Chapter 2
Arthur guided Clara toward the formal sitting room, away from the harsh glare of the entryway where Tamara lingered like a dark shadow. The plush velvet armchairs offered a semblance of comfort, though Clara could not bring herself to sit. She stood near the tall arched windows, watching the gray clouds gather over the manicured lawn. Arthur remained standing by the mahogany fireplace, his tie slightly loosened, revealing the strain etched into his jawline.
"Clara, look at me," Arthur said softly, his voice measured. "What happened today is unacceptable. Tamara had no right to physically remove you from this house, regardless of whatever paperwork she claims to possess."
"Paperwork?" Clara turned sharply, her red-rimmed eyes flashing with sudden anger. "My mother died of a sudden aneurysm on Tuesday night. Her funeral hasn't even been planned yet. Tamara—who has only been managing mother’s investments for six months—acted like she owned the place. She pushed me out as if I were a trespasser."
Arthur frowned, stepping closer. "Your mother trusted Tamara with the estate's daily administration, especially during her final months when her health declined. But trust and legal ownership are entirely different matters. Eleanor’s will was drawn up five years ago. You are the sole beneficiary of this property and the primary trust. Nothing Tamara does can alter that without a court order."
"Then why did she look so confident?" Clara’s voice trembled. "She wasn't just acting cruel; she was acting like she had already won. She called this her house. Arthur, you’ve worked with mother for over a decade. You know how meticulous she was. Would she really have changed her will without telling me?"
Before Arthur could answer, the heavy double doors of the sitting room swung open. Tamara stood in the doorway, having changed out of her silk shirt into an equally severe cashmere blazer. Her demeanor was impeccably calm, projecting an eerie aura of absolute control.
"Arthur, you are interfering in matters outside your jurisdiction," Tamara said, stepping into the room with measured grace. "Eleanor made certain adjustments to her estate planning last month. Given Clara’s instability—her tendency toward emotional outbursts, as evidenced just moments ago—the court-appointed executor has full discretion over residency rights."
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"Court-appointed executor?" Arthur scoffed, stepping between Tamara and Clara. "Eleanor never mentioned any executor other than myself and her legal counsel. I demand to see the probate documents immediately."
Tamara smiled, a cold, unyielding curve of her lips. "You’ll see them in court, Arthur. Until then, the girl is a liability. And liability has no place here."
