Eleanor didn’t slow down when the ballroom doors opened.
She walked straight over the marble threshold with her cane tapping once, then once again, sharp enough to cut through every whisper in the room.
Marcus Webb followed her, set his briefcase on the nearest table, and looked at my mother like she was already under oath.
My mother recovered first. “Mom, this is a private family matter.”
Eleanor held out her hand for the microphone. “Then why did you need an audience?”
No one stopped her. My mother actually gave it to her.
Eleanor turned to the room, standing under the same chandelier my mother had used like a spotlight. “Before another lie gets repeated tonight, that penthouse belongs to Paige. It has belonged to Paige since the day I signed the deed.”
Marcus opened the briefcase and removed three folders, each clipped with colored tabs.
