Chapter 9 - The Ghost of Beatrice
|
While Arthur and Julian were fighting a losing battle in federal court, Beatrice Vance was living out her own private, agonizing punishment inside her massive, half-empty mansion. Because her assets were frozen by the court, she could no longer afford the army of domestic staff that had once catered to her every whim. The sprawling estate was quiet, dusty, and cold.
One afternoon, Beatrice sat alone in her grand formal dining room, staring at a cold cup of tea she hadn't touched. Her health had deteriorated significantly since the scandal broke; her blood pressure was erratic, and the medical monitor strapped to her wrist beeped softly in the empty room.
A sharp knock echoed through the front foyer.
Beatrice frowned, slowly standing up and using a cane to steady herself. Nobody knocked on her front door anymore. Reporters had given up camping outside weeks ago, and her former society friends had erased her from their contact lists entirely.
She pulled the heavy oak door open.
Standing on the porch was a process server, holding a thick manila envelope.
"Beatrice Vance?" the man asked flatly.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice brittle.
"You’ve been served with a civil lawsuit," the server said, handing her the papers without a shred of sympathy. "Filed on behalf of the former employees of the Vance Group pension fund. They are suing you personally for the recovery of misappropriated retirement assets."
Beatrice stared at the man, the paper feeling heavy and suffocating in her trembling hands.
"This... this is absurd," she stammered, her aristocratic composure finally shattering completely. "I am Beatrice Vance. I am a philanthropist. I didn't touch the money!"
May you like
"Take it up with the judge, lady," the server said bluntly, turning around and walking down the steps.
Beatrice dropped the papers onto the cold marble floor of the foyer. She sank slowly to her knees, burying her face in her hands, letting out a ragged, broken sob. There were no servants to comfort her. No son to rescue her. No grand society gala to distract her from the ruin she had helped create. She was completely, utterly alone, reaping the bitter harvest of a life built on cruelty and pride.
