Chapter 7 - The Starry Driveway
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The cold night air hit my bruised face like an ice pack as I pushed through the front gates of the Bel Air estate.
I walked the three blocks down the quiet, tree-lined street, my body aching with every single step. By the time I reached my sedan, my hands were trembling violently—not from fear, but from the complete release of a heavy burden I had carried for far too long.
I unlocked the driver’s side door and sat behind the wheel.
I looked in the rearview mirror. My left eye was swelling shut, dark purple bruising already forming beneath the skin. A trail of dried blood ran from my lip down to my chin.
I set the brown package on the passenger seat and touched the dented brass frame of Daniel’s compass.
In the quiet darkness of the car, beneath the cold Bel Air stars, I heard my late husband’s voice as clearly as if he were sitting beside me.
“Eleanor,” Daniel had told me thirty years ago on the day we poured our first commercial foundation, “never build a sky-scraper on weak ground. If the concrete is rotten, tear it down and start over.”
My son’s character was rotten to the core.
I turned the key in the ignition, pulled my phone from my handbag, and dialed a number I kept on speed dial.
It was 11:45 PM.
The phone rang twice before a deep, authoritative voice answered.
“Eleanor?” Arthur Langford, managing partner of Langford & Associates, answered instantly. “Why are you calling at this hour? Is everything alright?”
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I took a deep, steady breath, feeling the cool air fill my lungs.
“Arthur,” I said, my voice dead calm. “Activate the documents.”
