Chapter 172 The Fall
The morning sky was gray, heavy with clouds, as if the world itself knew that something was ending. The grand McCoy mansion, once full of laughter and light, now stood silent and tense.
Boxes lined the marble floors. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the hallways as workers carried furniture out the front door.
Victoria stood in the center of the foyer, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her eyes followed every piece that left—the chandeliers she had handpicked, the paintings she had bought during better days, the antique vases she once polished herself when no one was watching. Each item felt like a part of her being ripped away.
A man in a dark suit approached her. “Mrs. McCoy, the bank has requested that all valuables be cataloged today. They’ll be collecting them before noon.”
Victoria’s jaw clenched. “Everything?”
“Everything, ma’am,” he said softly.
She nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak. Her throat burned, but she refused to cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.
Carson came down the grand staircase, his face pale, his tie undone. He looked at her quietly, guilt shadowing his eyes. “Victoria,” he said in a low voice.
She didn’t turn. “Don’t.”
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, unsure what to say next. Around them, the sound of furniture scraping against the floor filled the air.
“They’re taking the piano,” one worker called.
Victoria’s head snapped toward him. “Be careful with it,” she said sharply. “That piano was custom-made.”
The worker nodded quickly, avoiding her gaze.
Carson took a hesitant step closer. “I tried, Victoria. I really did. The board wouldn’t listen. The creditors—”
“Enough,” she cut in, her voice cold. “Do not stand there and pretend you fought for this family. You let everything fall apart.”
“I didn’t want this!” he said, his voice rising. “You think I wanted to lose everything we built?”
She turned to him then, eyes blazing. “We didn’t build anything, Carson. I did. Every deal, every connection, every ounce of respect this family had—I fought for it. And you threw it away with your pride and your foolish decisions.”
Carson’s shoulders slumped. “You think I don’t know that?”
Victoria laughed bitterly. “Knowing doesn’t change anything.”
In the living room, two men carried out a large gold-framed portrait of the McCoy family. Victoria’s eyes followed it until it disappeared through the front door. For a moment, she felt dizzy. That portrait had hung there for twenty years, watching over every dinner, every celebration, every lie.
Outside, journalists gathered beyond the gate, their cameras flashing every few seconds. “Mrs. McCoy! Any statement about the bankruptcy?” one of them shouted.
Victoria turned away sharply, her back straight. “Close the curtains,” she ordered one of the maids.
The maid obeyed quickly.
Carson rubbed his face with both hands. “It’s all over,” he muttered. “Everything my father built… gone.”
Victoria glared at him. “No, Carson. Everything I built is gone. You inherited a legacy and turned it into ashes.”
He looked at her helplessly. “I can fix this.”
“Fix it?” she said, laughing without humor. “With what money? What partners? Everyone’s left. Even the staff is leaving.”
As if on cue, one of the butlers appeared in the hallway, hat in hand. “Mrs. McCoy, I wanted to say… Thank you for everything. I’ve served this family for seventeen years, but I must resign. I’m sorry.”
Victoria’s face softened for a brief second. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Harold. Go.”
The man bowed slightly and left through the back door. The sound of it closing echoed through the empty hall.
Carson sank onto one of the remaining chairs. “We’ll have to sell the house,” he said quietly.
Victoria looked at him as if he had insulted her. “Sell the house? This house is the last thing we have!”
“It’s worth millions,” he said weakly. “It could cover—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she hissed. “I will not have vultures picking apart my home like a carcass.”
Carson stared down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes.
Hours passed. By afternoon, the mansion looked hollow. Empty spaces replaced the grandeur that once defined it. Dust floated in the sunlight streaming through bare windows.
Victoria walked slowly through the rooms, touching the walls as if trying to memorize them. Her heels clicked against the marble. In the drawing room, only a single chair remained. She sat down, folding her hands tightly in her lap.
Carson entered quietly. “Victoria,” he said softly, “maybe we can move somewhere smaller. Start over.”
She turned her head toward him slowly. “Start over?” she repeated, her voice trembling with anger. “You think this is a bad month, Carson? This is the end. We have nothing left.”
He sat on the edge of the table, looking defeated. “We still have each other.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Each other? You’re the reason I’m standing in ruins.”
Carson didn’t respond. The silence stretched between them.
The phone rang suddenly, the sound sharp and jarring. Victoria reached for it. “Hello?”
A man’s voice spoke on the other end. “Mrs. McCoy, this is about the penthouse in New York. The property has officially been seized by the bank.”
Her face went pale. “What about the villa in Italy?”
“Sold to cover debts,” the man replied.
Victoria’s hand trembled as she hung up. She looked at Carson slowly, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s all gone.”
Carson rubbed his forehead. “Maybe… maybe I can talk to the lawyers—”
“Stop!” she shouted suddenly, slamming her hand on the table. “No more talking, Carson! You’ve talked us into destruction.”
The sound of her voice echoed through the bare house. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, and rain began to fall against the windows.
Victoria stood by the window, staring out as the rain streaked down the glass. “Look at us,” she said softly. “Once, this name meant power. People used to stand when we entered a room. Now they whisper when they see us.”
Carson moved closer. “We can build again,” he said weakly.
She turned sharply. “No, you won’t build anything again. I’m done, Carson. Do you hear me? Done.”
He looked broken, his voice small. “You’re leaving me.”
“I’m saving myself,” she said coldly.
Lightning flashed across the sky, lighting up the empty hall. The sound of the rain grew louder, filling the silence that followed.
Victoria turned away from him and began walking upstairs. “When you’ve lost everything,” she said quietly, “you start to see who really caused the fall.”
Her steps echoed on the stairs until she disappeared into the darkness above.
Carson sat alone in the half-empty room, his hands pressed against his face. The rain continued to pour outside, washing over the mansion like a cruel reminder of what had been lost.
The house of McCoy had fallen—brick by brick, lie by lie—and now only silence remained where pride once lived.