Chapter 255: Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty Five
The heavy doors of the study swung open, and Philip walked in, the rhythmic tap of his cane on the polished marble floor announcing his arrival. A confident, easy smile was on his face. He saw his grandmother, the Dowager Duchess Elena, sitting at the head of the long, imposing table. She was perfectly still, her hands clasped before her, her expression unreadable. The room was unnervingly silent. " Why is she at the establishment today?" He thought to himself.
"You wanted to see me, Grandmother?" He said, his cheerful voice echoing slightly in the vast, quiet space. He walked closer, his smile widening. "Have you finalized the date of the wedding? I must say, Anne will be very happy to hear the news."
Elena did not return his smile. She did not move. Her gaze was as cold and hard as granite. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and devoid of any warmth. "You lied to me."
The words struck Philip hard on the face. His smile faltered, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. "What?" he asked, his voice losing its confident edge.
"Are you feigning ignorance again?" Elena continued, her voice rising with a controlled anger. "How much more are you going to disappoint me, Philip? How much deeper will you drag the family name through the mud?"
"Please calm down, Grandmother," Philip said, trying to regain control, to soothe the unexpected storm. "You need to explain what you’re talking about. I don’t understand."
With a sudden, violent movement, Elena shoved a stack of documents and a thick, leather-bound ledger across the table. The papers spilled from their envelope, scattering across the polished wood. Philip’s eyes instinctively went to the documents, and he saw the headline: Designation for Textile Supervisor, Noah Kirk. Next to it lay the ledger, its familiar cover a symbol of all his secrets. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, a sharp pain of recognition and defeat shooting through him. He was caught.
He opened his eyes, his mind racing, searching for an escape route, a way to spin the narrative. He fell back on his most reliable tactic: blame Eric. "It’s Eric, right?" he said, his voice taking on a wounded tone.
Elena looked at him, her expression a mixture of anger and disgust. "What?"
"Wasn’t it?" Philip pressed on, trying to manipulate her, to plant a seed of doubt. "This is all Eric’s plan to slander me. He’s jealous. He wants my position, he wants everything. He probably forged these documents himself to frame me—"
"The copy of these papers is being verified by the council’s scribes as we speak," Elena cut him short, her words sharp and final.
Philip’s eyes widened in genuine shock. The color drained from his face. "What did you say?" This was no longer a private family matter. It was official. It was out of his hands.
Elena was silent for a moment, taking a deep, calming breath, trying to rein in her fury.
Seeing his opening gone, Philip resorted to his last, most desperate card: pity. He moved to the side of the table where Elena was sitting. He let his cane clatter to the floor, a sound of surrender. Then, with a pained grunt, he knelt down on one knee, stretching out his other leg that was stiff and unbending from his old injury. The position looked uncomfortable, pathetic. He was performing.
"Please," he begged, his voice cracking. "Please give me one more chance, Grandmother." He looked up at her, his eyes pleading. "You know I’m about to be a father soon. My child... Anne... they need me. I can’t be in prison when my child is born. Please."
"Then you should have thought about that before you decided to ruin another man’s family," Elena replied, her voice cold. "You should have thought about your own child before you forged papers and let an innocent man’s name be slandered. It is too late."
She looked at Philip, and for the first time, her anger seemed to fade, replaced by a profound, weary sadness.
"Why did you do this, Philip?" she asked, her voice softer now, filled with genuine, heartbreaking disappointment. "To falsify documents? To let a man die and then blame him for it? Why did you even go that far?"
Philip saw the shift in her tone and seized upon it. He lowered his head, looking utterly remorseful. "I... I did it for the establishment," he whispered, the lie tasting like ash in his mouth. "For Carson Textiles. Everything was moving so fast, the deadlines, the pressure... I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. Please give me one more chance. A last chance, Grandmother. Please? I will make it right."
Just then, a sharp, formal knock came on the study door.
"Enter," Elena said, her voice regaining its commanding tone.
A man in the official uniform of the council entered the room. He bowed deeply. "The documents have been verified, Your Grace," he announced. "The signature on the designation is indeed a forgery. The council and the pamphleteers are waiting for you in the council room."
Elena nodded slowly, her face a grim mask. "I’ll be there now," she said.
The man bowed again and left, closing the door softly behind him, leaving a deafening silence in his wake. The final nail had been hammered into Philip’s coffin.
Elena stood up. With slow, deliberate movements, she put on her hat and pulled on her long, black gloves. She walked towards the door, her steps measured and final.
Philip, in a state of raw panic, crawled on his good knee and his hands to meet up with her, his bad leg dragging behind him. He reached for the hem of her dress. "Grandmother, please," he sobbed, all pretense of dignity gone. "Save me. Don’t do this."
Elena’s hand hovered on the doorknob. She paused, but she did not turn back to look at him. "I gave you too many chances, Philip," she said, her voice heavy with the weight of her decision. "What did you do with them? You took them and you broke them. Now, someone is dead because of your greed." Her voice hardened. "I have to bring justice to him, so that he and his family can rest in peace."
She turned the knob. The door swung open, flooding the study with the light from the hallway. She stepped out, leaving him in the room.
As the door began to close, Philip shouted, his voice raw with terror and despair. "Grandmother! Grandmother! Grandmother!"
The heavy door clicked shut, cutting off the light, and his desperate cries echoed in the empty, silent room.