Chapter 7 - The Cold Storage
Claire backed into the cast-iron radiator, her hands gripping the thick plastic envelope behind her back until her nails bit through the heavy wrapping.
"Stay away from me, Daniel," she said, her voice shaking violently as she pushed herself up against the wall.
Daniel didn't run. He didn't raise his voice. He walked down the three wooden steps into the north hall with a slow, deliberate grace, setting his black leather briefcase onto a small mahogany side table near the wall.
"Do you know how much money I spent trying to fix this family, Claire?" Daniel asked smoothly, pulling a pair of thin leather driving gloves from his pocket and sliding them over his fingers. "When my father died, he left this estate three weeks away from a federal tax seizure. He was a lunatic who spent millions on failed real estate ventures while his brothers bled the firm dry."
"He was your father," Claire spat, her eyes darting toward the heavy velvet curtain twenty feet behind him—her only escape route.
"He was an obstacle," Daniel corrected coldly. "Just like Emma became an obstacle when she took those ledgers to the press. I offered her everything, Claire. I offered her a house in Saint-Tropez, two million dollars a year, complete privacy. All she had to do was hand over the documents and sign a non-disclosure agreement."
"She was carrying your child!" Claire screamed, the words tearing from her throat.
Daniel paused. A strange, hollow look crossed his face—not guilt, but a profound, detached annoyance.
"She was hysterical," Daniel said quietly. "She ran down this very hall, Claire. Right where you're standing. She tripped over her own hem. I tried to catch her. I really did. But when she hit the bottom of the cellar stairs..." He shrugged faintly. "It was over. My mother and I simply did what was necessary to protect the name."
"And Vanessa?" Claire asked, trying to keep him talking as her bare heel searched behind her for the brass door handle of the cellar door. "She came back tonight because she couldn't live with what you forced her to do!"
Daniel let out a short, humorless laugh. "Vanessa came back tonight because her offshore accounts were frozen by the federal regulators yesterday morning. She wanted five million dollars in bearer bonds, or she promised to hand over her old copies of Emma's autopsy report."
He took another step toward her, extending his gloved hand.
"Give me the envelope, Claire."
"No," Claire whispered.
"Claire," Daniel said, his tone turning dangerously soft. "You are five months pregnant. You are standing in a wet, drafty hallway in your bare feet. I don't want to hurt you. I want to raise our child. We can leave for Switzerland tomorrow. We can put all of this behind us."
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"You killed your wife," Claire said, tears spilling over her lashes as her fingers finally brushed against the brass latch of the cellar door behind her. "You killed your father. You will never, ever touch this baby."
Claire slammed her thumb down on the brass latch, threw the heavy cellar door open, and flung herself backward into the pitch-black abyss of the basement stairs.
