Chapter 250:
Eleanor paled. Her eyes darted to the machine.
“Goodbye, Eleanor,” Aurora said. “Try not to trip on your lies.”
She walked out.
As she passed the medicine cabinet in the hallway, she saw a maid nervously rearranging bottles. The maid looked terrified.
Aurora marked her face. Target acquired.
Back in her guest room, Aurora locked the door. She pulled out her secure phone.
She texted Elias.
Found traces of a sedative in the humidifier. They are switching tactics. I need the sample analyzed.
Elias replied instantly.
I have a team nearby. Leave the sample at the gate in 10 minutes. Stay safe.
No, she typed. I’m in a snake pit.
I’m coming, Elias replied.
Breakfast at the Manor was a battlefield.
The Matriarch sat at the head of the long table. Eleanor sat on the right. Aurora sat on the left, alone.
Next to Eleanor sat Vivian, if one could call it sitting. She was slumped in a wheelchair, looking more like a ghost than a debutante. Her face was gaunt, devoid of makeup, and her left arm was heavily strapped. She had discharged herself against medical advice, putting the private ambulance ride on a maxed-out credit card, desperate to protect her inheritance. She looked feverish, her eyes glassy with pain medication, but her glare at Aurora was as sharp as ever.
“With Julian’s condition deteriorating,” the Matriarch announced, “I need to appoint an Acting Proxy for his shares.”
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Vivian straightened up, wincing as her bandaged arm shifted. She gripped the armrest with her good hand, her knuckles white. “Grandmother, I have been studying the portfolio.”
“You can’t even hold a pen, Vivian,” the Matriarch said coldly. “And considering the legal clouds hanging over you regarding Mr. Reed, I suggest you focus on your defense attorneys, not the stock market.”
Vivian flinched. The humiliation was physical; she sank deeper into the wheelchair, looking small and broken.
“Aurora,” the Matriarch said. “You have the bloodline. But do you have the brain?”
“I run a tech company,” Aurora said, buttering her toast calmly.
“A gaming company,” Eleanor scoffed. “Toys for children.”
“Toys that generated forty million in revenue last quarter,” Aurora corrected.
“I can introduce you to people,” Eleanor said quickly, trying to regain control. “Mr. Henderson. The Board. They can guide you. You can be the face, they can be the brain.”
“I don’t need puppeteers, Eleanor,” Aurora said. “I prefer to cut the strings.”
Before Eleanor could explode, the butler entered. He looked pale.
“Madam,” he stammered. “We have guests.”
“I didn’t invite anyone,” the Matriarch snapped.
The doors swung open.
.
.
.