Chapter 3
The crash was catastrophic.
Heirloom porcelain plates shattered into hundreds of flying shards. The heavy crystal centerpieces exploded against the hardwood floor. The silver tureens, the carved prime rib, the steaming bowls of candied yams, and three bottles of vintage wine tumbled in an avalanche of food, glass, and alcohol, splashing violently across Richard’s trousers, soaking Margaret’s heels, and ruining thousands of dollars in antique rugs.
Margaret let out an undignified shriek, stumbling backward out of her chair as red gravy splashed across her bare legs. "Are you insane?!"
Daniel leaped up, his chair tipping backward with a dull thud. "Emma, what the hell are you doing?!"
The room descended into utter pandemonium, the bright Christmas lights blinking cheerfully above the absolute destruction below.
Emma stood tall amidst the wreckage, her knit sweater entirely clean, her flats planted firmly on the floorboards. She held Lily securely behind her back, shielding the child from the flying ceramic shards. Her chest heaved with measured breaths, her eyes burning like twin torches as she stared directly into Richard’s shocked, pale face.
"Are you sure that is your house?" Emma asked, her voice quiet, deadly, and ringing with absolute conviction.
Richard stared down at the gravy dripping from the cuff of his blazer, his face turning an apoplectic shade of crimson. "You insolent little tramp! You come into my home, you bring this bastard child to my family table, and you dare destroy my property?! I’ll have the police drag you out in chains!"
"Call them, Richard," Emma challenged, taking half a step forward through the broken crystal. "Go ahead. Pick up the landline. Call Sheriff Miller right now. Let’s see who he removes from this property."
Daniel stepped around the ruined table, his face flushed with panicked agitation. "Emma, stop this right now! You’ve embarrassed yourself enough! Dad built this estate with forty years of sweat! You married Julian, but Julian is dead! You don't get to come in here and act like an empress!"
"Julian died eleven months ago, Daniel," Emma said, turning her piercing gaze onto her brother-in-law. "And for eleven months, you and your father have treated his daughter like an unwanted stray. You thought because my husband was buried under frozen earth in January, his assets automatically reverted to the family patriarch."
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Margaret clutched her pearl necklace, her voice shaking with shrill indignance. "This is the ancestral Hart home! It has been in the Hart name for three generations!"
"No, Margaret," Emma replied, a chilling smile touching her lips. "It was in the Hart name until four years ago, when Richard mortgaged the entire parcel to cover his disastrous margin calls on the European shipping market. Do you remember who bought the note from the bank?"
