Chapter 5 - The Matriarch’s Command
At 8:00 PM, my phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call from Margaret Grant.
I didn't answer it on my phone. Instead, I cast the feed directly onto the eighty-inch display on the conference room wall. Richard and Evelyn sat out of range of the wide-angle camera, silent observers in the darkened room.
I hit connect.
Margaret Grant appeared on the screen, sitting in the high-backed velvet wing chair of her private study at the lakefront estate. Behind her, Victoria sat on an antique sofa, nursing a glass of scotch, her eyes rimmed with red fury. Caleb stood awkwardly near the fireplace, staring at the floorboards like an obedient retriever that had been kicked into a corner.
“Claire,” Margaret began. Her voice was pure silk wrapped around razor blades. “I see you finally found the courtesy to respond.”
“Good evening, Margaret,” I said pleasantly.
“Let us dispense with the pleasantries,” the matriarch said, resting her manicured hands on her cane. “Victoria has informed me of the grotesque spectacle that occurred in the Hawthorne lobby this afternoon. It seems you have forgotten your place, child.”
“Victoria assaulted me,” I replied, keeping my tone entirely conversational. “There were fifty witnesses and three 4K cameras. That isn't a spectacle, Margaret. That’s a felony.”
Margaret gave a dry, mocking chuckle. “A felony? Do you honestly believe a Chicago prosecutor is going to indict a Grant on the word of an insecure, unemployed girl from Evanston? You are Caleb’s wife because I allowed it. Because I thought you would be a quiet, docile presence that would keep my son from making a fool of himself. Clearly, I overestimated your breeding.”
Beside her, Victoria smirked, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “You’re finished, Claire. Mother already spoke to the mayor’s office and two members of Hawthorne’s executive committee. Tomorrow morning, Richard Hawthorne will apologize to me personally, and you will sign an NDA and an uncontested divorce decree before noon.”
I looked through the camera directly at Caleb. “Is this what you want, Caleb?”
Caleb swallowed, looking up briefly before his eyes darted toward his mother. “Claire… you forced their hand. If you just sign the agreement… Mother said she’ll give you a two-hundred-thousand-dollar settlement. You can move back to Evanston. Start over. Don't make this ugly.”
Two hundred thousand dollars.
To buy my silence for a broken lip, a shattered marriage, and forty-two million dollars of stolen pension funds.
“I see,” I said softly.
Margaret leaned forward, her gaze piercing the screen. “You will arrive at the Hawthorne boardroom tomorrow morning at 9:30 AM. You will formally retract your complaint to security. You will publicly apologize to Victoria for triggering the altercation. If you do not, I will ensure that every door in this city is slammed in your face. You will not find a lease, a job, or a bank account in Illinois. Do you understand me?”
I looked at Margaret’s arrogant, wrinkled face, then at Victoria’s smug sneer, and finally at Caleb’s slumped shoulders.
“I understand perfectly, Margaret,” I said with a faint smile. “I’ll see you at the boardroom tomorrow. Please be punctual. The agenda is quite full.”
I disconnected the call before Margaret could deliver her final decree.
In the dark conference room, Richard Hawthorne shook his head slowly. “They really have no idea who they’re talking to, do they?”
May you like
“None at all,” I whispered. “And that’s going to make tomorrow so much sweeter.”
***
