Chapter 89 - The Sovereign Bloodline
"You walk like your grandfather, Eleanor," Genevieve said. Her voice was the exact voice from the red telephone beneath the Plaza—low, melodic, and devoid of fear.
"And you hide like a fugitive," I countered, walking forward until I stood three feet from the slate table, refusing to bow or show deference.
Genevieve’s lips curved into a slight, amused smile. She set down her fountain pen and leaned back, studying me with the intensity of a diamond merchant evaluating an unpolished gem.
"A fugitive flees from power," Genevieve stated calmly. "I do not flee. I rule the parts of this world that the vulgar masses do not know exist. Your mother was given the gilded cage, Eleanor. She wore the diamonds, she shook the hands of presidents, and she died in a sanitarium surrounded by people who loved her name and cared nothing for her soul."
"My mother protected me from you," I said, my voice cutting through the stillness of the hall.
"Your mother tried to protect you from reality," Genevieve retorted, her gaze sharpening. "She believed that if she played by the rules of society, society would spare her. But when the Vance family approached with their hollow smiles and their stolen blackmail files, she broke. She had neither the stomach nor the cruelty required to exterminate them."
Genevieve stood up. Though slender, her presence commanded the vast room. She walked around the table and stopped directly in front of me, looking deeply into my eyes.
"You, however... you did not flinch. When that pathetic boy announced your divorce before three hundred parasites, you did not weep. You did not plead. You signed a single name, and then you systematically burned their house down to the bedrock."
"They took what was mine," I said simply. "I took what was theirs."
May you like
"No," Genevieve said softly, a spark of pride flashing in her cold eyes. "You took what belonged to the Whitakers. And because you did not break under the hammer, you are ready for the truth of nineteen eighty-nine."
***
