Chapter 7 - The Dowager's Feast
Before Saturday's gala, there was one more trial I was expected to endure: the weekly Vance family dinner at the ancestral estate in Greenfield Hills.
Lady Eleanor Vance, Lucas’s mother, was a matriarch carved from ice and pedigree. She had despised me from the second Lucas introduced me, viewing my old-money shipping family as crude merchants compared to the Vance banking empire.
When I entered the grand dining hall, the long mahogany table was already laid with antique silverware and crystal. Eleanor sat at the head of the table, flanked by Lucas and two of her closest high-society confidantes—Duchess Beatrice and Madame Laurent.
"You're late, Sophia," Eleanor said without looking up from her consommé. Her voice carried the sharp, aristocratic chill that had terrified young socialites for three decades.
"Traffic was heavy on the turnpike, Lady Eleanor. Forgive me," I said gracefully, taking my seat opposite Lucas.
Lucas shot me an encouraging smile across the table, playing the supportive fiancé, but the translucent comments hovering above his mother's diamond-draped shoulders told the real story:
*Eleanor brought in a certified appraiser disguised as an antique collector tonight.*
*She plans to claim Sophia's family heirloom brooch is stolen property from an unregistered Parisian estate to humiliate her before the gala!*
*Emma sent Eleanor a vintage Hermès crocodile bag from Paris this morning to secure her blessing.*
"We were just discussing family heritages," Eleanor said, dabbing her lips with a linen napkin. "Madame Laurent was admiring that sapphire brooch pinned to your lapel, Sophia. Your grandmother’s, was it?"
I touched the midnight-blue sapphire pinned to my blazer. "Yes. It was commissioned by my great-grandfather in 1922."
"Fascinating," Eleanor remarked with a thin, poisonous smile. "Because Monsieur Delacroix, who happens to be joining us for digestifs in the parlor, mentioned earlier that an identical piece went missing from the Rothschild auction in Geneva during the late nineties. One must be so careful with provenance when dealing with... merchant families."
Madame Laurent and Duchess Beatrice exchanged haughty, suppressed smirks.
Lucas chimed in, pretending to defend me. "Mother, please. I'm sure Sophia's family acquired it legitimately. Even if there was a paperwork error, it’s hardly her fault."
A classic Vance tactic: defend with one hand while validating the insult with the other.
"Monsieur Delacroix is mistaken," I said pleasantly, taking a sip of ice water. "Or perhaps he is confusing it with the sapphire necklace Lady Eleanor purchased through the Swiss intermediaries three years ago."
The dining room went completely silent.
Eleanor’s fork paused in mid-air. Her eyes narrowed into slits. "What did you say?"
*BOOM!* the comments cheered across the chandelier. *Hit her with the tax evasion!*
*The necklace was bought with undeclared funds to bypass the maritime luxury tax!*
"I was simply recalling the customs declaration from the Geneva freeport, Lady Eleanor," I said with wide, innocent eyes. "The one filed under the subsidiary Vance Logistics Europe. It was audited yesterday when Whitaker Capital restructured our port agreements. It seems someone forgot to pay the forty-percent import tariff on European antiquities. I made sure to flag it for your family accountants so you wouldn't face a federal inquiry before Saturday’s gala. I know how much you value your reputation."
Eleanor’s face turned the color of curdled milk. Her knuckles turned white around her silverware. She knew instantly that if that customs audit leaked, it wouldn't just be an embarrassment—it would be a front-page tax evasion scandal that would send Vance Capital shares plummeting.
"You... flagged it?" Eleanor choked out.
May you like
"Of course," I smiled, pure sweetness dripping from every word. "After all, we’re about to be family. I would never let your careless mistakes ruin Lucas's big night."
Lucas looked between his mother and me, bewildered and uneasy. For the first time in his life, he was realizing that the quiet, submissive girl he had chosen as a sacrificial lamb was growing fangs.
