Chapter 8 - Confronting the Matriarch, Eleanor Hayes
While the board of directors scrambled to salvage whatever dignity they had left,
I was sitting in Ruth’s sunlit kitchen,
feeding my son his midday bottle.
The rhythmic sucking sound was comforting,
grounding me against the surreal storm of events unfolding across the city.
Ruth was standing by the window,
watching the quiet suburban street through a crack in the blinds.
Elena,
Marcus called me five minutes ago,
Ruth said,
turning around with a troubled expression on her weathered face.
He said Eleanor Hayes just checked out of her corporate suite and refused police custody orders.
She’s loose,
and she’s heading this way.
I didn't panic.
I gently wiped a tiny drop of milk from my baby's chin,
my movements unhurried and precise.
Let her come, Ruth.
It’s time we had a family reunion.
Less than twenty minutes later,
the unmistakable sound of a sputtering luxury sedan engine echoed up the driveway.
A silver Bentley pulled up directly onto Ruth’s pristine front lawn,
crushing the decorative flowerbeds.
The driver's side door swung open,
and Eleanor Hayes stepped out.
She looked disheveled;
her usually immaculate silver hair was slightly out of place,
her designer silk blouse was wrinkled,
and her eyes were bloodshot with a wild, desperate fury.
She didn't bother knocking.
She threw the front door open with such force that it slammed violently against the interior drywall,
leaving a jagged dent in the plaster.
Elena!
Eleanor screamed,
marching straight down the narrow hallway into the kitchen like a general leading a doomed charge.
Show your ungrateful face right now,
you little thief!
Ruth instinctively stepped in front of me,
raising her wooden walking cane like a barricade.
Not another step closer into this kitchen, Eleanor,
Ruth warned,
her voice steady and authoritative.
Or I swear I will test the durability of this oak cane against your expensive skull.
Eleanor sneered,
brushing past Ruth with a shove of her shoulder that sent the elderly woman stumbling back against the counter.
Stay out of this, old crone!
This is between me and my treacherous daughter-in-law!
I stood up slowly,
holding my sleeping son securely against my chest,
my gaze locking onto Eleanor with absolute, unyielding coldness.
Don't you ever touch her, Eleanor,
I said,
my voice quiet but carrying the terrifying weight of absolute authority.
You are standing in someone else's house now.
You don't own the property,
you don't own the bank accounts,
and you certainly don't own me.
Eleanor stopped dead in her tracks,
her chest heaving as she pointed a trembling, manicured finger directly at my face.
You think you've won, don't you?
you pathetic little parasite!
You think you can destroy thirty years of the Hayes family legacy and walk away scot-free?
I've already signed the transfer orders, Eleanor,
I replied evenly,
stepping around the kitchen island to face her head-on.
The federal marshals have your son in custody,
the corporate accounts are frozen,
and your mansion will be seized by the bank before sunset.
You brought this destruction upon yourselves the moment you decided to treat human beings like disposable trash.
Eleanor let out a shrill, hysterical laugh,
her eyes widening with psychotic glee as she reached inside her designer handbag.
You forgot one small detail, Elena,
Eleanor hissed,
her hand darting out of her bag clutching a small, heavy silver revolver.
May you like
If I can't have my empire,
then nobody gets anything.
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