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Chapter 17
Chapter 17
The Chadwick Manor perched on the affluent hillsides of Bayridge City, its sprawling gardens a nod to the old European estates of yesteryear. Its grandeur was understated yet opulent, with intricate carvings adorning the eaves and deep red roof tiles that seemed to whisper of a storied past.
The Chadwick family was divided into two branches. The senior branch resided in the Chadwick Manor, while the junior branch had set up residence in the city center. Howard, the family’s black sheep, had moved into a modest townhouse, though a recent injury had brought his parents to his side for care.
At six in the evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and twilight began to settle, Gwendolyn wheeled Howard through the lengthy corridor to the dining hall.
The room was ablaze with light and bustling with silhouettes. Maids hustled about, laying out a feast on the long table while a commanding female voice urged them on.
“That’s your aunt Farrah,” Roselind whispered to Gwendolyn, “a woman of keen wit and sharp tongue. The man lounging on the settee is your uncle, ruthless and a master of pretense.”
It seemed the Chadwick family was a nest of vipers, and Gwendolyn took note.
Farrah, spotting Howard, greeted him and his family with a sardonic smile. “You finally arrived. Poor Howard in his wheelchair, it just breaks my heart.”
Her eyes were narrow and fox–like, her chin pointed, which was a clear sign not to be trifled
with.
“You’re as acerbic as ever,” Roselind replied coolly.
“I just love honesty,” Farrah retorted with a sly glance at Gwendolyn. “So, this is your country bride. A true match with a country lass and a cripple.”
Her words were like daggers to the junior branch.
Unable to bite her tongue any longer, Jeannie retorted, “Aunt Farrah, did you forget to do some mouth washing this morning? Your words stink more than your breath. Poor uncle must have a tough time tolerating it every night.”
Farrah narrowed her eyes into slits, her face darkening. “How dare you speak to me like that, Jeannie! Is this what they teach in your branch?”
“I just love honesty,” Jeannie retorted, hands on hips, ready for a battle of wits.
Enraged, Farrah swung a slap at her niece, but Jeannie was no pushover. She caught Farrah’s hand mid–strike, twisting it until her aunt screamed in pain.
“What’s all this commotion?”
A venerable voice echoed from the stairwell. There stood the patriarch, Warren, dressed in a
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midnight blue smoking jacket, leaning on a cane with an ornate dragon head. His eyes were sharp, his presence commanding. Beside him stood Bainbridge, looking smug, and a lean and scholarly middle– aged man.
The family silenced their squabbles immediately.
“Take your seats,” Warren commanded, and everyone gathered around the dining table.
“I’ve called you here to make an announcement,” Warren began. “Bainbridge has found Enoch’s apprentice, Waldo. In exchange, Howard will transfer a project to Bainbridge. Sign this Transfer of Project.“”
With that statement, the room’s atmosphere shifted. Bainbridge was pleased, while Howard felt a mix of frustration and resentment. The family was supposed to help each other without strings attached, but Warren had made it a transaction, leaving Howard bitter.
Farrah chuckled, “Roselind, are you not willing? It seems that Howard’s legs are less valuable than the project.”
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Roselind was seething, torn between her son’s legacy and his ability to walk. Steeling herself, she said. “His legs are what matter! But we’ll verify the person first!”
Warren scoffed, “You doubt my word. Dr. Waldo, examine Howard’s legs.”
“Certainly,” replied the gaunt and sharp–eyed doctor, bending down to open his medical bag. revealing a row of gleaming needles.