Chapter 2 - The Stolen Toast
Back inside the grand ballroom of the sixty-million-dollar coastal estate, the warmth of the roaring marble fireplace bathed the room in golden light. Julian popped the cork on a four-thousand-dollar bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon, pouring the bubbling champagne into three crystal flutes.
Eleanor reclined on the imported velvet chaise lounge, admiring the sparkle of her five-carat emerald ring against the firelight. Bianca leaned against Julian’s chest in my favorite sapphire silk robe, her fingers tracing the gold embroidery along his lapel with triumphant satisfaction.
“To the permanent removal of the seamstress and her little beggars,” Julian proclaimed with an arrogant laugh, clinking his glass against his mother’s. “Tomorrow morning, our corporate attorneys will file the emergency conservatorship papers, cementing our total control over the Sterling logistics network.”
Bianca giggled, taking a delicate sip of the vintage champagne before tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Did you see the look on her face when you shoved that duffel bag into her ribs, Julian?”
“She actually thought two crying infants would give her leverage over a multi-billion-dollar dynasty,” Julian sneered, shaking his head in disgust. “A penniless orphan who spent four years sewing dresses in our guest room really believed she could become the mistress of this estate.”
Eleanor took a deep, satisfied breath, adjusting the diamond choker around her withered neck. “We humored her little marriage to keep the public image clean while we consolidated the European shipping contracts, but now she has served her purpose.”
“What if she tries to go to the press with her sob story about the blizzard?” Bianca asked, a faint flicker of paranoia crossing her eyes. “The Chicago tabloids love running stories about wronged mothers.”
Julian waved his hand dismissively, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the snow-covered driveway. “Let her run to the tabloids; I’ve already paid the county sheriff and two chief editors to bury any story she tries to sell.”
“We will brand her as an emotionally unstable runaway who abandoned her children on the front porch,” Eleanor added with cold, calculated cruelty. “By the time the court hearing convenes on Monday, the judge will grant us full custody of the trust funds while she rots in an asylum.”
Suddenly, the massive crystal chandelier above the grand ballroom flickered twice before plunging the entire mansion into pitch-black darkness. The ambient hum of the central heating died instantly, leaving behind the eerie, howling sound of the mountain wind rattling the glass.
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“What happened to the backup generators?” Julian barked, fumbling in his pocket for his smartphone. “We pay fifty thousand dollars a month for continuous uninterrupted power to this estate!”
Before Julian could dial the security office, the heavy wrought-iron perimeter gates at the base of the driveway were blown off their hinges with a concussive roar that shook the glass walls. The blinding white high-beams of eight armored tactical vehicles crested the snowy hill, illuminating the dark estate in razor-sharp brilliance.
