Chapter 2 - The Black FolderThe priest stepped back, sensing the shift in the room's energy. Bennett looked back and forth between me and his mother, completely out of his depth.
"Clara, please," Bennett pleaded, reaching for my hand, but I pulled away. "Put the folder down. We can talk about this in private after the service—"
"There won't be a service, Bennett," I said, opening the folder. "Because there won't be a Whitmore Hall to hold it."
Elise scoffed, though her hands were trembling as she reached for her pearl necklace. "Nonsense. My family has owned Whitmore Hall for four generations! You are an outsider, a nobody from a middle-class family who thinks she can make threats—"
"Your family used to own Whitmore Hall," I interrupted, pulling out the first notarized document. "Until six months ago, when the estate was foreclosed on due to twelve million dollars in unpaid property taxes and defaulted business loans."
A collective gasp echoed through the pews.
Bennett turned to his mother, his eyes wide. "Mom? What is she talking about?"
"She's lying!" Elise snapped, though her voice cracked slightly. "Security! Remove this girl!"
"The security team works for the legal property owner, Elise," I said, holding up the deed with the gold state seal stamped across the bottom. "And two weeks ago, through an anonymous trust funded by my father's software buyout, I purchased the deed to Whitmore Hall, its surrounding grounds, and all attached liens."
My father stepped forward, pulling a small silver key from his pocket and holding it up for the front rows to see.
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"My daughter isn't an 'ordinary girl' you can intimidate with cheap tricks, Elise," my father said, his voice deep and absolute. "She owns the roof over your head. And as of 9:00 AM this morning, she owns the mortgage on your family's investment firm as well."
The ballroom descended into complete chaos. Guests stood up from their seats, murmuring frantically. Bennett looked at me as if seeing me for the first time in his life—not as the quiet, sweet woman who let his mother insult her dinner choices, but as the woman holding the hammer over his entire existence.
