Chapter 3 - The Queen Arrives
A vintage midnight-blue Rolls-Royce Phantom glided smoothly down the gravel driveway, flanked by two black executive SUVs. The tires crunched across the stone before the town car came to a whisper-quiet stop beside the grand oak tree.
The entire lawn fell into an icy, petrified silence.
The chauffeur stepped out, opened the rear door, and extended an arm.
Stepping out onto the grass was Beatrice Witford.
She wore an impeccably tailored emerald-green coat, white leather gloves, and held a polished walking stick topped with a silver eagle head. At eighty-four, she carried herself with the terrifying, majestic authority of an empress who had built a multi-million-dollar shipping and real estate dynasty from scratch. Beside her walked Franklin Vance, the most ruthless senior corporate litigator on the Eastern Seaboard.
Nathan froze mid-stride, his outstretched hand trembling in mid-air. "G-Grandmother?"
Beatrice didn't look at the champagne fountain. She didn't look at the two hundred guests who had suddenly backed away into the trees like frightened courtiers. She tapped her walking stick against the stone pavers, each clack echoing like a gunshot through the silent afternoon.
Her cold gray eyes settled squarely on Nathan.
"Close your mouth, boy," Beatrice commanded, her voice razor-sharp and steady. "You look like a trout gasping for water."
"Grandmother... you're supposed to be in Newport!" Nathan stammered, his voice cracking into a high-pitched whine as sweat began to bead across his forehead. "You aren't well enough to travel! Clara... Clara is lying to everyone! She brought forged papers to embarrass our family name!"
Beatrice reached our table, stopping just inches from where Nathan stood. She looked down at the hundreds of divorce papers scattered across the green grass, then looked at the black box wrapped in gold ribbon.
"Did you throw these papers at the mother of your child, Nathan?" Beatrice asked quietly.
Nathan swallowed hard, casting a wild, desperate glance at Sienna, who had taken two cautious steps backward, trying to blend into the shrubbery. "Grandmother, you don't understand the full situation! Clara was bleeding my accounts dry! She was an embarrassment to our social circle—I was just formalizing a separation so I could focus on our corporate restructuring!"
SLAP.
The sharp crack of Beatrice’s gloved hand striking Nathan across the face rang out across the entire estate.
Nathan stumbled back two steps, clutching his burning cheek, his eyes wide in sheer, unadulterated disbelief.
"You fool," Beatrice said, her voice dropping into a register of icy venom that made grown men in the crowd shiver. "You ungrateful, incompetent little parasite. Your grandfather and I spent fifty years building this empire with sweat, blood, and integrity. We survived three recessions and two market crashes without ever breaking our word or humiliating our partners. And you thought you could use our family name to stage a circus for your cheap mistress?"
"Beatrice, please!" Sienna chimed in, attempting a sweet, diplomatic smile as she stepped forward with trembling hands. "Nathan and I are building an incredible future together! We have international partnerships lined up—"
Beatrice turned her head slowly, looking at Sienna as if she were a roach crawling across a wedding cake.
"Who invited the hired help to speak?" Beatrice cut her off without blinking. "Franklin, tell this young woman what her future looks like."
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Franklin Vance stepped forward, opening a sleek black leather portfolio. "Ms. Brooks, as of nine o'clock this morning, the Witford Trust has terminated all consulting contracts with Brooks PR Group. Furthermore, our forensic auditors have submitted evidence of twenty-two unauthorized corporate reimbursements signed by Mr. Nathan Witford to your personal LLC. The state prosecutor’s office has already received the referral for commercial embezzlement."
Sienna gasped, clutching her throat, the champagne flute slipping from her fingers and shattering against the stone pavers.
