Chapter 12 — Margaret’s Last Performance
Margaret Whitmore was waiting in the mansion foyer like a queen in a ruined palace.
She wore black, though no one had died. Her diamonds sparkled at her throat. Behind her, servants moved carefully, pretending not to listen.
Claire entered with Nora, Elias, Rachel, and two officers.
Margaret’s eyes flicked to Elias with disgust.
“So this is what you’ve become,” she said to Claire. “Dragging strangers into family matters.”
Claire stopped at the center of the foyer.
“Victor made it public when he hurt me in front of a ballroom.”
Margaret’s lips tightened.
“My son made mistakes.”
“No,” Claire said. “He made choices.”
Margaret’s expression hardened.
“You enjoyed humiliating him.”
Claire almost laughed.
“Humiliation is losing face at a party. What Victor did was a crime.”
The older woman stepped closer.
“You think these people care about you? They care about scandal. In a month, they’ll move on, and you’ll be alone.”
Claire looked at Elias. Then Nora. Then Rachel. Then the officers standing behind her.
For years, Victor and Margaret had convinced her that leaving meant loneliness.
But loneliness had been living under their roof.
“I was alone here,” Claire said.
Margaret’s face faltered.
Claire walked past her toward the study.
Inside, Victor’s office was being searched. The wall safe stood open. His framed awards had been removed from the shelves. Without his power, the room looked smaller.
Claire found her father’s portrait in a side room, covered with a sheet.
She pulled the sheet away.
Samuel Hart’s painted eyes looked back at her.
Claire whispered, “I’m sorry I forgot.”
Elias stood at the doorway.
“He knew you’d remember.”
May you like
Claire lifted the portrait carefully.
“No,” she said. “He knew I’d survive.”
