Chapter 9 - THE CONFRONTATION IN THE LOUNGE
Adrian did not move from his spot near the window. He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto his mother with a deadly, quiet intensity that made even Eleanor’s rigid posture stiffen slightly.
"They are my daughters, Mother," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying vibration. "And their names are Lucy and Abby."
Eleanor let out a short, dismissive breath, stepping further into the room and pulling off her soft leather gloves with slow, practiced precision.
"They are a liability, Adrian," Eleanor replied flatly, without a single glance toward the children. "Clara Monroe was a distraction three years ago, and she remains a liability today. I offered her a generous settlement to leave New York quietly before you signed the expansion papers. She chose to stay in Queens and starve out of sheer spite."
Adrian reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out the thick stack of returned envelopes. He tossed them onto the glass table between them.
The heavy manila bundle landed with a loud, sharp THUD beside the girls' soup bowls.
Eleanor’s eyes dropped to the red ink stamped across the top envelope: RETURN TO SENDER – REJECTED BY ADDRESSEE.
"She didn't stay out of spite, Mother," Adrian said, stepping away from the window, his broad frame blocking the light as he closed the distance between them. "She stayed because you intercepted every single letter. You blocked her calls, you threatened her life, and you told her I would put her in prison if she ever brought my daughters near my building."
Eleanor raised her chin, her eyes cold as steel. "I did what was necessary to protect the Walker family name. A penniless girl from Queens has no place in the executive structure of this company. Your father understood that rules must be enforced, Adrian. You would do well to remember how he operated."
Adrian stepped directly into her personal space, looming over her with an authority that exceeded her own.
"Clara woke up for five seconds in that apartment, Mother," Adrian whispered, his voice dangerously close to her ear. "Do you know what she told me?"
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Eleanor’s hands froze as she held her leather gloves. For the first time all evening, a tiny, almost imperceptible flicker of tension appeared at the corner of her left eye.
"She said you know why my father died," Adrian continued, his voice as cold as ice. "She said his death wasn't an accident."
