Chapter 7 - The Matriarch of Ash
Andrew stared at Clara in shock. "Eleanor?"
Eleanor Sterling-Vance—Clara’s aunt, Victoria’s mother, and the matriarch of the older branch of the family. A woman who lived in a grand estate in Newport, known globally for her philanthropic work and high-society galas.
"Victoria was just the executioner," Clara said, setting the leather notebook on the desk. "Look at the letters from five years ago. My father’s estate... my mother's trust fund... Eleanor lost forty million dollars in foreign real estate investments ten years ago. She was bankrupt, Andrew. She used Victoria to manipulate Harrison, using Harrison's corporate greed as a smokescreen to cover her own financial destruction."
Andrew picked up the notebook, reading the handwritten letters between Victoria and her mother. The tone was chilling—devoid of human empathy, calculating every move like a game of chess.
"If Clara remains alive, the trust fund will be audited by her father's executors. She must be removed before the winter audit. Make sure the body cannot be identified by conventional means. Use the Pine Crest house—it is remote and easily destroyed."
"She tried to poison me tonight," Andrew realized, his jaw clenching until it ached. "Because Eleanor knows that if Clara takes the stand at Harrison’s federal trial next month, the entire financial empire Eleanor rebuilt using my family's stolen money will be seized by the government."
"She won't stop, Andrew," Clara said, stepping close to him and laying her hand on his cheek. "As long as Eleanor has her freedom and her fortune, she will hunt us. She will hunt our sons."
Andrew looked down at his wife. The frail, frightened maid in the black-and-white uniform who had sat sobbing on his dining room floor two weeks ago was gone. In her place stood the woman he had married—a fierce, protective mother whose love for her family had survived fire, drugs, and four years of psychological warfare.
"Then we stop playing defense," Andrew said, his voice hardening into resolve. "We give Eleanor exactly what she wants."
"What do you mean?" Clara asked.
"Eleanor wants an audit," Andrew said, a dangerous light gleaming in his eyes. "She wants a confrontation. We are going to throw a party at the Grand Regency Hotel in New York. A victory gala for the charity trust. And we are going to invite every high-society family, every news network, and every federal prosecutor in the state."
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"And Eleanor?"
"Eleanor wouldn't miss a high-society gala for the world," Andrew smiled, a cold, predatory expression. "It's time to drag the matriarch out of the shadows and into the light."
