Chapter 2 - Eight O’Clock Sharp
The dining room went eerily still. Claire turned around, her manicured eyebrows pinched together in theatrical irritation. “You really can’t stand anyone else having the spotlight for even five seconds, can you? It’s pathetic, Ivy. You’re thirty-four years old. You sit in a cubicle all day looking at spreadsheets while I build real-world equity.”
My mother sighed loudly, waving her diamond-ringed hand as if wafting away a foul odor. “Don’t feed her jealousy, darling. Some girls are born to lead, and others are born to keep the ledgers. Ivy has always had that bitter edge. Just like her grandmother.”
“Leave your mother’s name out of your mouth,” I said softly.
Mom gasped, her face flushing crimson under her heavy bronzer. “How dare you! Robert, are you going to let her speak to me like that?”
Dad stood up, his chest puffing out beneath his custom tuxedo. “Ivy, that is your mother. You will apologize right now, or I swear to God I will personally remove you from this property.”
“You won’t remove anyone, Dad,” I replied. “Because you don’t have the authority to throw a stray cat off this porch.”
Laughter erupted from the corner table where my cousin Tyler sat with his finance fraternity buddies. “Damn, Ivy’s finally losing her mind,” Tyler chuckled, sipping his vintage scotch. “Must be rough watching your younger sister sign half-million-dollar term sheets while you’re calculating mileage deductions.”
Claire stepped into the center of the Persian rug, raising her voice to draw the entire room’s attention back to her. “Everyone, please! Ignore my sister’s little tantrum. As I was saying before the distraction, tonight marks the dawn of a new chapter for Elysian Affairs. We are officially opening our second and third luxury branches in Oakridge and Silver Lake. And we couldn’t have done it without the visionary partnership of Apex Horizon Capital!”
She turned, smiling dazzlingly at Marcus Vance, who stood near the grand archway holding a leather folder. Marcus was forty-five, sharp-featured, and dressed in an immaculate charcoal bespoke suit. He did not smile back.
“Marcus,” Claire cooed, stepping toward him with open arms. “Would you like to say a few words before we pop the Krug 2008?”
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed.
*One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.*
The heavy double oak doors of Meadowgate swung open before the final chime faded.
Two men in dark suits entered the room. Between them walked Daniel Mercer, a partner at Mercer, Hayes & Vance Law LLP. Daniel was seventy years old, with stark white hair, iron-gray eyes, and a reputation in commercial real estate that made state judges sit up straighter in their chairs. Behind them walked two uniformed officers from the County Sheriff’s Department.
A ripple of nervous murmurs tore through the dining hall. The violinist stopped mid-bow, the instrument letting out a screeching discordant note.
Claire froze, her arm still extended toward Marcus Vance. “What is this? Did someone call the police? What’s going on?”
My father stepped forward, adopting his self-important country club posture. “Excuse me, gentlemen! This is a private family event. If there’s a noise complaint from the valley, you can speak to our estate manager outside.”
Daniel Mercer didn’t even look at my father. He unbuttoned his overcoat, walked directly past the high table where my parents stood, and stopped three paces in front of me. He bowed his head slightly.
“Good evening, Ms. Cross,” Daniel said clearly. His voice echoed into every corner of the silent hall. “The filings are complete. The lis pendens has been recorded, the injunction has been signed by Judge Thornton, and the commercial lockout order is now active as of eight o’clock.”
The room went so quiet that the faint hum of the industrial kitchen refrigerators became audible.
Claire stared at Daniel, then burst into a high, brittle laugh. “Excuse me? What did you just say? Who are you? Who authorized you to bring officers into my venue?”
Daniel turned around slowly, looking at Claire through his wire-rimmed glasses. “I am Daniel Mercer, managing counsel for Willow Gate Holdings LLC. And to answer your second question, Ms. Claire Cross: the legal owner of this property authorized me. In fact, she is standing right behind me.”
Claire’s eyes darted from Daniel to me, then back to Daniel. “What? That’s a joke. I own Meadowgate! Elysian Affairs operates this venue! My father gave me permission to run this estate!”
“Your father never owned a single square inch of this soil,” Daniel Mercer stated flatly, opening his leather portfolio and extracting a thick ream of certified documents. “Nor did he have the legal power to grant you a commercial lease, a management contract, or permission to secure private enterprise loans against the deed.”
My father stepped up, his face purple with rage. “Mercer, I know who you are! You were Evelyn’s estate lawyer! That old woman was senile when she passed! We settled that estate three years ago!”
“We didn't settle anything, Robert,” Daniel replied coldly. “You attempted to contest the probate. You lost in closed chambers before Judge Vance. Evelyn Cross was legally competent, exceptionally clear-headed, and acutely aware that if you or your youngest daughter ever touched her ancestral land, you would liquidate it within thirty-six months to service your gambling debts and vanity LLCs.”
Gasps erupted around the tables. My cousin Tyler spilled his scotch across the tablecloth.
“Ivy!” my mother shrieked, her voice cracking as she clutched her pearl necklace. “What is this monstrosity? What lies have you paid this man to tell?”
I stepped forward, stepping directly over the shattered plate on the floor, my heels clicking firmly against the Italian marble.
“He’s not telling lies, Mom,” I said, looking her directly in her terrified eyes. “For three years, I let Claire play CEO because I thought maybe—just maybe—she would grow up and understand what responsibility looks like. But tonight, she threw my dinner on the floor and told me that without my money, I’m not even welcome at my own family table.”
I turned to Claire, whose chest was heaving beneath her diamond-studded bodice.
May you like
“Well, Claire,” I whispered, every word landing like an anvil. “You were right about one thing. I *am* the one paying. And your tab has just expired.”
***
