Chapter 6 - CLEANING THE HOUSE
By 4:00 AM, the rain over Chicago had finally subsided, giving way to a cold, misty dawn that washed over the St. Clair estate.
In the grand dining room, the forty members of the extended St. Clair family were still seated under the heavy watch of Orson’s armed detail. The ruined dessert table had been cleared, but the atmosphere remained thick with dread.
The heavy double doors opened, and Orson walked in.
He had changed into a fresh slate-grey suit, his dark hair neatly combed back, looking every bit the refined patriarch of the Midwest’s most powerful family.
He walked to the head of the table, resting his hands on the back of the chair where Mara had sat hours earlier.
"Tonight," Orson began, his deep voice carrying easily across the vast room, "was supposed to be a celebration of our family’s thirty-year legacy."
Nobody spoke. Several of Tamsin’s aunts lowered their eyes to the table.
"Instead," Orson continued, "it was an attempt by enemies within this very room to destroy my bloodline."
He gestured to Marcus, who stepped forward holding a stack of legal documents.
"Every person who signed off on Tamsin’s introduction to this family," Orson said calmly, "has twenty-four hours to liquidate their shares in Vance Enterprises and leave the state of Illinois. If you are still in this city by midnight tomorrow, my security teams will assume you were an active co-conspirator in the attempt on my daughter’s life."
Tamsin’s father, Arthur St. Clair, stood up frantically from his seat. "Orson! You can't strip us of our birthright! We had no idea what Tamsin was planning with the New York families!"
Orson looked at Arthur with cold, unblinking eyes.
"You knew she was meeting with Moretti’s lieutenants in Miami two months ago, Arthur," Orson said flatly. "And you said nothing because they promised you a fifteen percent cut of the shipping docks."
Arthur’s face flushed red, then turned completely pale as the rest of the family turned to stare at him in shock.
"Leave," Orson said simply.
Without another word, Arthur collapsed back into his chair, then hastily gathered his coat and fled the dining hall, followed by half a dozen terrified relatives.
Orson watched them go, his expression unreadable.
He turned to Gabriel. "How is Mara?"
"She’s upstairs in the nursery, boss," Gabriel replied softly. "Dr. Evans just checked her over. The toxin traces were minor. With the proper medication, she’ll make a full recovery in a few days."
May you like
Orson let out a long, quiet breath—the first genuine release of tension he had allowed himself all night.
"Good," Orson said. "Let's go home."
