Chapter 3 - Blood and Inheritance
Daniel carried Emily through the heavy oak double doors of the manor, kicking them shut behind him.
The heavy brass latch clicked into place with the finality of a prison cell door.
He walked steadily across the vast marble foyer, ignoring the trail of rainwater that Victoria was tracking inside.
Victoria had followed them in through the side veranda, completely unbothered by her sodden, dripping appearance.
She kicked off her ruined Italian stilettos, letting them thud against the baseboards of the grand hallway.
Daniel gently laid Emily down onto the velvet chaise lounge inside the warmth of the roaring library fireplace.
He immediately knelt before her, retrieving a clean silk handkerchief from his breast pocket.
He gently took her injured hands, carefully dabbing away the blood where the broken champagne flutes had cut her skin.
“Does it hurt terribly, sweetheart?” Daniel asked, his voice cracking beneath a mountain of suppressed grief.
“It doesn’t hurt as much as knowing the truth does,” Emily whispered, staring into the flickering embers of the hearth.
“For two years, Daniel, I thought I was simply clumsy, that I had lost focus on the wet asphalt.”
“I spent two years hating myself every time I looked in the mirror at what was missing.”
Daniel closed his eyes for a brief, agonizing moment, letting a single hot tear slip down his cheek.
He kissed the palms of her bruised hands with reverent tenderness, making a silent vow to the universe.
Then, he rose to his full height, turning around slowly to face his older sister.
Victoria was leaning casually against the mahogany bookshelf, lighting a slim Virginia cigarette with trembling, wet fingers.
The smoke rose in pale, ghostly curls toward the coffered ceiling of the great room.
“You cut her brake lines,” Daniel said, his voice flat, devoid of any familial warmth or mercy.
“I didn’t cut anything myself, Daniel, don’t be ridiculous,” Victoria scoffed, exhaling a thick plume of gray smoke.
“Do you really think I would risk getting grease beneath my manicured fingernails for a worthless little nobody?”
“Then who did it, Victoria?” Daniel demanded, stepping forward until he stood less than two feet from her face.
“Who did you pay to murder my wife?”
Victoria’s lips curved into an arrogant, haughty smirk that made Daniel’s blood boil inside his veins.
“Old Thomas from the private garage down on the marina,” Victoria said casually, flicking ash onto the antique rug.
“A hundred thousand dollars in unmarked bearer bonds can make an old mechanic do marvelous things with a wrench.”
“He loosened the hydraulic fluid line just enough so it would hold for ten miles through town.”
“He knew that by the time she hit the steep downhill hairpin on Blackwood Ridge, the pressure would drop to zero.”
Emily pressed her hand against her mouth, a muffled scream escaping her throat as bile rose into her mouth.
The horror of it was so casual, so completely devoid of human empathy, that it defied all comprehension.
Victoria took another drag from her cigarette, her eyes fixed on Daniel with cold, calculating amusement.
“She was snooping where she didn't belong, Daniel,” Victoria continued, her voice hardening with indignation.
“Our father was dying of pancreatic cancer, his mind was slipping away week by week.”
“I spent five years managing his assets while you were playing the noble rebel architect in Chicago!”
“I built the offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands that kept the Sterling Empire afloat after the market collapsed!”
“And then this little schoolteacher comes along, bats her doe eyes at Father, and stumbles into my office.”
“She found the paperwork showing that Father had signed over forty percent of the voting shares exclusively to me.”
“She threatened to tell you, she threatened to bring independent auditors into our family affairs.”
“If she had spoken one word, Father would have changed his will and left everything to you.”
“I couldn't allow a girl with cheap shoes and bad posture to destroy everything I sacrificed my life to build.”
Daniel stared at the woman he had grown up with, realizing she was a complete, irredeemable monster.
“Father never signed those shares over to you, did he?” Daniel said, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
“You forged his signature on the power of attorney while he was drugged on morphine in the hospice wing.”
Victoria’s smile vanished, replaced by an ugly, defensive sneer that twisted her aristocratic features into a knot.
“He built an empire, and empires require ruthlessness to survive,” she spat, tossing her cigarette into the dying fire.
“I am the only true Sterling in this house, Daniel, and you are nothing more than a sentimental coward.”
“You think you can judge me? You think you can call the police and destroy the family name?”
Victoria stepped closer to Daniel, pointing a sharp, manicured finger directly at his chest.
“You call one officer, Daniel, and I release the offshore transaction records to the Federal Trade Commission.”
“Every asset you own, this entire mansion, and your precious architectural firm will be seized by the government by dawn.”
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“You will be utterly penniless, and your crippled little bride will spend the rest of her days in public housing.”
“Now, be a good little brother, clean up your wife’s blood from my marble floor, and leave this house forever.”
