Chapter 7
"You're lying!" Richard wheezed, pushing a broken croquet mallet off his chest and struggling to his knees. "I am the head of the Morgan organization! I passed the operational control to Kevin last year! You are nothing but a trust-fund beneficiary!"
Claire slowly turned her head to look at her father. The afternoon sun highlighted the sharp, beautiful angles of her face, now completely devoid of familial affection.
"You passed a ghost to a fool, Richard," Claire said, her American accent crisp and lethal. "Do you really think the Cartels in Miami or the syndicates in Chicago would deal with Kevin? A man who spends his afternoons drinking gin and buying twelve-year-olds custom sports cars? They deal with me. They have always dealt with me."
"It's a lie!" Kevin screamed, scrambling backward until his back hit the brick wall of the patio. "Dad, she's bluffing! Call the guards! Have her thrown out!"
Four broad-shouldered men in dark suits—the family's elite security detail—stepped out from the shadows of the veranda. They wore earpieces and carried concealed weapons, their faces expressionless.
"Marcus," Richard ordered, pointing a shaking finger at Claire. "Arrest my daughter. Lock her in the cellar until she comes to her senses."
The guards did not move.
Marcus, the lead security officer, kept his hands clasped in front of him. He didn't even look at Richard. He kept his eyes locked respectfully on Claire.
"Marcus!" Kevin yelled, his voice cracking with panic. "Do your damn job! Grab her!"
Claire raised two fingers.
Instantly, Marcus and the three other guards drew their weapons, but they didn't aim at Claire. The black muzzles of their suppressed pistols leveled directly at Kevin and Richard.
The wealthy guests on the lawn screamed, dropping to the grass or hiding behind the picnic tables. The bright, cinematic afternoon had fully transformed into a terrifying display of mafia enforcement.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Richard roared, his rosy skin draining to a sickly gray.
"It means they know whose signature is on their paychecks," Claire said. She walked over to Noah, who was standing quietly now, staring in awe at his mother. She gently wiped a smudge of mud from his cheek with her thumb.
"Take Noah inside," Claire said softly to one of the younger guards. "Draw him a warm bath. Lock the nursery door."
May you like
"Yes, Ma'am," the guard said, gently taking Noah's hand and leading the toddler away from the chaos.
Claire turned back to her brother. "You stole nearly two million dollars from the family syndicate to buy luxury gifts for a child who just dumped stagnant mud over my son's birthday cake. You thought I was a naive secretary. You thought I wouldn't notice."
