Chapter 6 - Claire’s Desperate Gamble
Deprived of her credit cards, her luxury vehicle, and the manor estate, Claire did not retreat to lick her wounds. Narcissists rarely do when their survival is threatened; instead, they double down, escalating their lies until reality physically stops them.
On Wednesday morning, Daniel Mercer called me while I was inspecting the Meadowgate greenhouse with Hector.
"Ivy, we have a critical situation," Daniel said, his voice unusually tight. "Are you at the estate?"
"Yes, I’m with Hector in the lower gardens. What happened?"
"Claire is advertising an 'Exclusive Celebrity Charity Auction & Gala' at Meadowgate for tonight," Daniel said. "She posted it through an offshore proxy account on Instagram and Facebook two hours ago. Tickets were priced at fifteen hundred dollars a seat, and she claims all proceeds are going to the Children's Hospital Foundation."
My jaw dropped. "She’s selling tickets to an event at a venue she’s legally barred from entering?!"
"It’s worse than that," Daniel continued. "She targeted high-profile society donors from New York and Philadelphia. She’s already sold out eighty seats—that's one hundred and twenty thousand dollars in cash payments wired directly into a newly created dummy LLC account registered in Delaware. And the hospital? I just called their board. They have never heard of Claire Ward. There is no charity event."
My blood ran cold. "She’s running a smash-and-grab scam. She’s taking the money, hosting a sham party to keep up appearances, and then she’s going to skip town."
"Exactly," Daniel said. "The Delaware account has an automatic wire transfer scheduled for midnight tonight to a bank in the Cayman Islands. If those guests show up and find the gates locked, they will sue Willow Gate Holdings and Meadowgate Estate into oblivion for premises liability and fraud. Claire won't be here—she’ll be on a flight to a non-extradition country."
"Not on my watch," I said, my pulse pounding in my ears. "Daniel, call the State Police Financial Crimes Unit. Call Investigator Kowalski, the detective who took our initial forgery report. Tell him Claire has just committed high-dollar wire fraud in real time."
"What are you going to do?" Daniel asked.
"I’m going to let the guests arrive," I replied.
"Ivy, that's insane! If eighty high-profile donors arrive at a locked gate—"
"The gate won't be locked," I interrupted. "Mrs. Gable! Hector! Get the entire estate staff to the main hall right now. We have seven hours to prep a dinner for eighty people."
Hector stared at me, dumbfounded. "Miss Ivy... you’re going to host her party?"
"No, Hector," I said, turning toward the grand manor house. "We’re going to host an honest gala. We are going to serve the finest food this estate can produce. We are going to welcome those guests, we are going to collect their donations directly for the Children's Hospital, and then we are going to let them watch the grand finale."
By five o'clock that evening, Meadowgate was transformed.
The caterers I hired were professionals who had worked with Grandma for years, brought in on rush emergency rates. The chandeliers were blazing, the silver was polished to a mirror finish, and the grand hall smelled of roasted tenderloin, rosemary, and fresh pine.
At six-thirty, a black town car rolled up the long, winding drive.
Claire stepped out.
She was wearing a stunning, backless emerald gown—undoubtedly bought with the last remnants of her fraudulent cash reserves. Her hair was swept into an intricate updo, her chin tilted at that same arrogant, imperial angle. She carried an embroidered silk clutch and moved toward the doors with total confidence, expecting to find the locks broken or the estate dark and deserted so she could stage her final charade.
Instead, the double doors were opened wide by two footmen in formal black tie.
Claire stepped into the foyer, her eyes scanning the glittering room, the tables laid out with gold-rimmed china, the string quartet playing softly on the mezzanine.
And there I was, standing at the foot of the sweeping staircase, wearing a floor-length navy silk gown that had belonged to Grandma Evelyn.
Claire froze, her emerald clutch slipping an inch in her grip.
"What is this?" Claire hissed under her breath, rushing toward me, her eyes darting nervously around the immaculate hall. "What did you do?!"
"Welcome to Meadowgate, Claire," I smiled, stepping down the last riser. "I must say, you did a wonderful job bringing in the donors. Eighty RSVPs. Every single one of them checked in at the front gate."
"You stole my event!" she whispered, her face twisting with frantic rage. "That money in the Delaware account is mine! I organized this! You have no right to touch it!"
"Oh, I didn't touch your Delaware account," I replied sweetly. "The State Police did that about forty-five minutes ago. They froze it under an emergency warrant for criminal wire fraud and interstate theft."
Claire turned pale as chalk. She stumbled backward, bumping against the marble bust of our great-grandfather.
"No..." she breathed, clutching her chest. "No, you're bluffing. You can't prove..."
"They don't have to prove anything tonight, Claire," a deep voice boomed from the shadows beneath the mezzanine.
Detective Kowalski stepped out, flanked by two uniformed state troopers.
May you like
"Claire Ward," Kowalski said, producing a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. "You are under arrest for grand larceny, scheme to defraud, and violation of the state charitable solicitations act. Turn around and put your hands behind your back."
***
