Chapter 7
Victoria’s posture underwent a total transformation in a matter of seconds. The soft, pleading look vanished entirely, replaced by a hard, unapologetic defiance that suited her true nature far better. She let out a short, cold laugh, crossing her arms tightly over her cream-colored blazer as she looked Julian up and down with undisguised contempt.
"You really are your father's son, aren't you?" Victoria sneered, her voice losing its previous melodic cadence and dropping into a sharp, bitter rasp. "Always playing the moral detective while the world burns around you. Do you honestly think a multi-million-dollar empire runs on sentimentality and family prayers? This estate is drowning in debt, Julian. Your father left this place a hollow shell, and if I hadn't stepped in to liquidate those peripheral accounts when I did, the banks would have seized these very walls six months ago."
Julian didn't flinch. He held his ground, his eyes locked onto hers with unrelenting intensity. "My father left this estate secure. The debt you're talking about was manufactured by the offshore shells you set up under my name without my knowledge. You didn't save the estate, Victoria; you were executing a slow-motion corporate looting."
"Call it whatever helps you sleep at night," Victoria snapped, taking a step toward the heavy mahogany desk where the private wall-safe was hidden behind a sliding panel of books. "The legal paperwork is already filed. The courts will recognize my authority because your mother signed the initial agreements over a year ago when her cognitive faculties were declining. You can fight it for five years in court, but by the time you win, there won't be a penny left to inherit."
"She never signed those papers," a steady, resonant voice echoed from the doorway.
Victoria and Julian both spun around. Clara stood in the open doorway, pushing Margaret’s wheelchair smoothly into the center of the library. The elderly woman sat completely upright, her silver hair neatly brushed, her eyes burning with an intense, unyielding clarity that made Victoria involuntarily step back. Margaret looked less like a frail invalid and more like a queen entering a courtroom to pass judgment on a traitor.
"You..." Victoria whispered, her voice tightening with sudden panic as she stared at the elderly woman. "You shouldn't even be out of your room. You're supposed to be—"
"Incompetent? Senile? Ready to sign away everything I've built?" Margaret finished the sentence for her, her voice cutting through the heavy library air like a razor-sharp blade. She slowly raised her hand, pointing a steady, accusing finger directly at Victoria. "I have known greed my entire life, Miss Vance. I grew up surrounded by people who measured human worth entirely by the size of their stock portfolios. But I have rarely seen someone sell their soul quite so cheaply."
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Victoria’s face flushed a furious, mottled red. Her composure finally shattered completely, the mask of polished elegance tearing away to reveal the desperate, cornered grifter underneath. "You old witch!" Victoria screamed, lunging forward toward the wheelchair with her hands clawing the air, driven by pure, unadulterated rage.
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