Chapter 12 - THE SISTERLY SHOWDOWN
For three seconds, neither of us moved. The air between us crackled with a volatile, electric tension that felt capable of igniting the room.
Rachel’s eyes darted from my face down to the open MacBook on her desk, and then to the empty USB port on the side. All the color instantly drained from her perfectly contoured face.
“Clara,” she whispered, her voice dropping its haughty edge, replaced by a sudden, frantic tremor. “What... what are you doing here?”
“Downloading my ticket out of your trap, Rachel,” I said, my voice eerily calm, steady as a rock. I stepped around the corner of the desk, walking slowly toward her.
Rachel backed up a step, her heel crunching on a shard of broken wine glass. “You... you took files from my computer? Those are private! That’s corporate espionage! I’ll call the police—I’ll have them throw you under the jail!”
“Go ahead,” I challenged, stopping three feet away from her. I looked straight into her terrified, glassy eyes. “Call the FBI. Tell them your sister is in your apartment stealing the exact digital breadcrumbs that prove you forged my signature four months ago to cover up Julian’s multi-million-dollar federal crimes.”
Rachel’s breath hitched. She swallowed hard, her composure completely shattering.
“I... I don't know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, though her voice lacked any real conviction. “You signed those papers! You’re an accomplice! If I go down, you go down with me, Clara! We share blood!”
“We share DNA, Rachel. That’s it,” I said coldly. “And let’s be very clear about one thing before I walk out of here: you broke my four-year-old daughter’s arm. You threw her against a fern stand, called her dramatic, and watched our father throw a glass at my head. For that alone, I would gladly watch you spend the rest of your natural life behind bars.”
Rachel’s expression suddenly twisted from panic into a mask of pure, venomous rage.
“You pathetic, jealous little parasite!” Rachel shrieked, lunging forward with her fingernails bared, aiming straight for my face. “You think you can ruin my life? You think you win?”
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I didn't flinch. I sidestepped her clumsy lunge with ease. Rachel’s momentum carried her forward, tripping over the edge of the rug, and she crashed hard against the corner of a heavy wooden bookshelf, sending a stack of heavy art books tumbling down onto her back with a loud thud.
I didn't look back. I turned around, walked out of the home office, crossed the penthouse living room, and let myself out the front door, locking it behind me with the brass key.
