Chapter 6 - THE DEED ON THE MARBLE FLOOR
The heavy front door clicked shut, sealing out the damp autumn wind, but the chill inside the foyer felt ten degrees colder than before.
Derek stood frozen in the center of the marble entrance, the cream-colored envelope clutched in his trembling fingers like a death warrant.
Eleanor snatched the envelope out of his hand with a furious motion, tearing open the wax seal. She pulled out the multipage legal brief, her eyes scanning the dense legal jargon with mounting horror.
“It’s... it’s true,” Eleanor whispered, her voice cracking as the paper shook in her manicured hands. She looked up at her son, her face distorted by blind panic and rage. “You idiot! You absolute fool! You let a penniless girl walk into this house six years ago, and you didn't even bother to check who was paying the mortgage behind your back?!”
Derek didn't answer. He sank heavily onto the bottom step of the grand staircase, burying his face in his hands. The polished mahogany banister seemed to loom over him like the bars of a cage.
Gloria stood by the console table where her half-finished glass of whiskey still sat. Her chest was heaving, her earlier composure completely shattered.
“Derek,” Gloria said, her voice dropping to a harsh, accusing whisper. “Look at me. Look at me right now!”
Derek slowly lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed and desperate.
“When we were at the gala last month,” Gloria continued, her voice rising in pitch, “you told me this mansion was yours. You told me the firm was yours. You told me that once you divorced Audrey, I’d be stepping into her shoes as the mistress of this estate.”
“I—I thought it was!” Derek stammered, scrambling to his feet. “My father always said the house belonged to our bloodline! I didn't know he defaulted on the note!”
“You didn't know?!” Gloria shrieked, slamming her wineglass down onto the marble floor. The crystal shattered into a thousand glittering shards, spraying amber liquid across the white stone. “You’re a senior partner at a corporate law firm, and you didn't bother to run a title search on your own home?! You’re not just a cheat, Derek—you’re a fraud! You’re broke!”
“Gloria, wait, let’s talk about this,” Derek pleaded, reaching out to grab her arm. “We still have my accounts in the Cayman Islands—!”
“Your Cayman accounts are frozen, you idiot!” Gloria spat, ripping her arm away from his grasp. She grabbed her designer handbag off the bench and marched toward the front door. “I didn't spend two years dealing with your miserable personality and your dull wife just to end up sleeping in a motel with a man who can't even pay his own electric bill!”
“Gloria!” Derek shouted, taking a step after her.
She yanked the front door open, stepped out into the cold night without looking back, and slammed it so hard the framed family portraits on the hallway wall rattled on their hooks.
Then there was silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence that settled over the grand foyer like a tomb.
Eleanor stood motionless by the console table, the legal documents clutched tightly against her chest. Her haughty, aristocratic posture seemed to have collapsed in on itself, leaving her looking remarkably old and fragile under the glittering chandelier.
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“Well, Derek,” Eleanor said quietly, her voice devoid of its usual venom. “It appears your little marketing wife outplayed us both.”
Derek didn't move. He stared down at the shattered glass on the marble floor, watching his reflection distort and fracture in the wet amber puddles of spilled whiskey.
