Chapter 2 - A False Victory
Morning sunlight poured into the dining room of the Harrington estate, making the crystal chandeliers sparkle.
Margaret Harrington sat at the head of the table, sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup.
She looked entirely too pleased with herself.
Brooke Sterling sat to her right, wearing a silk robe that belonged to the house, acting as though she had lived there for years.
"I must say, Brooke, you look lovely in this lighting," Margaret purred.
"Thank you, Margaret," Brooke smiled, buttering a piece of toast.
"It feels wonderful to finally breathe without that dreary woman bringing down the energy of the room."
Ethan walked into the dining room, looking pale and exhausted.
He had barely slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Claire walking away into the freezing rain without her shoes.
He saw the wedding ring sitting on the glass table.
"Ethan, darling, sit down," Margaret commanded cheerfully.
"Today is the biggest day of our lives."
Ethan sank into a chair, rubbing his temples.
"I don't feel good about how we handled last night," he muttered.
Margaret slammed her teacup down.
"Oh, stop being so pathetic," she snapped.
"You cut off a dead branch so the tree could survive."
"Claire was useless, Ethan."
"She had no connections, no money, and no class."
Brooke reached over and placed her hand over his.
"Your mother is right, Ethan," she murmured sweetly.
"Today, we are going to Whitmore Global."
"My family's firm, Sterling Capital, has already set the foundation."
"Once we secure this billion-dollar investment, Harrington Development will be untouchable."
Ethan looked at Brooke's perfectly painted lips.
Why didn't he feel the spark he usually felt?
Why did her touch suddenly feel so cold and calculated?
"I just hope the anonymous CEO of Whitmore agrees to our terms," Ethan said, trying to focus on business.
"They will," Margaret insisted confidently.
"They know our family name."
"They know we are Chicago royalty."
"They wouldn't dare insult us by denying the funds."
An hour later, the three of them were dressed in their most expensive designer clothes.
Margaret wore Chanel.
Brooke wore a sharp Dior suit.
Ethan wore a custom Italian tuxedo fit for a king.
They stepped into their chauffeured Bentley, entirely convinced of their own superiority.
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They believed they were driving to their ultimate triumph.
They had no idea they were driving straight into a slaughterhouse.
