Chapter 7
The quiet communion in the garden was abruptly shattered by the heavy, authoritative thud of the front doors echoing through the empty halls of the mansion. Mateo stiffened, his protective instincts flaring instantly. He exchanged a fleeting, resolute glance with Sofia. The creditors had arrived punctually, devoid of empathy or patience, demanding their pound of flesh from a man already bled dry.
"Stay here with her for a moment," Mateo instructed Sofia quietly, releasing his grip on Elena’s hand just enough to stand up straight on the terrace stone. Sofia nodded, instantly taking both of Elena’s small hands in her own, her golden dress catching the morning light as she positioned herself protectively in front of her daughter. Mateo turned and walked back through the glass doors into the grand salon, his black suit looking sharp and unyielding despite the exhaustion etched into his features.
Two men in charcoal-gray suits stood in the center of the pristine marble floor, holding leather portfolios and looking thoroughly out of place among the lingering echoes of elegance. The lead man, an older individual with iron-gray hair and cold, calculating eyes, looked up as Mateo approached. "Mr. Vance," the man said, his tone entirely devoid of warmth. "We assume you received our final notice regarding the receivership of the estate."
Mateo didn't flinch. He walked forward until he stood just a few feet away from them, his posture rigid and commanding. "I received it, Mr. Sterling," Mateo replied, his voice steady and chillingly calm. "And I am fully aware of the legal parameters. However, I must ask for a brief extension. My daughter is currently resting on the terrace. I will not have her final hours disturbed by your inventory."
Sterling raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his hardened features. He had expected begging, anger, or despair, not this icy composure. He glanced past Mateo toward the open glass doors, catching a glimpse of Sofia and Elena framed against the gray morning sky. A flicker of human hesitation crossed Sterling’s eyes, quickly suppressed beneath decades of professional ruthlessness.
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"The bank has extended your grace period twice already, Mr. Vance," Sterling said, though his voice lacked its initial harsh edge. "The board will not authorize another delay. The title transfers at noon. We are simply here to secure the premises and catalog the primary assets."
"Catalog whatever you wish," Mateo said coldly, stepping closer to block their line of sight to the terrace. "Take the art, the furniture, the walls themselves. But give us until noon to vacate the grounds in peace. If you cross that threshold before the hour strikes, you will answer to me personally." The raw, suppressed fury in Mateo’s voice was unmistakable. Sterling stared at him for a long, tense moment, measuring the resolve of a desperate father with nothing left to lose. Slowly, the older man closed his portfolio with a sharp snap. "Until noon, Mr. Vance," Sterling conceded quietly. "Not a minute longer."
