Chapter 3 - The Ignorant Return
Back at the Cross family mansion, the morning sun flooded the marble foyer where I had collapsed just twelve hours earlier. Vivian Cross poured herself a cup of imported Ethiopian coffee from a silver pot, her silk robe rustling against the pristine floor. She stepped over the exact spot where my suitcase still sat, untouched, near the coat rack.
Daniel walked down the grand staircase, rubbing his eyes, wearing a silk bathrobe and looking thoroughly unbothered.
“Did the hospital call?” Daniel asked, grabbing a piece of toast from the silver tray.
“Oh, please,” Vivian scoffed, taking a sip of her coffee. “The little peasant is probably exaggerating for attention. A drop of cleaning spray in her eye and she acts like she’s blind. It’ll teach her some manners. This family has standards, Daniel. We can't have some uncultured nobody dragging our name through the dirt with her cheap dresses and pathetic whining.”
“Yeah, you're right,” Daniel muttered, sitting down at the breakfast table and checking his smartphone. “She’ll probably crawl back by evening, apologizing for making a scene.”
At that exact moment, the heavy oak front doors flew open without a knock.
Neither Vivian nor Daniel looked up immediately, assuming it was the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable. But the footsteps that echoed across the marble were heavy, deliberate, and entirely unfamiliar.
“Mrs. Gable, bring more cream—,” Vivian began, turning around.
The words died in her throat.
Standing in the foyer were two uniformed police officers and a stern-faced woman in a charcoal-grey designer pantsuit holding a leather briefcase. Behind them stood a tall, silver-haired man whose tailored suit radiated quiet, crushing authority.
Vivian’s coffee cup rattled against her saucer. “Excuse me? What is the meaning of this? Who let you into my home?”
The woman in the pantsuit stepped forward, unzipping her briefcase and pulling out a thick sheaf of legal papers. Her eyes were as cold as polished obsidian.
“Mrs. Vivian Cross?” she asked, her voice cutting through the morning silence like a guillotine.
“Yes! And I demand to know—,”
“You are hereby served with a criminal summons for aggravated assault, reckless endangerment, and the intentional infliction of chemical trauma,” the prosecutor stated clearly, handing the documents directly into Vivian’s trembling hands. “Furthermore, you are ordered to surrender your passport to federal authorities within two hours.”
Daniel jumped out of his chair, his face turning pale. “What?! Are you out of your mind? My mother didn't do anything! This is a mistake—who sent you? Who are you people?”
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The silver-haired man—my father, Robert Hart—slowly walked past the officers and stopped at the edge of the dining table. He looked down at Daniel with a gaze so chillingly devoid of warmth that Daniel involuntarily took a step back.
“Good morning, Daniel,” Robert said smoothly. “I understand you were looking for your wife’s family. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Robert Hart. And your thirty-million-dollar hotel empire belongs to me now.”
