Chapter 10 - The Sovereign of Oakridge
Vivian’s face contorted into immediate rage. "Arthur! What are you doing in my house? And why is this girl still standing here looking like a street beggar?!"
Arthur Vance turned slowly toward Vivian, pulling his silver tablet back out from under his arm.
"It is no longer your house, Vivian," Arthur stated plainly, his voice echoing off the glass walls. "As of two minutes ago, under the provisions of Charles's primary estate trust, Claire has assumed full custodian control of Oakridge Manor, Fairchild & Sons, and all derivative holding accounts."
Vivian let out a harsh, hysterical laugh. "Are you insane?! Charles died four years ago! That trust was settled! Marcus is the heir!"
"Marcus was the conditional candidate, Vivian," Arthur corrected coldly. "And he failed his final evaluation ten minutes ago when you tripped Claire in this very room."
Arthur raised his tablet, pressing a single icon on the screen.
Instantly, the massive 85-inch ambient television mounted above the stone fireplace flickered to life.
The high-definition 4K footage from the chandelier camera began playing in a continuous, crystal-clear loop. The four charity circle women gasped in collective horror as the screen displayed Vivian’s foot sweeping around Claire’s ankle in slow motion, followed by the terrifyingly crisp audio of Vivian screaming: "Useless! Clumsy! An absolute embarrassment to this family!"
Vivian’s face went from flushed red to an absolute, ghost-like white. She staggered backward, her hand reaching out to grab the arm of a nearby sofa to keep from falling.
"No..." Vivian whispered, her voice cracking violently as she looked at her friends, who were now shrinking away from her in absolute disgust. "No... that's... that's a fabrication!"
"It is an authenticated trust record, Mrs. Fairchild," Arthur said. He turned to Claire, bowing his head slightly. "The estate is entirely yours, Claire. What are your first orders as administrator?"
Claire slowly dropped the sharp porcelain shard onto the silver tray. The sharp clink of china sounded like the dropping of a gavel.
She walked slowly toward Vivian, her posture erect, her wavy brown hair framing a face that was completely devoid of fear, sorrow, or mercy. She stopped three feet from her mother-in-law, looking down at the older woman’s trembling frame.
"Dinner is at seven, Vivian," Claire said, her voice smooth, quiet, and absolutely lethal, echoing the exact words that had been thrown at her on the floor hours earlier.
Claire glanced over at the four charity women, who were watching her with wide, terrified eyes, then back at Vivian.
"You won't be attending," Claire continued smoothly. "Arthur, please have security escort Mrs. Fairchild and Marcus off the property by six. They may take one suit of clothes each. Their accounts are frozen pending a full forensic audit of their past expenditures."
"Claire! Please!" Marcus cried out, dropping to his knees on the rug where his wife had knelt hours before, reaching frantically for the hem of her stained beige dress. "Claire, I’m your husband! You can't do this to me!"
Claire stepped back, casually pulling her hem out of his reach, her eyes cold as ice as she looked down at the man who had abandoned her.
May you like
"I’m not doing anything to you, Marcus," Claire said, turning her back on him and walking toward the grand floor-to-ceiling windows to look out over her grounds. "I’m just clearing away the broken pieces."
High above in the Baccarat chandelier, the white administrator light gleamed brightly against the crystal drops, its silent lens recording every second of the new era of Oakridge Manor.
