Chapter 2 - The Eviction of Kings
Pandemonium erupted. The symphony of string instruments abruptly stopped as musicians realized the people paying them no longer had a bank account. Guests scrambled for their coats, the scent of expensive cologne souring with the sudden, sharp stench of panic. No one wanted to be associated with a sinking ship, especially one anchored to Silas Hawthorne.
Julian Hawthorne stormed down the sweeping marble staircase, his face flushed an ugly shade of crimson. He lunged toward Clara, his fists clenched, looking like a prince who had just been told his crown was made of tin.
"You're out of your mind!" Julian roared, spit flying from his lips. "Security! Throw this lying trash out onto the street! This is my house!"
Two burly men in earpieces stepped forward, but Clara didn't even blink. From the shadows of the veranda, four men in tailored black suits seamlessly intercepted the Hawthorne guards. They moved with terrifying, military precision, neutralizing the threat in seconds without drawing a single weapon.
"My personal detail," Clara explained calmly, adjusting the strap of her clutch. "They are rather territorial. I suggest you keep your voice down, Julian. You're giving me a headache, and I don't tolerate noise in my foyer."
Silas Hawthorne finally descended the stairs. He looked ten years older than he had five minutes ago. The arrogant swagger was gone, replaced by the frail terror of a man looking down the barrel of total ruin.
"Clara... Vance," Silas breathed, the name tasting like ash in his mouth. "Arthur Vance's daughter. You were just a child when he..."
"When you framed him for corporate espionage? When you stripped his assets and left him to hang himself in a motel room?" Clara's voice was devoid of emotion, which made it all the more terrifying. "Yes. I was ten. I spent the next fifteen years in the system, Silas. I built Obsidian Capital from the mud you left me in. I tracked every shell company, every Cayman Island account, every fraudulent ledger you used to build this pathetic empire."
"You can't do this," Silas whispered, his hands trembling. "We can make a deal. I can give you a seat on the board."
May you like
Clara let out a short, hollow laugh. "A seat on the board? Silas, you don't understand. I didn't come here to negotiate. I came here to bury you. Pack your bags."
She turned her back on the Hawthorne patriarch, dismissing him entirely, and walked toward the grand double doors of the estate. She stepped out into the cool Newport night air, leaving the shattered dynasty behind her. The war had just begun.
