" Julian gasped, choking for air. ""Eleanor... Eleanor authorized the hit, Damian! She paid the offshore mercenaries! I was just the middleman!""
Damian dropped Julian like a sack of garbage. He snatched the keys from the lawyer’s limp hand, turned around, and scooped up Daisy. Clara was already scrambling up from the floor, blood trickling from an open scrape on her forearm.
""Get in the car!"" Damian yelled.
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Behind them, Eleanor was pulling herself up against the wall, her pearls scattered across the wet floor, her voice a screeching ruin. ""If you drive out of that gate, Damian, you will never set foot in this city again! I will destroy you!""
Damian didn't even turn his head. He floored the gas pedal of the armored vehicle, smashing straight through the garage’s rolling security shutter into the stormy night.
