Chapter 1 - The Shadow of Eleanor Vance
The silence that followed her word was heavier than the falling snow.
My father,
Robert,
clutched the porch railing until his knuckles turned as white as the frost.
He looked like a ghost,
a man who had just seen his executioner.
My grandmother,
Eleanor Vance,
did not move an inch.
She stood like a statue carved from ice,
wrapped in cashmere that cost more than my father’s entire car.
"Mother,"
Robert stammered,
his voice cracking in the midnight air.
"What are you doing here?"
Eleanor didn't look at him.
She looked at me.
She saw my purple lips,
my shivering frame,
and the way I was hugging myself just to stay alive.
The driver of the limousine,
a tall man in a dark suit,
stepped forward and draped a heated blanket over my shoulders.
The warmth was so sudden it felt like a physical blow.
"The girl is freezing,"
Eleanor said,
her voice a low,
dangerous hum.
"And you are celebrating."
Karen and Ethan had appeared in the doorway now,
their faces filled with confusion that quickly turned to terror.
They knew who she was.
Everyone in the state knew Eleanor Vance,
the woman who owned the banks,
the land,
and the very air they breathed.
"It’s not what it looks like,"
Karen chirped,
trying to force a smile onto her panicked face.
"Emily was just...
taking some air."
Eleanor’s gaze shifted to the half-closed curtain in the kitchen window.
"I saw the curtain,"
she said simply.
"I saw the lock."
She turned to the driver.
"Call the firm."
"Inform the contractors."
"I want this structure leveled by dawn."
Robert lunged down the stairs,
nearly slipping on the ice.
"You can't do that!"
"This is my house!"
Eleanor finally looked at him,
and the sheer hatred in her eyes made him stop dead in his tracks.
"Is it,
Robert?"
she asked.
"Check the deed."
"Check the trust your wife left behind."
"You were merely a caretaker,"
"and you have failed your duties."
She reached out a gloved hand and touched my cheek.
"Happy birthday,
Emily."
"The nightmare ends now."
She led me toward the car,
leaving my father screaming into the wind.
As the door closed,
May you like
the last thing I saw was the golden light of their Christmas tree,
flickering like a dying star.
