Chapter 2 - The Spider in the West Wing
"Security," Christopher said, his voice dropping an octave into absolute authority.
Two estate guards in dark suits moved instantly from the gates, pinning Juliette by her upper arms.
"Chris, wait! She tricked me! That recording is doctored!" Juliette shrieked, thrashing against the guards’ grip. Her manicured nails clawed at the air as she was dragged down the brick driveway. "You can't do this to me! Christopher! Ask your mother! Ask Estelle!"
The wrought-iron gates slammed shut behind her, the heavy clang echoing off the stone walls of Pierce Manor.
Christopher picked Emma up, carrying her inside the grand foyer. The air conditioning was freezing against Emma’s wet skin. Yvette hurried behind them with a thick, heated wool blanket, wrapping it snugly around the child.
"Get Dr. Miller here right now," Christopher ordered softly. "Tell him to use the side entrance. No sirens."
"Already dialed, sir," Yvette said quietly. "He’ll be here in ten minutes."
Emma’s shivering began to subside, but her grip on Christopher’s shirt remained iron-tight. "Daddy? Is Grandma mad at me?"
Christopher’s chest tightened with an agonizing pang of guilt. For two years, he had tried to play both sides—trying to be a doting father to the secret daughter Rachel had left behind, while keeping peace with the matriarch who controlled the Pierce billion-dollar conglomerate. He had let his mother dictate the rules, let her isolate Emma in the east wing under the guise of 'traditional upbringing,' and let Juliette enter their lives as a 'proper mother figure.'
He had almost gotten his child killed for the sake of family harmony.
"No, sweetheart," Christopher whispered, kissing her damp temple. "Grandma isn't mad. But we're leaving."
"Christopher."
The single word cut down from the top of the grand marble staircase like an ice pick.
Christopher stopped. He turned slowly, holding Emma against his chest.
Estelle Pierce stood at the landing, dressed in an immaculate emerald silk pantsuit. Her silver hair was styled to perfection, her posture rigid. In her hand, she held a crystal tumbler filled with scotch. Her expression was completely devoid of remorse, shock, or pity.
"Take the child to the nursery, Yvette," Estelle said without looking at the housekeeper.
"Yvette, take Emma to my private study and lock the door from the inside," Christopher countered immediately.
Yvette nodded firmly, gently prying Emma from Christopher's grasp. "Come along, darling. Let’s get you some warm cocoa."
Once the study door clicked shut and the deadbolt slid into place, Christopher took two long strides toward the stairs, looking up at the woman who gave him life.
"You sanctioned the murder of a six-year-old girl," Christopher stated, his voice trembling with contained violence.
Estelle took a slow sip of her scotch. "Don't be dramatic, Christopher. It was a miscalculation by that clumsy idiot Juliette. I told her to handle the situation legally, to challenge the paternity claim. Juliette acted on her own hysterics."
"I heard the recording, Mother."
"You heard a snippet of a private conversation taken out of context by a bitter domestic servant," Estelle replied coolly, stepping down one stair. "Rachel Monroe was a gold-digging secretary who trapped you. Giving that child the Pierce name dilutes our family equity by forty percent. The board would never accept a scandal baby taking the legacy."
"She is Rachel's daughter. She is my daughter. She is your granddaughter!" Christopher yelled, the facade finally breaking.
"She is a liability," Estelle snapped, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. "And if you walk out that door with her, Christopher, you walk away with nothing. No trust, no CEO seat, no access to the Pierce accounts. You will be a penniless nobody with a motherless brat."
Christopher let out a dark, breathless laugh. "You think I care about the money?"
"You're a Pierce," Estelle sneered. "Of course you care. You wouldn't survive a month in the real world."
Before Christopher could answer, the front double doors burst open. Dr. Miller rushed in with his medical bag, flanked by two Pierce security guards who weren't looking at Christopher.
May you like
They were looking at Estelle.
"Mr. Christopher Pierce," the lead guard said coldly, stepping forward with his hand resting on his taser holster. "By order of Madam Pierce, you are trespassing on private corporate property. Please step away from the study door."
