Chapter 7
Tamara didn't rush forward. Instead, she leaned casually against the doorframe, her dark eyes glittering with a dangerous, predatory amusement. In her right hand, she held the heavy brass paperweight from the drafting table—a solid, lethal-looking object.
"You really thought you could play detective in my house?" Tamara’s voice was dangerously calm, cutting through the quiet studio like a razor blade.
"It’s not your house, Tamara," Arthur said, stepping in front of Clara to shield her from view. He kept his posture relaxed but ready, his tall frame a solid barrier against the woman in the doorway. "We found the audits. We know about the offshore accounts and the forged power-of-attorney documents. The game is over."
Tamara let out a short, cold laugh. "Game? Arthur, you are remarkably naive. For years, I built this firm from the ground up while Eleanor took the credit and you collected your oversized consultancy checks. You think the board is going to listen to a grieving, unstable girl and an aging architect with a history of past corporate disputes?"
"The documents in this briefcase speak for themselves," Arthur replied, lifting the leather case slightly. "Marcus Vance is already reviewing copies. Federal investigators will have the originals by morning."
Tamara’s expression darkened instantly, the mask of calm slipping away to reveal the desperate greed beneath. She took a step into the room, raising the brass paperweight. "You aren't leaving this room with those files."
"Don't do this, Tamara," Clara called out from behind Arthur, her voice steadying with a sudden surge of courage. "You’ve already stolen enough. If you hurt us, you won't just face financial fraud—you’ll be looking at federal prison for the rest of your life."
Tamara hesitated for a fraction of a second, her eyes darting between Arthur and Clara. She weighed her options, calculating the risk of a physical confrontation versus the crumbling foundation of her elaborate deception. Sirens began to wail faintly in the distance, growing louder as they approached the gated perimeter of the estate.
Arthur didn't waste the distraction. With a swift, decisive movement, he shoved past Tamara, pulling Clara behind him down the hallway toward the grand staircase.
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"Run!" Arthur shouted.
They sprinted down the stairs, bursting through the front doors into the crisp night air just as the flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers illuminated the grand marble foyer.
