Chapter 7 - The Eviction of the Empress
The formal signing of the Vance estate forfeiture took place in the grand, wood-paneled conference room of Pendelton & Associates. I sat at the head of the table, flanked by Arthur and my security team.
The heavy glass doors opened, and Eleanor Vance walked in. Even in total defeat, she tried to maintain her aristocratic posture. She wore a black tailored dress and a heavy veil that partially obscured her pale, wrinkled face. Behind her crept Gabriela, looking like a whipped dog, her eyes fixed entirely on the floor.
Eleanor didn't sit down. She stood at the foot of the table, her gloved hands resting on the back of a leather chair, her gaze drilling into me with a mixture of hatred and desperate pride.
"You have broken your father's heart, Preston," she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady. "He spent forty years building the Vance name so that we could command respect in this city. And you have dragged us through the mud for the sake of an orphan girl who doesn't even know how to properly hold a salad fork."
"My father built this company on hard work and integrity, Eleanor," I replied, sliding the legal documents across the polished mahogany table. "He would have despised what you turned it into—a toxic playground for snobs and thieves. Sign the papers."
Eleanor reached into her bag, pulled out a gold fountain pen, and signed her name with a sharp, aggressive flourish on the three dotted lines. With those signatures, the historic Vance family mansion, the remaining real estate holdings, and the family name itself were officially transferred to my independent corporate entity. They were entirely ruined.
"Where are we supposed to go?" Gabriela muttered, her voice cracking as she looked at the executed documents. "We don't have any assets left. Every country club has canceled our memberships. No one will even take our phone calls."
"I have arranged for a small, two-bedroom cottage in the northern countryside to be placed under a private trust," I said, closing my fountain pen. "The utilities will be paid for, and you will receive a modest monthly stipend that matches the average median income of a working-class family. It’s warm, it's dry, and it has a fully functional kitchen. I suggest you get used to washing your own dishes, Gabriela. You won't be having any guests."
Eleanor pulled back her veil, her eyes wide with a cold, aristocratic shock. "A cottage? In the countryside? You are banishing us?"
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"I am giving you exactly what you gave my wife: a place to live out of sight," I said, standing up and buttoning my suit jacket. "The only difference is, I am providing you with a roof that doesn't leak and food that isn't leftover scraps from a party. Consider yourselves incredibly lucky that I value the law more than revenge."
I turned my back on them, walking out of the conference room into the bright morning light of the executive lobby, leaving the former empress of high society to face the quiet, rural exile she had so thoroughly earned.
