Chapter 16 - The Audacity of Victoria
While Julian was being thrown out of his own headquarters into the freezing rain of Madison Avenue, Victoria Vance had sought refuge in the only place she believed her status remained untouchable: The Metropolitan Regency Club.
The private women’s club, nestled in a historic brownstone on the Upper East Side, was where Victoria had reigned as membership chairwoman for over a decade. Here, bloodlines mattered. Here, family heraldry and antique silver were the currency of acceptance.
Victoria marched through the ornate mahogany doors, sweeping her wet trench coat off her shoulders and dropping it onto the antique umbrella stand.
"Margot! Bring me a double espresso and a croissant in the parlor," Victoria barked at the head concierge without breaking stride. "And tell the switchboard that I am not taking calls from journalists."
Margot, an elderly woman who had worked the desk for thirty years, didn't move. She didn't pick up the silver tray. She slowly pushed a thick, cream-colored envelope across the marble desk.
Victoria stopped, turning on her heel with an indignant glare. "Did you not hear me, Margot?"
"Mrs. Vance," Margot said quietly, her voice measured and devoid of the customary deference. "The Executive Board met an hour ago. This was left for you."
Victoria tore the wax seal off the envelope with shaking fingers. Inside was a formal letter signed by the Club President, accompanied by a cashier’s check for two thousand dollars—her prorated annual membership dues.
*Dear Victoria,* the letter read. *In light of recent public disclosures regarding criminal assault proceedings and the total liquidation of the Vance Family Trust, the board has determined that your continued presence is inconsistent with the dignified character of this institution. Your membership is terminated with immediate effect. Security has been instructed to assist you in vacating the premises.*
"This is an outrage!" Victoria screamed, crumpling the heavy paper into a tight ball and hurling it at Margot's face. "Who signed this? Beatrice? Eleanor? I know their secrets! I know whose husband went to rehab in Switzerland! I will ruin them all!"
A side door to the private parlor opened, and Beatrice Hamilton, the club president and a woman whose family had arrived on the Mayflower, stepped out. Beside her stood Clara Sterling, holding a delicate porcelain teacup.
Victoria’s voice died in her throat. The color drained from her skin until she looked like a walking corpse.
"Clara..." Victoria gasped. "You... you aren't even a member here! You’re from Baltimore!"
Beatrice Hamilton took a sip of her tea and looked at Victoria as if she were a roach crawling across a wedding cake.
"Clara’s great-grandfather funded the construction of this building in 1898, Victoria," Beatrice said coldly. "The Sterling family has held Honorary Seat Number One on our board for four generations. They simply choose not to brag about it at charity lunches."
Clara set her teacup down on the saucer with a soft, decisive *clink*.
"You pushed my husband into a pool because you thought we were peasants who had wormed our way into your son's golden circle," Clara said, her voice dropping into a register of pure, crushing authority. "You thought poverty was a character flaw, and wealth was an excuse for cruelty. Now, Victoria, you will learn the truth."
Clara stood up, smoothing the front of her simple wool skirt.
May you like
"You will learn what it feels like when nobody looks you in the eye. You will learn what it feels like to count coins for a loaf of bread. And every time it rains, Victoria, you will remember the sound of that water splashing around Arthur’s shoulders."
***
