Chapter 4 - Eleanor’s House of CardsWhen we returned to the Greenwich estate late that afternoon, Eleanor Vance was waiting in the foyer.
She wasn't crying. She wasn't wearing black. Instead, she was standing by the grand staircase wearing a pristine white silk blouse, calmly sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea as if she were waiting for a tennis match to begin. Two high-priced corporate defense attorneys hired by Julian stood beside her, their briefcases clutched like shields.
"Valeria, darling," Eleanor purred, stepping forward with a sickeningly sweet smile. "I heard about this absurd police business. Julian called from the precinct. You are completely out of your depth. A grieving girl letting police ransack our home—how utterly embarrassing."
"Save it, Eleanor," I said, walking past her without slowing down. I didn't stop until I reached the top of the stairs, looking down at her from the landing where my father had so often stood. "The police have the safety deposit box. They have the bank transfers. And by tonight, they'll have the coroner's toxicology report confirming what you and your son put in my father's system."
Eleanor’s smile didn't break, but the teacup in her hand rattled violently against its saucer.
"You naive little fool," Eleanor hissed, her mask of maternal warmth instantly melting away, revealing the cold, calculating predator beneath. "Richard Vargas was a dinosaur. He built an empire on outdated principles and brute force. Julian and I built the modern infrastructure that keeps this company afloat. Without us, Vargas Group is nothing."
"You killed him," I whispered, the rage finally choking my throat.
"We accelerated a natural inevitability," Eleanor corrected smoothly, taking a slow step up the stairs. "He discovered the account transfers last week. He threatened to throw Julian in prison and leave you with nothing. What choice did we have? It was either us or him."
She raised her chin defiantly, signaling to her lawyers.
"And let me remind you, my dear—even if Julian is locked up, our legal team has already filed emergency injunctions claiming you are mentally unstable, grief-crazed, and legally incompetent to manage the estate. By tomorrow morning, a judge will sign temporary guardianship over to me. I will control the $250 million empire, and you will be locked away in a psychiatric facility in upstate New York."
Before I could answer, a sharp click echoed from the front door below.
Detective Vance stepped back into the foyer, flanked by four uniformed officers. In his hand, he held a freshly printed document bearing the stamp of the Westchester Superior Court.
"Mrs. Eleanor Vance," Detective Vance called out, his voice cutting cleanly through the silent mansion. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
Eleanor’s face turned the color of ash. Her lawyers immediately stepped forward, waving their papers. "Officer, you can't—this is an overreach—"
"Step aside, counsel," Detective Vance interrupted coldly, holding up the second page of the warrant. "Coroner's preliminary results are in. Richard Vargas’s bloodstream contained a lethal dose of succinylcholine—a paralytic agent that mimics a massive heart attack while keeping the victim fully conscious and suffocating. Ordered via a dark-web medical supply vendor using an IP address traced directly to Eleanor Vance’s laptop."
May you like
Eleanor stumbled backward, her heel catching on the edge of the Persian rug in the foyer.
As the handcuffs snapped around her wrists, she looked up at me standing on the landing, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated venom. "You think you've won, Valeria? You think the board will let a clueless art student run a multi-billion-dollar enterprise? The real wolves are already inside the house, and they are coming for you next."
