Chapter 3 - The Uninvited Witness
The harsh electronic buzz of the intercom tore through the heavy air of the kitchen, cutting off whatever revelation Claire was about to deliver. For a second, nobody moved. The sound repeated, a demanding, rhythmic pulse echoing from the foyer.
"Are you expecting someone?" Elena asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked between Arthur and Claire. Her composure was hanging by a thread, every muscle in her body coiled like a spring ready to snap.
Arthur shook his head quickly, his gray hair catching the light as he stepped back from the counter. "No. Nobody knows we're here except the moving company, and they aren't scheduled until Thursday."
"Well, whoever it is, they have the security code," Claire noted, smoothing down the front of her silk bathrobe with an irritating casualness that made Elena's blood boil all over again. "Unless, of course, you gave it out to someone else, Elena."
"I don't give my security codes to strangers, Claire," Elena snapped, turning on her heel and marching out of the kitchen toward the grand foyer, her black pants swishing against her legs with every determined stride.
Arthur followed closely behind her, whispering frantic pleas for calm, while Leo grabbed his heavy leather suitcase by the handle, dragging it behind him as he trailed the group, refusing to be left out of whatever fresh disaster was unfolding at the front gate.
Through the floor-to-ceiling glass double doors of the entryway, a sleek black sedan sat idling in the circular driveway. Standing on the front porch, ringing the doorbell with manic persistence, was a tall, sharply dressed man in a charcoal-gray suit, holding a bulky leather briefcase under his left arm.
Elena unlocked the heavy oak door and pulled it open, the morning breeze rushing in to cool the sweat on her neck. "Can I help you?" she demanded, her voice sharp and unwelcoming.
The man stopped pressing the bell and looked up, adjusting a pair of expensive wire-rimmed glasses. He had thin, sandy hair combed neatly to the side and a thin, professional smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Mrs. Vance," the man said, his voice smooth and devoid of any genuine warmth. "I am Marcus Vance. I believe we need to have a conversation about the restructuring of the family trust."
Elena felt the ground drop out from under her feet. She stared at the man, processing the last name before her brain connected the dots. "Vance? I don't know any Marcus Vance. My husband's family is from Ohio; there are no relatives by that name."
Marcus smiled wider, stepping uninvited across the threshold into the foyer. "Oh, we're related, Mrs. Vance, technically speaking. Or at least, we soon will be." He turned his head and looked past Elena, his eyes locking onto Claire standing by the kitchen entrance. "Hello, sister. I see you've already made yourself at home."
The silence that fell over the foyer was absolute.
Elena slowly turned her head back to look at Claire, who had gone completely pale under her makeup. Arthur let out a soft groan of defeat, leaning his hand against the wall to steady himself as the house of cards finally collapsed entirely.
"Sister?" Elena whispered, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "Claire... is your brother?"
May you like
Claire swallowed hard, her defensive posture crumbling as Marcus stepped further into the house, placing his briefcase down on the marble entry table with a heavy, deliberate thud.
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