Chapter 3 - The Champagne in the Master Suite
Windmere Manor sat upon a rolling green crest overlooking the valley, an imposing stone mansion built in the mock-Tudor style with soaring chimneys and leaded glass windows. To the outside world, and certainly to the local country club set, it was the crown jewel of the Ashford dynasty.
At four in the afternoon, Julian’s silver Porsche roared up the winding cobblestone driveway, followed closely by Vivian’s pearl-white Mercedes.
Vivian practically bounced out of her car, the heavy iron keys swinging from her fingers. "Home at last," she declared loudly to the manicured hedges. "Real air. Without that dreary little clerk hovering in the corners like a raincloud."
Julian stepped out, stretching his arms toward the slate roofline. He felt ten feet tall. For years, Claire had managed the domestic accounts, kept the household staff on strict operational budgets, and constantly lectured him on fiscal discipline. She had insisted that the house required over thirty thousand dollars a month just in maintenance, utilities, and property taxes—costs she had always handled through her private banking portals. Julian had never bothered to look at the utility invoices; in his mind, money simply existed because an Ashford was breathing.
"Lila," Julian called out, smiling as his mistress stepped out of the passenger seat, gazing at the facade with round, covetous eyes. "Welcome to your new home."
"Oh, Julian," Lila breathed, walking up the broad stone steps. "It’s magnificent. It looks like an English country estate. Can we remodel the drawing room? That beige silk wallpaper Claire chose is so terribly pedestrian."
"You can remodel the entire third floor if you want to," Julian said grandly, pressing the electronic fob against the front gate reader. The heavy wrought-iron gates swung open with a quiet hum. "Claire’s taste was always pedestrian. Practical, boring, small-minded. Now that she’s gone, we can finally live the way our social standing dictates."
Inside, the grand foyer was cavernous and silent. The afternoon sunlight poured through the two-story arched window, illuminating the sweeping oak staircase.
Vivian strode in, immediately calling out for the staff. "Elena! Margaret! Where are you girls? Bring champagne to the terrace! Julian, where on earth is the housekeeper?"
Julian frowned, walking toward the rear hallway leading to the kitchen and staff quarters. The kitchen was spotless, the copper pots hanging in pristine rows above the central island, but there was no sound of activity. The counters were bare.
On the center of the butcher-block island lay a neat stack of white envelopes, each labeled with a name. Beside them was a formal memorandum printed on heavy ivory paper.
Julian picked up the paper, skimming the lines.
*Notice of Immediate Employment Severance and Transfer of Services. To all domestic staff of Windmere Manor: Your contracts with Aegis Property Management have been fulfilled. Final severance packages, along with six months' paid transition bonuses, have been wired to your accounts. Please vacate the premises by 2:00 PM.*
Julian crumpled the paper in his fist, laughing in disbelief. "Unbelievable. Petty to the very end."
Vivian walked into the kitchen, her heels clicking sharply against the limestone tiles. "Where is the staff? I wanted canapés prepared before the garden club ladies arrive tomorrow."
"Claire fired them," Julian said with a smirk, tossing the crumpled paper into the stainless-steel trash can. "Or rather, she paid them off to quit early just to spite us. She thinks leaving us without a cleaning crew for forty-eight hours is going to break my spirit."
"Spiteful little wretch!" Vivian spat, crossing her arms. "No breeding at all. It doesn't matter. We'll call the agency in the morning and hire a real butler, someone trained in Europe. Julian, get the Dom Pérignon from the cellar. Let's go up to the master bedroom and toast."
Julian retrieved a bottle from the wine cellar—one of the vintage reserves Claire had meticulously cataloged—and brought it up the grand staircase.
In the master suite, Lila was already wandering through the expansive walk-in closet. The left side, which had contained Claire’s tailored suits, classic wool coats, and sensible leather shoes, was entirely empty. Every single hanger was bare. Not a stray hairpin or receipt remained.
"She took everything of hers," Lila noted, running her fingers along the cedar shelving. "Good riddance. Now there's plenty of room for my winter wardrobe. Julian, pop the cork!"
Julian peeled the gold foil, twisted the wire cage, and with a resounding *pop*, the champagne overflowed. He poured three crystal flutes, handing one to his mother and one to Lila.
Vivian raised her glass, her eyes gleaming with vindication. "To the Ashfords. May our name shine brighter than ever, now that the weight has been cut loose."
"To the future," Julian echoed, clinking his glass against theirs. "And to the company. Tomorrow morning, Lila, I’m announcing your promotion to Executive Vice President of Public Relations at Ashford Med. We’ll double your base salary and allocate you full corporate credit privileges."
Lila squeaked with delight, throwing her arms around Julian's neck and kissing his cheek. "You're amazing, Julian. What about the board? Won't they object?"
Julian laughed dismissively, taking a deep sip of the champagne. "The board? The board is comprised of elderly family friends and institutional cowards. Claire used to spend hours preparing those endless financial slide decks to appease them. Tomorrow, I show them who truly leads this company. My name is on the building, Lila. It always has been."
They drank deeply, filling the master suite with laughter and grandiose plans of galas, sports cars, and private European vacations.
Downstairs, the antique grandfather clock in the foyer chimed five times.
May you like
None of them noticed the quiet click of the electronic security panel by the front door switching its interface from green to amber. None of them heard the soft hiss of the automated air filtration system adjusting to maintenance mode. And none of them realized that outside the perimeter walls, parked half a block away under the shadows of the maple trees, sat two unmarked black utility vans, waiting for the clock to strike six.
***
