Strip off that coat and go clear dirty plates in the banquet hall, Nia—you're staff tonight, not family, my mother-in-law Evelyn snapped, her voice echoing across the candlelit grand ballroom.
Cassius picked up the parchment, his movements slow and deliberate. He pulled a small, silver-framed magnifying lens from his coat pocket, a tool as antiquated as the document itself.
He held the parchment to the light, inspecting the original wax seals, the intricate legal script, the signatures of my father, Elias Hollis, and the late patriarch of the Dupree family. Minutes ticked by, heavy with anticipation.
The entire room held its breath. Evelyn stood frozen, her eyes glued to Cassius’s hands, a flicker of genuine fear starting to show through her practiced arrogance.
Finally, Cassius lowered the document. He glanced at Evelyn, then at me, his face betraying no emotion.
“Everyone,” he commanded, his voice calm, yet resonating with an unyielding authority. “Be seated.”
Chairs scraped against the marble as the assembled delegation, including Evelyn, sat down. Marcus, still hovering near the back, looked utterly lost.
Cassius laid the parchment flat on the table, tapping it gently with one finger. “This is the original 2014 Vault Charter,” he stated, his voice clear. “Signed and sealed by Elias Hollis and Julian Dupree, Sr.”
He paused, letting the significance sink in. Julian Dupree, Sr. had been Evelyn’s father-in-law, the man who built the Vault.
“Section 14B of this covenant,” Cassius continued, his eyes scanning the room, “states that Evelyn Dupree, representing Dupree Capital, was required to submit an updated physical tithe ledger, signed by the original landowner’s heir, prior to midnight on October 1st of the tenth year of the lease.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room. October 1st. My breath hitched. This was it.
“Our records,” Cassius stated, his gaze now fixed on Evelyn, “confirm that the deadline expired three days ago. Without any record of renewal. Nor any attempt to contact the original signatory’s heir for such a renewal.”
Evelyn started to protest, a strangled sound escaping her throat. “That’s impossible! We submitted—”
“Quiet,” Cassius cut her off, his voice like a whip. “The county clerk’s office, where all such documents must be notarized and filed, confirms no valid renewal was presented. The old clerk, Deacon Thomas, who has handled these filings for over forty years, specifically noted the lapse.”
My eyes flickered to Deacon, who sat quietly in the corner, a small, knowing smile on his face. He hadn’t just given me information; he had ensured the record was clean.
Cassius looked at me, a brief, almost imperceptible nod. Then he turned back to the room, his voice rising, clear and unambiguous.
“Therefore,” he declared, his words ringing through the silent hall, “under the explicit terms of Section 14B, Evelyn Dupree’s control over the Obsidian Vault, and all its associated shadow tithes and operations, is rendered completely null and void.”
The shock in the room was palpable. Evelyn’s face crumpled, her empire crashing down in a single, devastating sentence.
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