Chapter 9 - The Stripping of the Feathers
The stampede for the driveway was instantaneous and undignified. Wealthy couples practically shoved past one another through the limestone archways, women clutching their silk skirts as they ran in high heels toward the valet stand, men fumbling for their key fobs, leaving half-eaten beef tenderloin and melting desserts abandoned on the tables. Within ninety seconds, the roar of luxury engines echoed down the private drive, headlights sweeping across the lawn as the Dallas elite fled the wrath of Julian Sterling.
Only Jennifer remained.
She stood frozen beside the outdoor kitchen counter, clutching the soiled charcoal apron against her red velvet gown like a condemned prisoner holding a shroud. The breeze from the lake rustled the pergola vines, carrying away the scent of perfume and leaving only the harsh odor of burnt grease.
Julian turned to face her. His arm remained locked around Emma, who was leaning against his shoulder, her body trembling with the aftershocks of a five-year nightmare finally breaking open.
“The rubies,” Julian said flatly.
Jennifer looked up, her face a mask of mascara-stained ruin. “Julian… they were Mother’s—”
“They were left to Emma,” Julian cut in, his voice devoid of any familial warmth, hard as obsidian. “My mother wrote that codicil herself on her deathbed. You stole them from the safe the week after I flew to London.”
Jennifer’s hands shook so violently that she could barely unhook the clasp. She fumbled at the back of her neck, nearly snapping the platinum wire before the heavy collar of rubies and diamonds came free. She held them out with both hands, offering them like a tribute to an executioner.
Julian didn’t take them. He signaled to the darkness near the breezeway.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a charcoal suit stepped out from the shadows—Marcus, Julian’s head of private security, who had arrived with the Maybach.
“Take them,” Julian instructed without looking at the guard. “Have Dr. Vance examine them tomorrow to ensure none of the stones were replaced with glass. If a single carat is missing, file grand larceny charges with the district attorney by nine in the morning.”
“Understood, Mr. Sterling,” Marcus said, taking the jewelry from Jennifer’s slackened fingers.
“Julian, please,” Jennifer sobbed, dropping to her knees on the stone floor, her gown pooling around her like spilled blood. “Where am I supposed to go? Everything I have is tied up in the estate accounts! I have no money! I have no home!”
“You have your hands, Jennifer,” Julian replied, his voice chillingly indifferent. “You can find a kitchen. You can buy a wire sponge for two dollars at the corner market. You can learn what it feels like to scrub grease off stainless steel until your skin bleeds.”
He leaned down slightly, his dark eyes narrowing into lethal slits.
“You have twenty minutes to pack one suitcase of clothes you bought before I left for London,” Julian said. “Marcus will search the bag at the gate. If you attempt to take a single piece of jewelry, a single piece of silver, or a single dollar that belongs to my company, you will spend the next ten years in a state penitentiary. Marcus, escort her to the servant’s gate when she’s done. If she ever steps foot across the property line again, treat her as an armed trespasser.”
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“No… Julian! Brother! Please!” she screamed, reaching for his trousers.
Julian stepped back, shielding Emma from the display. Marcus stepped between them, his heavy hand clamping onto Jennifer’s shoulder with uncompromising force, hauling her to her feet and marching her toward the side service entrance while her hysterical wails faded into the cavernous depths of the mansion.
