Uninvited Guests Surprised as Furious Beachfront Mansion Owner Uncovers Secret Party Scheme and Reclaims Oceanfront Legacy from Entitled Daughter in Law
CHAPTER 2
The bass from the oversized Bluetooth speaker on my teak patio table rattled the handmade stained-glass sconces Henry had mounted forty years ago.
I kept my phone pressed firmly against my ear, my posture perfectly erect as thirty pairs of eyes slowly pivoted from Megan to me.
"Eleanor?" Arthur Vance, my estate attorney, answered on the second ring, his sharp voice instantly cutting through the wall of loud pop music. "I was just reviewing your newly recorded irrevocable trust file. Is everything alright?"
"Arthur," I said, my voice smooth, quiet, and deadly clear as I looked directly into Megan’s widening eyes. "I need you to step into my driveway with the certified trust documents and the local police escort we discussed last Tuesday."
Robert dropped his plastic red cup, the dark bourbon sloshing over the hand-stitched linen tablecloth my grandmother had embroidered before I was born.
"Mom!" Robert choked out, stumbling forward three steps before tripping slightly over a pair of stray leather sandals left near the entryway. "What are you doing here? You... you weren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow evening!"
Megan’s face underwent a horrifying transformation, shifting from icy contempt to pure, unadulterated panic as she finally processed who I was.
"Eleanor!" Megan gasped, taking a quick step toward her husband while attempting to force a bright, hospitable smile onto her face. "Oh my goodness, we... we wanted to throw you a surprise party! A early housewarming for the summer!"
"A surprise party where I wasn't invited, held inside a house you don't own, with thirty people I've never seen in my life?" I asked softly, stepping over a wet beach towel tossed recklessly onto my heart-pine hardwood floor.
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"Mom, please, don't make a scene in front of our friends!" Robert pleaded, his voice rising in an embarrassed, desperate squeak that echoed off the high vaulted ceiling.
"I am not making a scene, Robert," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest as the sound of heavy tires crunching on driveway gravel signaled Arthur’s arrival outside. "I am simply taking back what forty-two years of my blood, sweat, and split fingertips paid for."
