CHAPTER 5: THE TEARS OF VERSAILLES
One month later.
The summer sun shone brightly over the manicured grounds of the Montclair Estate in upstate New York. The grand French-style chateau, which had been in Clara’s family for over a century, sat silent and majestic against the blue sky.
Inside the central ballroom, the grand furniture had been covered in white canvas sheets. Workers were carefully packing away valuable oil paintings and rare antiques into wooden shipping crates.
Clara stood in the center of the grand room, dressed in a simple, elegant navy dress. Beside her stood Marcus Brody and Arthur Pendelton, holding final legal dossiers.
“Everything has been finalized, Clara,” Pendelton reported, handing her a leather-bound folder. “The liquidation of Vance International is complete. Alexander Vance accepted a twenty-year plea deal this morning without the possibility of early parole. He will serve his time at a maximum-security facility in Upstate New York.”
“And Beatrice?” Clara asked softly.
“She was arrested three weeks ago in South America trying to enter Paraguay on a forged passport,” Brody added. “Without funds or legal defense, she was extradited back to face charges of grand larceny and tax evasion. Her bail was set at twenty million dollars. No one put up the money. She is currently awaiting trial at Rikers Island.”
Clara nodded slowly, taking a deep, long breath. The weight that had rested on her chest for three grueling years—the heavy, suffocating iron mantle of betrayal and wrongful imprisonment—seemed to dissipate into the warm summer air.
“And Montclair Holdings?” she asked.
“Rebranded as the Montclair-Vance Humanitarian Foundation,” Pendelton smiled. “Eighty percent of the corporate profits are now permanently locked into funding legal defense programs for wrongfully convicted inmates across the United States. You’ve created the largest criminal justice reform fund in history.”
“Good,” Clara said. “That is what my grandfather would have wanted.”
She walked over to the small pedestal standing in the center of the empty ballroom. Sitting atop a velvet cushion, bathed in the soft sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows, was “The Tears of Versailles.” The 50-carat blue diamond necklace sparkled with an ethereal, blinding radiance.
Clara reached out, her delicate fingers lightly touching the cold, flawless stone. It had caused so much suffering, sparked so much greed, and driven the people she once loved into madness and corruption.
“Are you going to keep it?” Brody asked, watching her carefully. “It’s worth over eighty million dollars now.”
Clara picked up the heavy gold-and-diamond necklace, feeling its weight in her hands. She turned around and walked out of the ballroom, through the high glass doors, and out onto the stone terrace overlooking the estate’s massive private lake.
Brody and Pendelton followed her in silence.
Clara walked to the edge of the stone balustrade, high above the deep, dark water. She looked down at the glittering blue diamond in her palm one last time. It had been called “The Tears of Versailles” because legend said whoever wore it would drown in their own ambition.
Without a moment of hesitation, Clara swung her arm back and launched the necklace far out into the air.
The multi-million-dollar jewel arced gracefully through the sky, catching the gold rays of the afternoon sun, before plunging silently into the deep center of the lake. A single, perfect ripple expanded across the mirror-like surface of the water, then disappeared into complete stillness.
“Clara!” Pendelton gasped, taking a step forward in sheer disbelief. “That was… that was a fortune!”
Clara turned to face her attorneys, a genuine, beautiful smile breaking across her face for the first time in years. Her eyes were bright, clear, and finally at peace.
“It wasn’t a fortune, Arthur,” Clara said softly, adjusting her coat as she walked toward the waiting car that would take her to her new life. “It was just a ghost. And I am done living with ghosts.”
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