Eleanor pushed open the doors to her private lounge and sank into the plush velvet sofa. The heavy doors sealed shut behind them, cutting off the noise of the massive estate.
Clara immediately handed Eleanor a crystal glass of sparkling water with a slice of lemon. Clara then took a seat on the opposite sofa, balancing a glowing tablet on her knees.
Eleanor took a slow sip. The cold carbonation burned slightly down her throat, grounding her physical senses after the intense confrontation in the matriarch's suite.
Clara tapped her screen. "The Senator's GPS tracker confirms his car has officially left the estate bounds. He is on the highway heading toward Capitol Hill."
Eleanor smirked, resting the cold glass against her knee. "My father's obsession with his public image makes him the most predictable pawn on the board. He ran exactly when I needed him to run."
Clara swiped to the next file. The screen illuminated with Arthur's dismal academic records and a list of names. "These are the tutors Lillian bribed."
Eleanor's eyes softened slightly. It was a rare, fleeting moment of genuine vulnerability. She reached out and traced her brother's name on the digital screen.
"Arthur is impulsive. He lacks discipline," Eleanor acknowledged, her voice tight. "But he is still the only legitimate heir to this family. I will not let her destroy him."
Eleanor's posture straightened, the vulnerability vanishing instantly. "Fire all the corrupt tutors by midnight. Hire a private crisis-management educational firm."
Clara typed rapidly. "I know a firm in Boston. They will be on retainer by tomorrow morning, operating strictly under your direct payroll. Lillian won't be able to touch them."
"Good," Eleanor said. Her tone turned icy. "Now, what is the latest intel on Cordelia Kensington's social movements?"
Clara pulled up a social media feed. It showed a video of Cordelia Kensington at a charity luncheon, shallowly flexing a new, limited-edition Birkin bag to the cameras.
Eleanor openly mocked the display. "Real power doesn't need to scream for attention on Instagram. She looks desperate."
"Cordelia has been trying to secure a meeting with Camilla Beaumont to pitch a joint venture," Clara pointed out, highlighting a calendar leak.
Eleanor's eyes gleamed with predatory calculation. Cordelia was actively trying to undercut the political value of Eleanor's engagement to Julian.
"Anonymously leak a minor, embarrassing flaw in Cordelia's supply chain to the Financial Times blog," Eleanor ordered.
Clara smiled. It was a sharp, dangerous look. "A small stock dip will keep Cordelia trapped in board meetings all week. She'll be too busy putting out fires to interfere with your gala appearance."
Eleanor stood up. She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the estate's sprawling East Wing.
She stared at the dark windows of Lillian's suite. Her posture was rigid. Her muscles coiled with anticipation. The time for the final purge had arrived.
"Mrs. Davies has assembled the security team in the service corridor," Clara informed her, checking a message on her phone. "They are waiting for your signal."
Eleanor checked her watch. It had been exactly one hour since Robert left. That was enough time for Lillian to feel a false sense of security, assuming Robert was handling the situation.
"Cut the Wi-Fi and sever the landlines to all rooms in the East Wing," Eleanor instructed, not taking her eyes off the East Wing. "Additionally, activate the localized signal jammer for that sector. I do not want a single phone call making it out of there."
Clara tapped a series of commands on her tablet. A green status light on the screen turned red. Lillian's ability to call the outside world was officially severed.
Eleanor turned away from the window. Her face was a mask of absolute authority. The strategist had fully transitioned into the executioner.
"Stay in the lounge," Eleanor told Clara. "Monitor the estate's perimeter cameras. Ensure no neutral staff try to intervene or record anything."
Clara nodded, immediately setting up a multi-screen feed on the coffee table. Her fingers flew across the virtual keyboard.
Eleanor walked to the door. She rested her hand on the cold brass handle. She took one last, deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs to center her adrenaline.
She pushed the door open. The ambient silence of the massive estate rushed in to meet her.
Eleanor stepped out into the hallway. Her heels clicked with a steady, inevitable rhythm against the floorboards, sounding like a ticking clock counting down Lillian's final moments.
She turned right, heading straight toward the East Wing, where the trap was finally ready to be sprung.
