Chapter 5 - The Gathering of Vultures
Friday morning arrived under a blanket of heavy gray clouds that promised rain over the Chicago suburbs.
The grand library of the Weller estate was packed with twenty-five extended relatives, all dressed in expensive mourning attire.
Diamond brooches flashed, gold watches caught the chandelier light, and hushed whispers about property values filled the air.
At the head of the long oak conference table sat Arthur Pendelton, Edmund Weller’s longtime estate attorney.
Pendelton was sixty-eight, stoop-shouldered, and looked thoroughly miserable as he sorted through a stack of red-sealed folios.
Marlene sat in the front row on a plush velvet armchair, wearing a black veil and dabbing at her dry eyes with a lace handkerchief.
Beside her sat Bram, smirking as he scrolled through real estate listings on his gold-plated smartphone.
Hannah sat alone in the very back corner of the room, on a small wooden side chair beneath the grandfather clock.
She held Edmund's Distinguished Flying Cross tightly in her coat pocket, feeling its sharp brass edges pressing against her palm.
None of her cousins had spoken to her; two had actively moved their chairs away to avoid associating with the "help."
"Quiet, please," Pendelton announced, tapping his silver pen against the mahogany surface.
"We are assembled to hear the last will and testament of Captain Edmund Vance Weller."
Marlene sat up straighter, adjusting her posture to receive the grand announcement she had anticipated for a decade.
"Before we begin," Pendelton continued, looking toward the heavy double doors at the back of the library.
"The estate executor and primary trustee has arrived to oversee the proceedings."
The double doors swung open with a resounding bang that silenced every whisper in the room.
Rocco Ferrante walked into the library, flanked by four men in tailored dark suits, moving with the quiet, terrifying grace of a king entering a conquered province.
He didn't look at the relatives gasping in shock; his eyes swept across the crowded room until they found Hannah sitting in the back corner.
He walked down the center aisle, stopped beside her small wooden chair, and extended his hand.
"Stand up, Hannah," Rocco said softly, his voice clear enough for every person in the room to hear.
Hannah looked at his broad, outstretched palm, hesitated for half a second, and placed her hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers with warm, unbreakable strength, lifting her effortlessly to her feet.
"Your grandfather didn't want you sitting in the back of any room," Rocco murmured, guiding her down the center aisle toward the head of the table.
Marlene shot up from her chair, her face turning crimson with outrage.
"Mr. Ferrante! This is an intimate family reading! What is the meaning of this intrusion?!"
Rocco pulled out the leather armchair directly beside the attorney's seat, gently nudging Hannah to sit down.
Then he leaned both palms onto the table, his dark gaze sweeping over Marlene and Bram like an oncoming storm.
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"I am the sole named executor of the Edmund Weller Estate, Mrs. Weller," Rocco stated, his deep voice vibrating through the glass shelves.
"And you are about to discover exactly what family means in this house."
