Chapter 9 - The Plead in the Dust
Beatrice was kneeling now.
Not by choice, but because her knees had simply given out beneath her on the polished floorboards.
Martha knelt beside her, holding the old woman’s frail shoulders, tears cutting clean tracks through the dust on her cheeks.
Beatrice raised her head, her clouded eyes fixing on the woman sitting in her seat.
"Elena..."
The word was a broken whisper, devoid of all command, stripped of all pedigree.
"Just let it go. Take the accounts. Take the portfolio. Leave me the house."
Elena tilted her head, her diamond earrings clicking softly against her jawline.
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her interlocked hands, looking down at the woman on the floor as if examining an insect through a magnifying glass.
"The house is just wood and stone, Beatrice," Elena said, her voice smooth and cold as a marble slab.
"It’s the seat that matters."
She tightened her grip on Julian’s hand until the bones in his wrist clicked.
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Julian didn't flinch. He stared straight ahead at the opposite wall, his face as blank and lifeless as a painted portrait.
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