Chapter 2 - The Deluge
Before Margaret could even process the words, I leaned back and threw the entire basin of lukewarm, soapy water straight into her face.
The impact made a loud, violent SPLASH that echoed through the high ceilings of the living room.
Margaret let out a sharp, bird-like shriek as ten liters of water slammed into her chest, drenching her styled blonde hair, soaking her expensive silk robe, and running down her face in dark streaks of mascara. She stumbled backward, gasping for air, her hands flailing wildly in the air.
“MY GOD!” Vanessa screamed, dropping to her knees to help her mother, her pristine designer dress immediately soaking up the puddle on the floor. “Are you insane, Claire? You crazy bitch!”
“CLAIRE!” Daniel roared, his face flushing deep red as he lunged forward, grabbing my wrist. “What the hell is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?”
I looked down at his fingers on my arm with such blistering, icy contempt that his grip instantly loosened.
“Get your hands off me, Daniel,” I said, my voice dropping an octave, carrying the terrifying weight of a judge passing sentence. “You have five seconds to let go before I call security and have you dragged off my property in handcuffs.”
Daniel froze, stepping back, his jaw hanging open. He had never heard me speak in that voice—the voice I used when a corporate vendor tried to breach a multi-million-dollar contract.
“Your property?” Margaret choked out, coughing up soapy water, her mascara dripping down her chin like dark tears. “You insane, disrespectful little gold-digger! This is my son’s house! He pays for everything you have! I will have him divorce you by morning!”
“Is that so?” I pulled my phone out of my pocket, tapped the screen twice, and turned it toward Daniel.
The screen displayed the bank alert, clear as day: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS ATTEMPT - BROOKLYN REAL ESTATE HOLDINGS LLC.
Daniel’s face completely drained of color. His eyes darted nervously toward his sister, who suddenly stopped wiping Margaret’s face and looked up with a guilty flinch.
“You thought you were clever, didn't you?” I walked slowly toward them, my high heels clicking sharply against the wet hardwood. “You thought while I was running my company, you could go into my home office, steal my private tax documents, forge my signature on a $450,000 equity loan, and use my home as collateral to bail Marcus out of his failing restaurant debt.”
Vanessa gasped, standing up quickly. “We didn't steal anything! Daniel said—”
“Daniel doesn't own a single nail in this floorboard!” I snapped, turning my glare onto my pathetic husband. “Tell them, Daniel. Tell your mother who owns this house. Tell her whose name is on the deed, the title, and the tax records.”
Daniel opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked between his furious mother and my icy stare, sweating profusely beneath his collar.
“Tell her!” I shouted, the sound cracking through the mansion like thunder.
“She... she owns it, Mom,” Daniel whimpered softly, staring at the wet floor. “It’s in her name. The prenuptial agreement... she bought it before we met.”
The silence that followed was absolute. Margaret stared at her son in utter disbelief, her mouth hanging open, looking like a drowned rat in her soaked silk robe.
“You lied to us?” Margaret whispered, her voice trembling with outrage. “You told us you bought this brownstone to give us a family estate!”
“He didn't buy anything,” I interjected smoothly. “He moved in with his suitcases and a mountain of credit card debt that I quietly paid off three years ago out of pity.”
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I walked over to the front entrance, pulled open the heavy double oak doors, and stood beside the grand entryway, pointing outside toward the freezing rain cascading down the stone steps.
“The show is over,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “All three of you—out. Right now.”
