The humiliation had curdled the air around Elena.
Later, in the private VIP lounge-which was just the family library, now a war room-Beatrice was poring over the documents with a team of frantic lawyers.
Elena approached Cleora. She had refreshed her makeup, but her eyes were venomous. She held a glass of champagne, her knuckles white against the stem.
"I owe you an apology," Elena said loudly, ensuring Beatrice could hear. "I've been so distracted with the gala planning, I haven't paid enough attention to your... archival research."
"It's fine, Elena," Cleora said.
"To make up for it," Elena signaled a maid. "I know how much you've been struggling lately. I took the liberty of drawing up some paperwork with our attorneys. It's a medical power of attorney. It will allow me to manage your affairs and your... new assets... to ensure you aren't overwhelmed. We just need your signature."
The maid held out a leather-bound folder and a Montblanc pen. It was a trap, elegant and deadly. Sign it, and she'd be declared mentally incompetent and institutionalized within a week, her copyrights and trust fund absorbed by Elena.
Cleora looked at the document. She remembered the weight of it. In the other life, a similar document had been slid in front of her when she was heavily sedated. She had signed her life away.
Cleora reached out. She took the folder. She felt the crispness of the high-grade paper.
She turned to Cristi.
"Cristi," Cleora said warmly. "You're a board member now. You should see how these things are structured."
"Oh, I couldn't," Cristi said, though her eyes were hungry for the perceived power.
"I insist," Cleora said, handing her the folder. "Grandmother, shouldn't Cristi be more involved in the legal side of the business?"
"She should," Beatrice muttered, not looking up from the designs.
"Here." Cleora opened the folder for Cristi.
Elena's eyes widened. She opened her mouth to stop it, but no sound came out. If she warned Cristi, she admitted the trap.
"Look at that clause on page four," Cleora said, pointing. "The one about 'involuntary psychiatric evaluation based on familial testimony.' It's very thorough."
Cristi, eager to appear knowledgeable, read the clause aloud.
"Upon signature... the designated proxy... can authorize medical evaluation... to protect the signatory and their assets from... erratic behavior..." Her voice trailed off as she understood. Her eyes darted from the paper to Elena, then to Cleora.
The room went deadly silent.
"Oh my god," Cleora gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Elena... is this a standard document? It seems rather... aggressive."
Beatrice looked up from the designs. She looked at the clause Cristi was pointing at. Then she looked at Elena.
This wasn't just business. This was a blatant, documented coup attempt against a newfound asset.
"You incompetent fool," Beatrice hissed at Elena. "Get out of my sight."
Elena rushed to Cristi, who was staring at her mother in horror.
Cleora leaned toward her grandmother. "Grandmother, I don't feel safe here. With my condition... the stress..."
Beatrice rubbed her temples. "What do you want?"
"I want to move out. Tonight. And I want my trust allowance unlocked."
"Fine," Beatrice snapped. "Just keep this quiet."
Cleora walked out of the lounge. She didn't look back at the stunned mother and daughter. She stepped into the cool night air, free.
