Chapter 8: The Matriarch's Watch

The next morning, the silence in the house was militant. Richard had left before dawn for an "emergency site visit," leaving me to face Eleanor alone.

I found her in the conservatory, a glass room filled with orchids that thrived on humidity and neglect. She was staring out at the grey morning, her wheelchair positioned like a throne amidst the greenery.

"Good morning, Eleanor," I said, setting the silver tray on the rattan table. "Your Digoxin. And the beta-blocker."

She didn't turn. "Richard says you're unwell."

"I'm fine," I said, popping the pills from their blister packs. The plastic crackled loudly. "Just tired."

"Tired," she echoed, testing the word as if it were a foreign coin. She turned her chair slowly, the electric motor whining. Her eyes, pale and watery, fixed on me. "Fatigue leads to mistakes, Elena. In our world, mistakes are expensive."

I held out the water glass. "I haven't made any mistakes."

"Haven't you?" She took the glass, her hand steady. "Richard mentioned you were hysterical last night. Ranting about old paperwork. Upsetting him."

"I wasn't hysterical. I was asking a question."

"Questions can be dangerous things, dear. Especially when you don't understand the answers." She swallowed the pills in one gulp, her throat working dryly. "You're a bright girl, Elena. Competent. That's why we let Richard marry you."

*Let.*

The word hung in the humid air. Not *welcomed*. Not *accepted*. *Let.* Like I was a zoning permit they had applied for.

"I handle the finances, Eleanor," I said, my voice tighter than I intended. "If there are irregularities in the insurance policies, I need to know. The bank needs to know."

She set the glass down with a sharp *clink*.

"The bank needs to know that the Vane family is stable. That our assets are secure. That the woman managing our accounts isn't having a nervous breakdown."

She smiled then, a thin stretching of lips that didn't reach her eyes.

"We've been discussing it. Richard and I. We think you need a break. A sabbatical."

"I can't take a sabbatical. It's tax season. The audit is next month."

"We can hire a firm," she said dismissively. "Price Waterhouse. Someone external. Someone... objective."

My blood ran cold. If an external firm came in, they wouldn't just see the insurance glitch. They would see the loans. The transfers to the 'C. Vane Trust'. They would see the structure I had unknowingly built on a foundation of lies.

And if they found fraud, guess whose signature was on every single document?

Mine.

"I'm the CFO," I said, stepping closer. "You can't just replace me."

"I am the Chairman of the Board," she countered, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I can do whatever I please. And right now, I please for you to rest."

She wheeled herself closer, until the rubber of her tire nudged the toe of my sneaker.

"Go upstairs, Elena. Take a nap. Forget about the insurance. Forget about Catherine." Her eyes bore into mine, hard as diamonds. "We wouldn't want you making mistakes with the boys' tuition money, would we?"