Chapter 7 - The Cornered Predators
Outside, the rain had softened into a gentle mist, wrapping the manicured grounds of the Bennett estate in a cool, silver veil. A long, midnight-black Maybach waited beneath the porte-cochère, its engine idling with a silent, powerful hum.
Before Clara could step inside, the estate doors burst open behind them once more.
Richard Bennett stumbled out into the damp air, heedless of the rain soaking through his bespoke charcoal jacket. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his face pale and haggard.
“Clara! Wait! Just give me five minutes!” he begged, sprinting down the stone steps.
Alexander’s security guards moved to block him, but Clara raised a gentle hand. “It’s alright,” she told them softly. She stepped back toward the edge of the stone terrace, keeping a safe distance from her father.
Richard stopped three paces away, panting, his chest heaving under his damp shirt. “Clara... you can’t sign those contracts with Grant. If you sign, it triggers a clause in the trust’s receivership. The state will open a criminal investigation into the liquidated accounts.”
Clara stared at him. “You’re not here to apologize, are you?”
Richard swallowed hard, his eyes shifting nervously toward Alexander, who stood watchfully near the car door, his presence dark and formidable.
“I am your father, Clara!” Richard said, trying to summon an air of paternal authority that had long since rotted away. “I raised you! When your mother died, I kept this family together! Evelyn did what she had to do to keep our social standing intact! Do you know what happens to a luxury hotel brand if the market thinks the family is poor? The bookings dry up! The banks raise the interest rates! We did it for the family!”
“You did it for yourself,” Clara said, her voice cutting through the mist like a razor. “You let Evelyn take my mother’s jewelry. You let her take my mother’s study. And tonight, you stood by and let her lock me in the attic like a dirty secret while you tried to sell my intellectual work to the highest bidder.”
“I didn't know she locked the door!” Richard protested desperately.
“You didn’t care to ask,” Clara countered. “For ten years, Dad, you didn’t care where I was as long as I wasn't in the background of your promotional photos. You only cared about me the second you realized Alexander Grant wasn't looking at your trophy daughter—he was looking for the architect.”
Behind Richard, the front doors opened again.
Evelyn marched out, her fur wrap clutched tight around her shoulders, her eyes glittering with venom. Beside her, Vanessa trailed behind, clutching her smartphone, her face pale as a ghost.
“It’s over, Richard!” Vanessa cried hysterically, holding the glowing screen up to her father’s face. “Look! Look at Twitter! Look at Instagram! Someone in the ballroom livestreamed the whole thing! My brand partners are terminating their contracts! Vogue cancelled my interview for next month! Nordstrom dropped my clothing line! I’m being ruined!”
“Shut up, Vanessa!” Richard snapped, turning on his daughter with a sudden, vicious snarl that made her flinch. “Nobody cares about your clothes! We are facing federal prison!”
“Don’t you dare scream at her!” Evelyn shouted, turning on Richard. “You were the one who signed the Cayman wire transfers! You were the one who couldn't balance the books! You told me Alexander Grant was an easy mark! You promised me this deal was guaranteed!”
Clara watched the three of them tear into each other like starving wolves over a dry bone. There was no loyalty among them. No love. No shared grief for the family that had once existed within those walls. The gilded illusion had peeled away, exposing the hollow, rotting core beneath.
Alexander stepped up beside Clara. He didn't look at the screaming family. He kept his eyes exclusively on her.
“The Maybach is warm, Clara,” Alexander said quietly. “You don’t have to stand in the rain and watch them burn.”
Clara looked at her father one last time. Richard was shouting at Evelyn, his hands waving wildly, his face purple with rage, completely oblivious to the fact that his youngest daughter was walking away forever.
“Goodbye, Dad,” Clara whispered into the night mist.
May you like
She turned her back on the estate, climbed into the back of the Maybach, and let Alexander close the door behind them, shutting out the screaming voices of the past.
***
