Chapter 56 - Hostage of the Hearth
The sight of Evelyn standing on my Persian rug rekindled every drop of defiance in my soul. I refused to cower. I stood tall behind Arthur’s desk, meeting her cruel stare with unwavering contempt.
"You look pathetic, Evelyn," I said calmly, letting my words cut through her smirk. "A fugitive running from federal marshals, leaning on an old lawyer who will dispose of you the second your signature is dry. Did you think Julian spared you out of fatherly love? You are nothing but an asset tag to him."
Evelyn’s smirk wavered for a split second, an involuntary flicker of uncertainty crossing her features, but her vanity quickly surged back. She reached out and casually ran her manicured fingernails along the spines of Arthur’s leather-bound encyclopedias.
"Keep preaching, Clara," Evelyn mocked, sneering as she approached the desk. "You always loved giving lectures from your high horse. Telling me how to pour tea, how to behave like a 'proper Miller lady.' But look at where your high morals brought you. Arthur is dead, your son is looking down the barrel of a nine-millimeter, and everything you built is about to pass into my name. When I tear down this house, I’m going to pave over the garden you love so much and turn it into a parking pavilion."
"You won't get the chance," Derek spat, his voice laced with cold hatred. "You disgust me, Evelyn. To think I ever loved you. To think I gave you my name, my trust, and my protection."
Evelyn turned toward Derek, her eyes flashing with pure bitterness. "Your love? You were a dull, predictable bore, Derek. You lived in your mother’s shadow, clinging to her apron strings while I clawed my way through society. You thought I loved you? I endured you! Every kiss, every dinner, every boring holiday was an investment. And tonight, that investment pays out in full."
"Enough sentimentality," Julian ordered, his tone suddenly hardening, stripping away the polite gentleman façade. He pulled a thick sheaf of legal parchment and a fountain pen from inside his tailored trench coat, sliding them across the desk toward me. "Sign the irrevocable trust transfer, Clara. On every page marked with a red seal. Now."
"And if I refuse?" I asked, keeping my hands resting firmly on the polished wood.
Julian shifted the pistol. The muzzle clicked against Derek’s temple. "If you refuse, I put a bullet through Derek’s right knee. If you still refuse, I put one through his shoulder. By the time I reach his spine, you will sign. Do not test my resolve, Clara. I spent forty years waiting for this night."
Derek looked at me, his eyes burning with an intense, unspoken message. "Don't sign it, Mother. Let him shoot. The alarm grid isn't offline—"
Julian whipped the heavy handle of the gun across Derek’s cheek with brutal precision. Derek groaned as the blow threw him to one knee, blood trickling from the corner of his split lip onto the floor.
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"Derek!" I screamed, instinctively lunging forward, but Evelyn immediately stepped around the desk, blocking my path, a sadistic grin curling on her lips.
"Sit down, old woman," Evelyn hissed, pushing me violently back into my leather armchair. "Sign the papers, or watch your precious son bleed out on the carpet."
