You're nothing but an eighteen-year-old leech who enticed an eighty-year-old dying woman for her forty-million-dollar estate, my closest friend Carter shouted at me across the mahogany funeral re...
The courtroom fell into an stunned silence after Arthur Croft finished reading Victoria’s letter and presented Genevieve’s evidence. The judge, her face unreadable, took a long, hard look at the documents. Carter’s attorney stammered, attempting to object, but his words died in his throat.
Then, the judge cleared her throat. “Given the irrefutable evidence of a pre-existing, documented ancestral debt and Mr. Pendelton’s attempted appraisal fraud, I rule that the will of Victoria L. Dupont shall stand as written. The entire estate, Dupont Manor and its assets, are hereby transferred to Julian St. Clair, effective immediately.”
A ripple of relief, mixed with astonishment, washed over me. It was over. I had won.
Carter, however, looked like a man watching his world crumble. His face was a ghastly white, his eyes darting frantically around the room. He turned to his attorney, whispering something urgent, desperate. His attorney simply shook his head, looking down at his shoes.
Before Carter could even fully process the ruling, two figures, the same grim-faced men I’d seen earlier, subtly moved forward from the back of the courtroom. Marco and Salvatore. They had been waiting.
They approached Carter’s table with unnerving calm. Marco placed a large, heavy hand on Carter’s shoulder, a gesture that was deceptively gentle.
“Carter,” Marco’s voice was a low growl, audible only to those closest to them, “we have a car waiting.”
Carter gasped, a choked, terrified sound. “No! I told you, I was so close! Just a few more days!”
Salvatore, ever the quieter one, simply produced a small, folded document. It was a promissory note, identical to the one he’d shown Carter in the Bridgeport office. He pointed to a clause on it, his finger tapping the “serpent and sword” crest.
“The terms were clear, Carter. If the asset is not delivered as promised, the debt becomes due. With interest.”
Carter frantically tried to pull away from Marco’s grip, but the man was immovable. He looked around the courtroom, his eyes wide with a plea for help that no one would answer. The high-society attendees pretended not to notice, suddenly engrossed in their programs or their phones. No one wanted to be a witness to this particular kind of justice.
“Please,” Carter whimpered, his voice cracking. “Just let me explain!”
“There’s nothing to explain,” Salvatore said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your family’s debt is now sixty-three million dollars plus penalties. We will be discussing payment options. Far from public eyes.”
Marco tightened his grip, guiding Carter firmly towards the exit. Carter stumbled, his expensive suit rumpled, his face a mask of utter defeat. He didn’t make another sound, simply allowed himself to be led away, out of the courtroom, out of the building, and into a waiting black sedan with tinted windows.
The car pulled away from the courthouse curb, merging seamlessly into the Bridgeport traffic. Carter Pendelton had vanished, swallowed by the very shadows he had sought to manipulate. His reckoning, far from being a legal one, had been delivered by the criminal underworld he had mistakenly thought he could control.
I watched him go, a strange mix of relief and unease washing over me. The battle for Dupont Manor was won, but the victory felt heavy, stained by the dark forces that had touched it.
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