Chapter 2 - The Deed
The silence in the dining room turned from shocked terror to absolute, deafening confusion.
Vivienne stared at the document resting against the toe of her designer shoe as if it were a venomous snake. Her hand, still holding the empty wineglass, began to tremble. “What... what is this nonsense?”
“It’s the eviction notice, Mother,” I said, my voice steady, ringing clearly across the high-ceilinged room. I reached into my jacket, pulled out a damp linen cloth, and casually wiped the dark crimson stain from my chin and cheeks. “You can stop holding your breath, everyone. The wine was cheap, but the blood was fake.”
Dominic rushed around the long table, his face contorted in rage. “You crazy bitch! What did you put on this rug? What are you talking about?”
“Touch me, Dominic, and the two federal marshals waiting outside those grand mahogany doors will enter three minutes ahead of schedule,” I warned softly, turning my gaze to him.
He froze mid-stride, his chest heaving.
I knelt down, picked up the deed, and unfolded it, holding it high enough for the Marlowe family attorney, Charles Vance, to read from his seat at the foot of the table.
“Charles,” I called out. “As senior counsel to Marlowe Enterprises, perhaps you’d like to verify the signature on page four? Specifically, the transfer of the primary lien from Apex Global Holdings.”
Charles Vance pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose, his hands shaking as he leaned forward. He didn't even need to touch the paper. He recognized the corporate seal instantly. He had been trying to negotiate a debt deferral with Apex Global for six months to keep the estate from going under.
“My God,” Charles breathed out, his voice barely a whisper. “Apex Global... that was a blind trust out of Delaware.”
“Not blind anymore,” I replied smoothly. “I own Apex. Which means I own the mortgage on this house, the land beneath it, the vineyard in Napa, and the forty percent non-voting shares Dominic used as collateral for his illegal sports betting debts in Macau.”
Dominic’s face turned a sickening, ghostly white. He looked wildly from me to his mother. “She’s lying! She’s bluffing!”
“Am I?” I took two steps toward Vivienne. The older woman backed away slowly until her spine hit the edge of the heavy sideboard table. Her pristine pearls rattled against her throat.
“Fifteen years ago,” I said, stepping into the warm glow of the chandelier, “you thought my life was worth fifty thousand dollars. That was the price of the gambling debt my father left behind when he died, wasn't it? You traded your stepdaughter to a crew of human traffickers to keep your precious reputation clean.”
A collective gasp rippled through the invited guests. Cousin Beatrice covered her mouth with a silk napkin. Two corporate directors exchange terrified glances.
“You’re insane!” Vivienne shrieked, her regal composure shattering into jagged, desperate pieces. “Security! Where is security? Get this woman out of my house!”
“It’s not your house,” I corrected her, my tone as sharp as an iron blade. “As of midnight, every lock on this property is being rekeyed. Every bank account bearing the Marlowe name is frozen under a federal asset restraint order. You spent fifteen years living off the blood money of the girl you discarded. Tonight, the rent is due.”
The heavy double doors of the dining hall burst open.
Four men in crisp dark suits stepped into the room. At the front was Naomi, my chief legal officer and private investigator, holding a leather briefcase and an official federal seal.
May you like
“Elena,” Naomi said, offering a curt, professional nod. “The state police and federal inspectors have just pulled into the front gates. They have the search warrants for the lower vault.”
Vivienne dropped her wineglass. It shattered into a hundred glittering shards against the hardwood floor.
