At the main security gate, the festive atmosphere vanished. A yellow taxi, rusted at the wheel wells, idled nervously between two Bentley SUVs.
Melanie stepped out. She wore a dress she had bought at a discount store, trying desperately to blend in, but she shivered in the cool night air. She clutched a battered manila envelope to her chest so tightly the paper crinkled.
“Name?” the guard asked, checking his clipboard. “I don’t see you on the guest list, Miss.”
“I… I’m not on the list,” Melanie stammered, looking up at the illuminated mansion on the hill. “I have a delivery for Mr. Croft. Mr. William Croft.”
” Deliveries go to the service entrance on Monday,” the guard dismissed her. “Move the vehicle.”
“No!” Melanie stepped forward, desperation making her bold. “It can’t wait. It’s… it’s legal documents. Regarding the estate.”
The guard reached for his radio to call for backup. Melanie froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had come all this way to claim her birthright, and she was going to be turned away at the gate like a beggar.