Chapter 5
Julian’s rosy complexion drained until he looked like a marble statue in the bright sun. "You're bluffing. That trust was dissolved during the ninety-six restructuring."
"Call your firm, Julian," Oswin said softly. "Ask your senior partners why they spent all morning trying to access the vault in Wilmington. The charter is active. My signature is the only one that can modify it, and I haven't picked up a pen for your family all day."
Leopoldine lunged toward her brother, her silk skirt swishing violently. "Julian! Is this true? Tell me he’s lying!"
Julian didn't answer his sister. His jaw twitched, his hand darting into his jacket for his smartphone. His fingers tapped the glass with frantic, sweating speed.
"Arthur," Julian barked into the receiver. "Check the Wilmington filing. The 1948 Marlowe parcel. Right now."
A pause stretched across the garden terrace. The eighty guests sat frozen, listening to the muffled voice buzzing through Julian’s speaker.
Julian’s arm slowly dropped. The phone remained clutched in his fingers, his eyes wide, staring at the little girl holding her sleeping pillow.
"It's valid," Julian whispered, his voice cracking. "The entire waterfront... it belongs to the kid."
Oswin took two slow steps toward Leopoldine.
"You wanted to know her place, Leopoldine?" Oswin asked. "Her place is the owner of the ground you're standing on. You are an unemployed guest on her lawn."
"Oswin, please!" Leopoldine fell to her knees on the stone flags, ignoring the dirt smudging her floor-length silk hem. She reached out, her diamond ring sparkling in the afternoon glare, trying to grasp the cuff of his trousers. "We can fix this! Clarissa doesn't need the south wing! We can renovate the garden cottage! We can tear up the commitment papers right now!"
"Clarissa won't be living in the garden cottage," Oswin said, stepping back so her manicured fingers caught only empty air. "Clarissa will be living wherever you can afford rent after your family's bond defaults on Monday."
"No!" Clarissa screamed from the lawn, stomping her ballet flats on the grass. "Mother! Tell him! He can't talk to us like that! We're Crofts!"
"Silence the child," Oswin commanded without looking at her.
Silas took one step toward the nine-year-old girl, and Clarissa instantly clamped both hands over her mouth, bursting into silent, terrified tears.
Oswin extended his palm again, hovering inches above Leopoldine’s trembling face.
"The ring, Leopoldine."
Leopoldine’s fingers shook violently as she twisted the four-carat diamond off her knuckle. Her fair skin was red from weeping, her mascara running in dark streaks down her cheeks. She placed the heavy platinum band into Oswin’s open palm.
Oswin didn't look at the stone. He closed his fingers around it, turned his wrist, and let the ring drop straight into the open child’s suitcase, where it clattered against the bottom beside the folded pajamas.
"Silas," Oswin said.
"Yes, Mr. Marlowe?"
"Take this suitcase upstairs to Celia’s room. Unpack her clothes. Burn the staff apron in the terrace incinerator."
"Consider it done, Boss." Silas picked up the pink leather bag and walked toward the French doors.
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"And what about us?" Julian asked, his voice shaking with contained, venomous fury as he stepped between Oswin and his weeping sister. "You think you can break a syndicate contract in front of eighty witnesses and walk away untouched, Oswin?"
"I don't walk away from anything, Julian," Oswin said. "This is my house. You're the ones who are leaving."
