Chapter 146 Storming the Manor

Chapter 146 Storming the Manor
Charlotte: POV

Olivia held the car door open for me, her expression a mixture of concern and determination.

I slid into the back seat, my hands trembling slightly as I gripped the leather upholstery.

The adrenaline from the boardroom confrontation was wearing off, leaving behind a cold, hollow feeling in my chest.

'Fuck. What had I just done?'

Olivia climbed in beside me, and I grabbed her arm without thinking. My fingers were trembling, which pissed me off. I was supposed to be the Caldwell heiress, not some scared kid.

"Don't be nervous," Olivia said, patting my hand. "It'll get better. Slowly."

"I'm terrified," I admitted, my voice coming out stiff and mechanical. "What if I screw this up?"

"You won't." She smiled at me with such confidence that I almost believed her. "You did great back there."

I had been the legitimate Caldwell heiress my entire life, yet David had managed to suppress me so completely that I'd felt like an outsider in my own family. He probably never expected me to fight back like this.

After today's performance, I'd left an indelible mark on both him and Paul. Now came the real challenge—my counterattack. Time to strike while the iron was hot.

Chase them down. ‘Finish them.’

Michael was driving, his eyes constantly scanning the mirrors.

Behind us, Olivia's bodyguard followed in another vehicle with Rachel, my attorney. The car started moving, and I watched the Caldwell Industries building disappear in the side mirror.

As we passed through an intersection, several vans fell in behind us. I tensed, but Michael's calm voice came from the front seat.

"It's okay, Ms. Caldwell. Those are the additional security personnel Ms. Parker arranged."

I glanced at Olivia, who gave me a slight nod. "I figured we might need backup at the estate."

‘Smart.That's why I'd asked her to be my manager. ’

The drive to the Caldwell estate felt both too long and too short. My mind kept replaying the scene in the boardroom—David's face when Walter announced my claim, Paul bleeding on the floor, Susan's horrified expression. Part of me felt vindicated. The other part felt like I was about to throw up.

"Charlotte." Olivia's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "Don't overthink it. If you can't decide what to do, just throw it to me."

"Okay." I exhaled slowly, trying to center myself.

Michael's voice came from the front again. "Ms. Caldwell, we're approaching the estate."

I looked up to see the familiar wrought-iron gates with "Caldwell Manor" emblazoned across them in elegant script. My chest tightened. How many times had I driven through these gates as a child, back when my mother was still alive? Back when this place felt like home instead of a prison?

As we pulled up to the main entrance, Michael stopped the car. "Let me check the perimeter first."

"No." I straightened my shoulders. "We're going in together. All of us."

The vans behind us disgorged a small army of security personnel—at least a dozen men and women in professional attire. Rachel emerged from the second car, briefcase in hand, looking every inch the formidable attorney.

‘This is it.’ No turning back now.

Michael opened my door, and I stepped out onto the circular driveway. The manor loomed before us, all stone and ivy and old money.

Voices drifted from inside—laughter, the clink of glasses.

I walked toward the entrance, my heels clicking against the pavement. The security team fell in behind me, a silent wall of support. Michael stayed at my right shoulder, alert and ready.

The elderly doorman—Gerald, who'd been with the family for thirty years—opened the door. His eyes widened when he saw me.

"Ms. Charlotte? What—"

"I'm home, Gerald." I kept my voice steady. "Please open both doors."

He hesitated, looking past me at the small army behind me.

"Open. The. Doors." Rachel's voice cut through his protests like a knife.

Michael and Olivia's bodyguard stepped forward simultaneously, each taking one door and pushing them wide open with controlled force. Gerald stumbled back, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"What are you people doing? This is private property! You can't just—"

Michael gently but firmly moved him aside, clearing a path for me. I stepped through the doorway into the marble-floored foyer, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light inside.

The sound of conversation grew louder as I approached the sitting room. I could hear Susan's tinkling laugh, the murmur of her society friends discussing whatever trivial nonsense occupied their time.

I paused at the threshold, taking in the scene. A dozen well-dressed women sat in elegant clusters, champagne flutes in hand. Susan held court in the center, wearing a cream-colored designer dress that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.

The security team fanned out behind me, blocking most of the light from the foyer. The shadows we cast stretched across the Persian rugs like dark fingers.

One by one, the conversations died. Heads turned. Eyes widened.

"Who is that?"

"Susan, you have new guests?"

"That girl in red looks familiar..."

Susan rose from her seat, her smile freezing in place when she saw me. "Charlotte? What are you doing here? You should have called ahead. I'm entertaining guests."

I stepped further into the room, letting the full force of my presence register. "This is my home, Susan. I don't need permission to enter."

The room went silent. You could have heard a pin drop.

Susan's face went through several interesting color changes—from pale shock to angry red. "What are you talking about? This is our home!"

"Our?" I let the word hang in the air. "Since when does Caldwell Manor belong to anyone named Grant?"

Rachel moved forward, her voice carrying the weight of legal authority. "Caldwell Manor is the ancestral home of the Caldwell family. As Emily Caldwell's daughter and sole heir, Charlotte Caldwell has the legal right to claim all properties and assets designated in her mother's will."

She paused, letting that sink in, then delivered the killing blow: "Susan Grant, you are hereby requested to vacate the premises."

The gasps from Susan's friends were almost comical. Several of them exchanged wide-eyed glances, clearly trying to piece together what was happening.

"This is insane!" Susan's voice rose to a near-shriek. "Charlotte, have you lost your mind? I'm your stepmother! I raised you! And you're going to throw me out like—like some servant?"

Before I could respond, my half-sister Amy came running down the grand staircase, her designer heels clattering against the marble.