Chapter 6 - The Screen of Judgment
The sharp buzz of Arthur Vance’s encrypted phone cut through Clara’s shrill screaming like a guillotine blade. The room fell into an abrupt, suffocating silence, broken only by the heavy ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the study. Arthur did not flinch; with mechanical precision, he tapped the screen of his device and propped it up against the mahogany desk, directly facing Julian and Clara.
The screen flickered to life, illuminating the dark office of the fifty-fourth floor downtown. Eleanor sat behind her massive glass desk, bathed in the harsh, blue-tinted light of the morning monitors. Her posture was rigidly upright, her long brown hair perfectly in place, and her eyes locked onto the camera with the predatory focus of an apex predator staring down cornered prey.
“Mother,” Julian choked out, taking a halting step forward, his hands trembling at his sides. “Please. Let’s talk about this. You can’t just throw us out into the street. Clara is—she’s going to have a child. Your own grandchild.”
Eleanor did not blink. A slow, glacial smile touched her lips, completely devoid of maternal warmth or forgiveness.
“My grandchild?” Eleanor’s voice echoed clearly through the study’s built-in sound system, dripping with palpable venom. “Julian, do you honestly take me for a fool? Or are you genuinely so blinded by your own pathetic desperation that you failed to read the dossier Arthur placed on your desk five minutes ago?”
Clara stepped into the frame, her face twisted into an ugly mask of fury, shoving Julian aside as she leaned aggressively toward the tablet screen.
“Listen to me, you arrogant old witch!” Clara shrieked, pointing a manicured finger at the camera. “You can’t treat us like this! I have rights! I am carrying the heir to this miserable fortune, and if you throw us out, I will drag your family name through the mud in every tabloid in the country!”
Eleanor let out a single, sharp laugh—a sound like breaking ice against stone.
“Drag my name through the mud?” Eleanor repeated softly, leaning forward until her face filled the screen. “Clara, sweetie, your previous husband in federal prison for securities fraud already tried that three years ago. Did you really think my private security team wouldn’t pull your entire criminal record before the sun came up?”
Clara’s face drained of every drop of color, her mouth opening and closing silently like a fish gasping for air. The pink satin dress that had looked so triumphant the night before now looked like cheap, pathetic theater costume.
“You… you investigated me?” Clara stammered, her voice losing its edge, replaced by a sudden, chilling panic.
“I invest in facts, not parasites,” Eleanor stated coldly. She shifted her piercing gaze back to her son. “And as for you, Julian... you traded a mother who built an empire for a convicted con artist. Enjoy your two hours. At eight o’clock, the locks change, and you will learn what it truly means to be a nobody.”
The screen went black with a sharp digital click, leaving the study wrapped in a suffocating, dead silence.
Julian dropped heavily onto the edge of the leather sofa, his spirit utterly broken, staring blankly at the floor. Clara turned on him like a cornered wild animal, her eyes wide and manic, raising her hand to strike him across the face.
“You ruined us!” Clara screamed, her palm connecting with his cheek with a sharp crack. “You pathetic, spineless coward!”
Julian didn’t even flinch. He just sat there, tasting the bitter iron of his own blood, while Arthur Vance stood by the door, calmly checking his watch.
“One hour and fifty-five minutes remaining,” Arthur announced smoothly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
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Suddenly, the heavy front gates outside swung open with a loud groan, and the distinct rumble of heavy trucks rolling up the driveway pierced the morning air.
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