CHAPTER 7: MARGARET’S DESPERATION
While Daniel plotted his futile cross-country journey from the Midwest, Margaret Hawthorne was hatching her own reckless scheme in New York. Stripped of her servants, her social standing, and her expensive pearls, the aging matriarch felt the crushing weight of irrelevance suffocating her daily existence.
She had managed to scrape together a few hundred dollars by selling her last remaining diamond brooch to a local pawnshop. With that cash, she purchased a bus ticket to Washington, D.C., believing she could appeal directly to old political allies.
But the political elite who once kissed her hand at high-society galas now refused to return her phone calls or meet her in person. To them, the Hawthorne name was radioactive poison, linked forever to federal embezzlement and corporate fraud.
Sitting alone on a cold park bench near Lafayette Square, Margaret shivered in her worn wool coat as a chilly autumn drizzle began to fall. Her joints ached, her stomach growled with hunger, and the bitter humiliation of her downfall gnawed at her soul.
A sleek black luxury sedan pulled up quietly to the curb beside the park, idling with smooth, silent power. The tinted rear window rolled down smoothly, revealing the sharp, professional silhouette of Arthur Vance looking out at her with cold indifference.
"Margaret Hawthorne, you are currently in direct violation of multiple federal restraining orders prohibiting you from approaching Whitmore properties or associates," Arthur stated calmly. Margaret gasped, clutching her handbag tightly as she recognized the high-powered attorney who had dismantled her family's empire.
"I have every right to speak with my grandson! That boy carries Hawthorne blood in his veins!" Margaret shrieked, standing up from the bench with trembling indignation.
"Noah Sterling carries the blood of a strong family, and his legal surname is protected by federal decree," Arthur replied evenly, his voice devoid of any warmth. "If you board another bus or attempt to contact Victoria or her son again, the trustee will ensure your pension is permanently revoked."
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The threat hung in the damp air like a guillotine blade suspended by a fragile thread. Margaret realized with absolute horror that she had hit the bedrock of her destruction, with nowhere left to fall.
Arthur rolled up the sedan window without another word, leaving her standing alone in the cold rain as the car drifted silently into traffic. The matriarch who once ruled New York society with an iron fist was now a broken ghost, forgotten by the world she tried to control.
