Chapter 6 - THE TRIBUNAL OF LYDIA
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The grand ballroom looked like the aftermath of a bloodless execution.
Forty-six guests still sat in their chairs under the silent watch of Dominic’s armed soldiers.
Nobody had touched their dessert.
Nobody had taken another sip of wine.
Aunt Lydia sat alone at the center of the head table, her emerald silk gown rumpled, her diamond necklace hanging crookedly.
Her hands were shaking violently as she stared at the three-tiered wedding cake that had cost twelve thousand dollars.
The double doors at the back of the room swung open with a resounding thud.
Dominic walked down the center aisle, his presence commanding the entire space with absolute, terrifying gravity.
Walking beside him was Rose, holding Margaret Ellis’s hand with an unbreakable grip.
Rose had removed the diamond tiara and the pearl earrings Lydia had given her.
She wore only the handmade lace veil her biological mother had sewn, flowing down her back like a river of pure white water.
I followed behind them, carrying a thick black leather folder that Marcus had retrieved from Lydia’s private safe in the carriage house.
Dominic stopped at the head of the table, looking down at his aunt as if she were a venomous snake that had crawled into his living room.
He took the black folder from my hands and tossed it onto the table before Lydia.
The heavy binder hit the linen with a dull, sickening thud, knocking over a silver candlestick.
“Open it, Lydia,” Dominic commanded softly.
Lydia’s manicured fingers trembled as she unclasped the brass lock of the binder.
Inside were twenty-four years of bank drafts, forged adoption papers, and letters addressed to Rose that had never been mailed.
At the very bottom lay a certified trust agreement from the Cook County probate court dated twenty-four years ago.
“Read page four to our guests, Aunt Lydia,” Dominic said, his dark eyes burning into her skull.
Lydia looked up, her face gray, her lips trembling with dry terror.
“Dominic, please... not in front of everyone...”
“Read it,” Dominic commanded, his voice rising just enough to vibrate the crystal chandeliers above.
Lydia’s voice cracked as she read the legal text through her tears:
“‘The Margaret Ellis Trust, established upon the death of Arthur Ellis, designates all revenues from the Western Avenue rail yards to his only child, Rose Ellis.’”
“‘In the event that the biological mother is declared medically unfit, the guardianship of the child and the administrative control of the rail yards shall transfer to Lydia Moretti.’”
A collective roar of shocked whispers swept through the seated guests.
Uncle Vincent stood up from his chair, slamming his fist against the mahogany table.
“You stole that girl for a rail yard, Lydia?!” Vincent bellowed, his face turning purple with Sicilian rage.
“Arthur Ellis built the Western Avenue junction!”
“He died in a train collision, and you told the entire family that his widow was a degenerate who abandoned her baby!”
Margaret buried her face in Rose’s shoulder, weeping as the truth of her stolen life was laid bare before the entire city.
“My husband loved me,” Margaret cried softly.
“He left us enough money to live comfortably for three generations.”
“And Lydia told me Arthur had died penniless and that the city was going to send Rose to an orphanage in Peoria.”
Rose looked down at the woman who had raised her for twenty-four years, feeling nothing but a profound, sickening revulsion.
“You didn't save me, Lydia,” Rose whispered, her voice carrying clearly across the quiet ballroom.
“You robbed my mother.”
“You kept me in a golden cage, dressed me in diamonds, and paraded me around high society to justify your lifestyle.”
“And you were going to sell me to Daniel Whitmore so his family could grant the rezoning permits for those very same rail yards.”
Lydia fell to her knees on the marble floor, her proud posture completely destroyed.
“Rose, sweetheart, I loved you!” Lydia wailed, reaching out to grasp the hem of Rose’s wedding dress.
“I gave you a family! I gave you an education!”
Rose pulled her skirt away from Lydia’s grasping fingers as if she had touched poison.
“You gave me twenty-four years of mourning a mother who was crying for me across town,” Rose said.
“You are not my family.”
“You are a thief who wore an emerald dress.”
Dominic stepped forward, looking down at the groveling woman with cold, pitiless finality.
“Under the authority of the Moretti bloodline,” Dominic announced to the forty-six silent guests.
“Lydia Moretti is stripped of her name, her share in the family syndicate, and her residence on this estate.”
“Every asset in her personal accounts will be liquidated to repay the Western Avenue trust to Margaret and Rose Ellis.”
“And tomorrow morning, Marcus will escort her to a small, private apartment in Rockford.”
Dominic leaned down, his voice barely above a whisper.
May you like
“You will live on the exact monthly pension you gave Margaret Ellis twenty-four years ago.”
“And if you ever set foot within the city limits of Chicago again, my men will ensure you disappear into the lake.”
