Chapter 5 - THE ENVELOPE ON THE MARBLE FOYER
The doorbell chimed a third time, echoing hollowly through the soaring two-story foyer of the Halston mansion.
None of them moved for three agonizing seconds. The silence in the hallway was so absolute that the hum of the refrigerator in the distant kitchen sounded like a roaring engine.
“Well?” Eleanor hissed, her face flushed with sudden, jagged panic. “Are you just going to stand there staring at the screen like an idiot, Derek? Answer the door! It’s probably just a courier dropping off legal papers she had her uncle draft. Sign them, tell her you won't give her a dime in alimony, and throw her out!”
Derek swallowed hard, wiping a sheen of cold sweat from his forehead. His legs felt like lead as he forced himself out of the study and walked slowly down the long hallway toward the front entrance.
He reached out, grabbed the heavy brass handle, and pulled the door open.
There was no courier in a uniform.
Standing on the stone porch under the amber porch light was a tall, silver-haired man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit. His posture was ramrod straight, and his cold, gray eyes surveyed Derek with the clinical detachment of a surgeon examining a tumor.
Behind him stood a younger man holding a heavy black leather briefcase bearing the gold-embossed seal of Vance, Sterling & Associates.
“Derek Halston?” the silver-haired man asked. His voice was deep, smooth, and utterly devoid of warmth.
“Yes,” Derek said, his throat tight. “Who are you? What is the meaning of this?”
The man didn't introduce himself. Instead, he reached inside his suit jacket, pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope sealed with a red wax stamp, and held it out.
“My name is Arthur Vance,” the man said quietly. “And I am here on behalf of my niece, Audrey Halston.”
Derek instinctively stepped back, refusing to take the envelope. “I’m not signing anything without my attorney present. You have no right to come to my private residence—!”
“Your private residence?” Arthur Vance interrupted, a faint, humorless smile touching the corners of his mouth. He signaled to the younger attorney behind him, who flipped open a leather folder and extracted a crisp, multi-page legal document stamped by the Henrico County Recorder of Deeds.
“Mr. Halston,” Arthur continued, his voice echoing off the stone pillars of the porch. “It appears there is a fundamental misunderstanding regarding who owns the ground you are standing on.”
Gloria and Eleanor pushed past Derek into the doorway, their faces tight with defensive hostility.
“What is this nonsense?” Eleanor snapped, stepping right up to Arthur Vance. “I personally selected the architect who designed this house twenty years ago! The Halston family name is on the deed, and my son’s sweat equity built this firm!”
Arthur Vance turned his cold gray eyes toward Eleanor. He didn't blink.
“Mrs. Halston senior,” Arthur said evenly, “your family lost the legal title to this property four years ago when Derek’s father quietly mortgaged the entire estate to cover his gambling debts at the Greenbrier casino. When the foreclosure auction was announced, a private shell corporation stepped in and purchased the mortgage in full, paying off the bank in cash.”
Derek’s face went chalk white. He grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling. “That’s... that’s impossible. The bank told us the note was renewed!”
“The bank dealt with your father, Derek. Not you,” Arthur said smoothly. He tapped the corner of the legal document. “The sole shareholder and legal owner of Halston Manor LLC—including the land, the structure, the furnishings, and every corporate asset associated with Halston & Myers—is Audrey Vance.”
Gloria let out a sharp, breathless laugh, though her eyes were darting wildly between Arthur and Derek.
“Are you insane?” Gloria scoffed, stepping forward in her cashmere sweater. “She’s just a stay-at-home mother! She didn't even have a job when I met Derek at the firm! You expect us to believe a housewife owns a multi-million-dollar estate?”
Arthur Vance finally let his gaze shift to Gloria. He looked her up and down as if she were a stain on an expensive rug.
“Miss Cole,” Arthur said, pronouncing her last name with deliberate precision. “My niece didn't have a job at the firm because she was too busy running three separate patent holding companies that she inherited from her maternal grandfather—holdings that generated more revenue in a single quarter than Derek’s entire partnership has earned in six years.”
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Arthur stepped forward, placed the heavy cream envelope squarely into Derek’s limp hand, and turned toward the stone steps.
“You have forty-eight hours to remove your personal belongings from the premises,” Arthur said over his shoulder as he walked down the path toward waiting black sedan. “After that, the locks will be changed, and the marshals will enforce the eviction.”
