Claire Vance.
I wasn’t just a guest in that house. I wasn’t a tenant they could evict.
I owned the house. I owned the land. And legally, I owned the very roof over Harold and Eleanor’s heads.
A cold, hard wave of calm washed over me. The despair that had been suffocating me for the last eight days instantly evaporated, replaced by a searing, absolute resolve. I stood up, taking Lily back from Jacob.
“Mom?” Jacob asked, looking at my face. “What is it?“
“Jacob,” I said, my voice deadpan and steady. “Take your sisters and brothers. We’re going back.“
“But Grandpa—”
“He’s not your grandfather,” I snapped, my eyes flashing in the dark. “He’s a squatter. Come on.“
We marched back up the driveway. The rain was still pouring, but I didn’t feel the cold anymore. As we approached the grand double doors of the manor, I could see Harold through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the study, pouring himself a celebratory glass of crystal-decanter whiskey. Eleanor was sitting on the velvet sofa, scrolling through her phone, likely already planning how to redecorate my children’s bedrooms.
I didn’t knock. I took my foot and kicked the heavy oak door with everything I had.
The heavy thud echoed through the foyer. Inside, the laughter stopped.
A moment later, the lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open. Harold stood there, his face twisted in immediate disgust. Behind him, Eleanor stood up from the couch, her hands on her hips.
“Are you deaf, girl?” Harold bellowed, his voice booming across the marble foyer. “I told you to get off my property before I have the sheriff drag you away for trespassing! You have five seconds before—”
“Call him,” I said.
My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a razor-sharp weight that cut right through his shouting.
Harold blinked, thrown off by my tone. “What did you say?“
“I said, call the sheriff, Harold. Call Chief Thomas. In fact, use the speed dial. Tell him there are intruders on the property.” I stepped across the threshold, pushing past him into the warm air of the foyer. My six wet, muddy children followed me inside, leaving a trail of dark footprints on the pristine, white Persian rug.
“How dare you!” Eleanor shrieked, rushing forward. “Get these filthy brats out of my house! Look at the rug! That is an antique!“
“It’s a beautiful rug, Eleanor,” I said calmly, setting my diaper bag on the antique mahogany console table. “And it’s going to look wonderful in the dumpster tomorrow morning.“
Harold’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple. He raised his hand, pointing a trembling finger at the door. “That is it. You are completely unhinged. I am calling the police, and I will make sure the state takes those children away from a lunatic like you.“
He reached for the landline phone on the console table.
“Before you dial,” I said, reaching into the yellow folder and pulling out the certified copy of the deed, “you might want to read the name on the title. Unless, of course, your eyesight is failing along with your memory.“
I slammed the heavy document down onto the mahogany table, right next to his hand. The blue backing paper crinkled loudly under my palm.
Harold scoffed, refusing to look. “I don’t need to read anything. This house has been in the Whitmore family for four generations. My grandfather built this estate!“
“And your son bought it out from under you fourteen years ago when you ruined the family name in the Cayman Islands,” I countered, staring directly into his cold, gray eyes. “And one month ago, your son gave it to me.“
Eleanor let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Ethan wouldn’t dare. He loved this family!“
“He loved his children,” I corrected her fiercely. “And he knew exactly what kind of monsters you were. Read the page, Harold. Page 14. The signature line.“
Something in my absolute confidence finally cracked Harold’s armor. His eyes flicked down to the document. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then grudgingly picked up the paper.
He adjusted his reading glasses, his expression one of smug annoyance. But as his eyes scanned down the legal text, his face began to change.
The smugness faded.
The color began to drain from his cheeks.
