I walked across the carpet and stopped directly in front of Margaret’s table. Her three companions immediately stood up, gathered their handbags, and fled to the far side of the room without looking back.
Margaret sat alone, her hands clutching her purse like a shield.
“What do you want?” she hissed, her voice trembling despite her attempts at venom. “Have you come to gloat? You think you’ve won? You’re still the pathetic little nobody who burned my roast two Christmases ago! You will never be one of us!”
“You’re right, Margaret,” I said softly, looking down at her. “I will never be a parasite living off the fumes of a dead family name.”
I signaled to Arthur Sterling. The club president stepped forward, holding a silver tray with a single cream-colored envelope.
“Margaret Whitmore,” Sterling said solemnly, “effective twelve o’clock today, your honorary membership at Royal Oaks has been revoked due to extreme moral failure and failure to maintain credit standing.”
“What?” Margaret gasped, her voice reaching a shrill, piercing pitch. “My grandfather was a founding member of this club! You cannot revoke my membership!”
“Your grandfather died forty years ago, Margaret,” I said, leaning down slightly so only she could hear the ice in my voice. “And your annual membership dues of forty-five thousand dollars were paid yesterday by Whitmore Development Group—using an account that had already been seized for federal wire fraud.”
Margaret turned gray. “Wire fraud? That’s a lie!”
“Is it?” I asked. “Daniel diverted eight million dollars from the Carter infrastructure escrow account last month to pay off your personal debts at the Monaco casinos. Did you think we wouldn’t notice? Did you think my father’s forensic accountants wouldn’t find every single wire transfer you signed?”
Margaret dropped her purse. It hit the floor, spilling gold lipstick, compact mirrors, and credit cards across the carpet.
“Emily… please,” she whispered, her hands suddenly reaching out to grab my skirt, mirroring the pathetic posture of her son. “We are family. Daniel is your husband! You can’t put my son in federal prison! He won’t survive it! He’s delicate!”
I pulled my skirt away from her manicured nails with a look of pure disgust.
“When I was on my knees on your marble floor, begging Daniel to let go of my hair, you raised your champagne glass and said it was entertaining,” I said, my voice cutting through her like a blade. “Let’s see how entertained you are when the bailiffs arrive at your mansion at four o’clock.”
I turned on my heel and walked out of the lounge, leaving Margaret Whitmore sobbing uncontrollably into the carpet amidst the ruins of her spilled makeup.
