Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Guest
Eleanor lunged to grab Clara’s wrist, but Clara caught her mother-in-law’s forearm in mid-air. Her grip was iron, digging deep into Eleanor’s fragile wrist bones.
""Don't touch me,"" Clara whispered, leaning in so close Eleanor could smell the mint and surgical disinfectant on her breath. ""Never touch me again.""
Eleanor flinched, pain flashing across her face as she tried and failed to yank her arm back. ""Julian will ruin you for this! You think putting on your dead father's clothes makes you important? You are nothing! You're a lunatic who couldn't even keep her husband in her bed!""
""Julian is a fraudulent embezzler whose signature on the maritime leases is invalid without my counter-seal,"" Clara replied, releasing Eleanor with a force that sent the older woman stumbling against the dresser.
Turning to the makeup artist, who stood petrified by the door, Clara said politely, ""Leave. Now.""
The girl scrambled out without a second thought, abandoning her kit.
Downstairs, the heavy mahogany doors of the banquet hall groaned open as guests began migrating toward the boardroom for the pre-signing briefing. Clara glided past Eleanor, walking out into the corridor. Her low-heeled leather boots clicked rhythmically against the marble floor, each step sounding like the ticking of an executioner's watch.
She peered over the balustrade into the great foyer below. Julian was standing near the grand staircase, basking in the praise of two foreign investors. He was wearing a navy Italian suit, laughing loudly, holding a champagne flute in one hand and pretending to be the lord of an empire he hadn't built.
Standing in the corner of the room, sipping black coffee, was a tall man with silver hair and razor-sharp posture. Marcus Cole.
Clara’s heart surged. Marcus was the chief compliance officer of the International Maritime Oversight Commission. Julian had spent eighteen months trying to bribe him to look away from the Vance terminal leases. Marcus had refused every meeting.
Yet there he was, standing in Julian’s mansion.
Julian hadn't noticed Marcus yet. He was too busy boasting. ""Gentlemen, the transition will be seamless. My wife has agreed that her current health prevents her from managing Vance Shipping. I’ll be executing the final transfer documents at noon precisely.""
""Is that so, Julian?""
Clara’s voice cut through the cavernous foyer like a thunderclap.
The laughter died instantly. Every head turned toward the grand staircase.
Julian’s smile froze into a grotesque mask of shock. Eleanor, appearing at the top of the stairs behind Clara, tried to shout a warning, but the sight of Clara descending the steps in broad daylight stole the breath from the room.
Her clean-shaven skull, the defiant black velvet band across her stitches, the charcoal tailored suit, and her unblinking, predatory stare commanded the space entirely.
May you like
Julian took an involuntary step back, spilling champagne onto his pristine leather shoes. ""Clara... what the hell are you doing?""
""I’m attending my own board meeting,"" Clara said evenly, stepping off the last stair onto the foyer floor. ""And I believe you’re sitting in my chair.""
