Chapter 7 - The Velvet Band
The room was paralyzed in stunned silence. Julian’s foreign partners looked between Clara’s bald, striking figure and Julian’s pale, sweat-streaked face.
Julian quickly forced a strained, patronizing laugh, trying to regain control. ""Ladies and gentlemen, please forgive my wife. As many of you know, she suffered a severe head injury recently... she hasn't been herself. The trauma has caused some erratic behavior.""
He took two aggressive strides toward Clara, his hand reaching out to grab her shoulder under the guise of an affectionate embrace. ""Clara, darling, let's get you back upstairs to your doctor.""
Clara did not flinch. She simply raised her left hand, catching Julian’s wrist before his fingers could graze her suit jacket. With a sharp twist of leverage taught to her by her father’s security team years ago, she forced Julian’s arm downward, bending his wrist until he gasped in shock.
""Don't put your hands on me, Julian,"" she said, loud enough for every board member and investor to hear clearly. ""The last time your hands touched my head, you were pinning me to the floor while your mother held the shears.""
A collective gasp rippled through the gathering. Several board members leaned forward, their eyes widening in horror.
""She’s lying!"" Eleanor shrieked, hurrying down the stairs, her face flushed red with panicked rage. ""She’s having a nervous breakdown! Julian, call security! Have her removed!""
""Call them,"" Clara challenged, turning her head slightly. ""Let’s have the police here too. In fact, Chief Inspector Harris is already waiting outside the front gates, isn't he, Marcus?""
Marcus Cole stepped forward from the shadows of the arched doorway, setting his coffee cup down on a silver tray. He pulled a formal red-sealed dossier from his coat pocket.
""Indeed, Mrs. Vance,"" Marcus said, his gravelly voice silencing Eleanor instantly. ""The Maritime Commission received your emergency injunction at dawn, accompanied by sworn forensic documentation certified by Dr. Mitchell.""
Julian’s eyes bulged. ""Mitchell? That quack has no authority here! This is my house! This is my company!""
""This house was purchased with Vance Shipping Trust dividends,"" Clara said coldly. ""And this company belongs to the direct bloodline of Arthur Vance. You were merely an executive director with a five-year probation clause.""
She reached up with her right hand and unhooked the black velvet band from across her brow.
The guests recoiled. The raw, jagged red track where Eleanor had cut her flesh, still marked with the angry red pinpricks of Dr. Mitchell’s extracted stitches, lay fully exposed to the blinding glare of the morning chandeliers.
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""Is this the mark of a husband?"" Clara asked the room, her voice vibrating with iron authority. ""Or the mark of a parasite trying to butcher the host?""
Julian lunged at her. ""Shut your mouth!""
