Chapter 11: Serving the Matriarch
The wrought-iron gates of the estate loomed against the gray afternoon sky, closed and bolted as if to keep the modern world at bay. Marcus parked the sedan just outside the perimeter wall, and we stepped out into the damp chill. Florence had always believed her fortress of stone, privilege, and generational arrogance was impenetrable. She sat inside her drawing room, no doubt sipping Earl Grey from bone china, secure in the delusion that her name and social standing placed her above the law. But legal subpoenas don't care about family crests or country club memberships.
We walked up the grand stone steps, and Marcus pressed the heavy brass doorbell. A flustered butler in a sharply pressed waistcoat opened the door just a few inches, his eyes widening in immediate alarm as he recognized me standing on the threshold in my structured camel-wool coat.
"Mrs. Sterling is not receiving guests," the butler stammered, attempting to swing the heavy oak door shut.
Marcus stepped forward smoothly, placing the flat of his palm against the wood to hold it open. "We aren't guests, we're officers of the court delivering federal legal documentation," Marcus said evenly, pulling a thick manila envelope from his leather portfolio. "Step aside, unless you wish to be cited as an accessory to obstruction of justice."
The butler faltered, stepping back and letting the door swing wide. I walked into the grand foyer, the polished marble floors echoing sharply beneath my heels. Florence appeared at the far end of the hallway, gliding forward in her signature dark evening dress, her pearl necklace gleaming under the crystal chandelier. Her face was set in its usual mask of stern, ice-cold disapproval.
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"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" Florence demanded, her voice cutting through the silent hall like a razor blade. "Get out of this house before I have you physically removed by county security."
I stopped ten feet away from her, pulling a folded copy of the federal asset seizure order from my pocket and letting it drop onto the small mahogany entry table. "You don't have county security anymore, Florence. Your primary trust accounts have been frozen by federal order, and your Swiss holdings are currently being audited for money laundering. You're no longer the matriarch of an untouchable dynasty. You're a defendant."
