Chapter 6 - The Fall of Duncan Manor
Two weeks after the press conference, the final legal pillars holding up the Duncan family empire collapsed simultaneously.
Acting on the video evidence and the original 2014 affidavit of Thomas Duncan, the Cook County Chancery Court issued an emergency summary judgment. The court declared Eleanor Vance the sole, rightful heir to the estate of Thomas Duncan, striping Jonathan and Rosalind of all legal claims to Duncan Apex Holdings, its subsidiary companies, and all personal real estate acquired using funds from the family trust.
It was a crisp, clear Tuesday afternoon when Eleanor, Clara Vance, and I pulled up the long, winding cobblestone driveway of Duncan Manor.
The sixty-room Georgian estate, situated on twelve acres of prime Lake Forest real estate, was completely quiet. The iron gates, which had once been guarded by private security officers who answered only to Jonathan, were now staffed by federal marshals overseeing the asset seizure.
We stepped out of the vehicle onto the gravel courtyard.
Rosalind Duncan was standing near the grand front entrance, wearing a plain grey sweater and black trousers—a stark contrast to the custom Chanel suits she had worn for decades. Federal agents were carrying boxed evidence out of the double oak doors, while two moving men were tagging expensive antique furniture with red asset-liquidation stickers.
Because Rosalind was currently out on a temporary five-million-dollar emergency bail bond under strict home-confinement monitoring, she was allowed to gather her personal belongings before the estate was locked down permanently.
When she saw Eleanor walking up the stone steps, Rosalind’s eyes flared with a desperate, bitter hatred.
"You serpent," Rosalind spat, her voice trembling with rage as she pointed a manicured finger at Eleanor. "You dragged your own family through the dirt! You destroyed your brother!"
Eleanor stopped three feet from her stepmother, her posture upright, her face calm.
"Jonathan was never my brother, Rosalind," Eleanor replied coldly. "He was a thief who helped you murder my father and steal my life. You spent ten years living in my father's house, sleeping in his bed, and spending his money while I lived in a one-room apartment under an assumed name."
"This house belongs to the Duncans!" Rosalind shrieked.
"It belongs to Thomas Duncan's daughter," I interrupted, stepping up beside Eleanor. "And as of twelve o'clock today, the court has placed the entire property into the Eleanor Vance Restoration Trust."
Rosalind turned her venomous gaze onto me. "And you... you treacherous little rat. Jonathan gave you everything! He bought you clothes, jewelry, a life you could never have dreamed of on your pathetic bookkeeper salary! And you repaid him by ruining him!"
"Jonathan didn't give me a life, Rosalind," I said, looking her straight in the eyes without a flicker of fear. "He bought me things to keep me quiet while he used my name to commit federal crimes. He hit me because he was small, weak, and terrified that the world would find out he was nothing more than a parasite living on stolen money."
Rosalind raised her hand, as if she intended to strike me across the face just as her son had done so many times.
Before her hand could even move two inches, a federal marshal stepped between us, grabbing her wrist.
"That's enough, Mrs. Duncan," the marshal warned sternly. "You're on house arrest. Step back inside and finish packing your approved personal items, or I will revoke your bail immediately."
Rosalind snatched her hand back, her lip trembling, her face pale and sunken. She looked around at the grand courtyard, at the marble statues, at the pristine rose gardens—all of it slipping through her fingers forever.
"You won't get away with this," she whispered hoarsely. "Jonathan will appeal. The family has connections—"
"Jonathan signed a full confession forty-five minutes ago, Rosalind," Clara Vance announced, stepping forward with a legal document in her hands. "In exchange for the U.S. Attorney removing the death penalty consideration from the corporate manslaughter charges, Jonathan agreed to plead guilty to all thirty-eight federal counts."
Rosalind gasped, her knees buckling slightly. The marshal caught her arm to keep her from falling.
"He... he pleaded guilty?" she stammered, tears finally spilling down her withered cheeks.
"He gave up everything," Clara said brutally. "Including you. In his plea agreement, Jonathan explicitly identified you as the mastermind behind the poisoning of Thomas Duncan in 2014."
Rosalind stared at us in absolute terror. The final illusion of her family’s grand legacy was shattered. Her own son, the boy she had raised to be a ruthless tyrant, had thrown her to the wolves to save himself from a lethal injection.
Two federal agents walked out of the front doors, carrying a steel lockbox containing Rosalind’s personal jewelry. They snapped handcuffs onto her wrists.
"Rosalind Duncan," the lead marshal said, "your bail has been formally revoked by Judge Thomas based on new evidence of witness tampering. You are returning to federal custody."
As they dragged Rosalind down the grand marble steps toward a waiting transport van, she didn't shriek or scream. She simply wept, a broken old woman dragged away from the kingdom she had stolen.
Eleanor turned to look at the massive oak doors of Duncan Manor, then at me.
"What are you going to do now, Clara?" Eleanor asked gently.
I took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. For the first time in nearly a year, my shoulders didn't ache with tension. My mind wasn't running complex calculations to stay three steps ahead of a monster.
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"First," I said with a light, quiet laugh, "I'm going to take a very long vacation. And then... I think I'm going to open my own forensic auditing firm."
Eleanor smiled, reaching out to hug me tightly. "The world needs more women like you, Clara. Women who aren't afraid to look into the dark and pull out the truth."
