Chapter 6 - A Cold Eviction
The plaza had descended into utter pandemonium. Guests were scrambling toward their cars, terrified of being associated with the Vance family’s sudden, public destruction. High-society women held their silk hems out of the dirt, and corporate executives hurried away without offering a single word of parting to Richard or Eleanor.
The social empire Richard Vance had spent forty years building evaporated in forty seconds.
Eleanor rushed to my side, her eyes wild, her hands reaching out to grab the sleeve of Blake’s coat. “Clara! Clara, my sweet girl, talk to him! You can’t let your father be ruined! We raised you! We gave you a roof, an education!”
Marcus, Blake’s chief of security, stepped smoothly between Eleanor and me, his massive frame an impenetrable wall.
“Step back, ma’am,” Marcus said, his voice a low rumble.
“Get out of my way, you brute!” Eleanor screeched, dropping the mask of elegance entirely. “Clara, tell this dog to move! I am your mother!”
I looked at Eleanor through the cold gloom of the courtyard.
“When I was eight years old,” I said quietly, “I fell out of the oak tree in our backyard and broke my left wrist. You told me to stop crying because Penelope had a ballet recital in twenty minutes and my tears were wrinkling her tutu. You made me sit in the theater for two hours with a shattered bone before you took me to the emergency room.”
Eleanor froze, her mouth open, the color completely draining from her cheeks.
“You were never my mother, Eleanor,” I told her. “You were Penelope’s manager, and Richard’s accomplice. And tonight, when he shoved me into that water, you turned your back.”
“Clara, please—”
“Do not speak to my wife again,” Blake cut in, his voice cutting like a broadsword.
At that moment, the wail of sirens echoed from the street. Three blue-and-red light bars painted the surrounding palm trees in rhythmic flashes as Miami-Dade police cruisers tore into the plaza driveway.
Officers poured out of the vehicles, led by a stern captain who recognized Blake immediately.
“Mr. Campbell,” the captain said, tipping his hat. “We received your call.”
Blake pointed a single, unyielding finger directly at Richard Vance, who was still kneeling on the stones, weeping into his hands.
“That man shoved my wife into that fountain with intent to cause harm,” Blake said clearly. “The entire courtyard witnessed it. The security footage from the plaza’s overhead cameras is already being transferred to your precinct’s digital intake. Arrest him for aggravated battery.”
“No! No, please!” Richard screamed as two officers grabbed his arms, hauling him up from the ground. His tuxedo was torn at the shoulder, covered in mud and spilled drinks. “Clara! Clara, tell them to stop! I’m your father! I’m your father!”
The handcuffs snapped shut around Richard’s wrists with a clean, metallic click. The sound echoed across the empty plaza like the closing of a vault door.
Penelope sat on the ground beside her collapsed bridal bouquet, weeping hysterically, her expensive dress soaked in dirt, watching as her father was shoved into the back of a police cruiser. Not a single friend remained to comfort her. Julian was gone. The guests had fled.
Blake turned me away from the scene. He wrapped both arms around my shoulders, shielding my face against his chest so I wouldn't have to look at the wreckage anymore.
“Let’s go home, Clara,” he said softly.
May you like
He guided me to the center Maybach. Marcus opened the heavy door, revealing the heated, cream-leather interior. Blake helped me inside, climbed in beside me, and pulled the door shut, sealing out the sirens, the screams, and the ruined remnants of my former life.
***
