7• The Matriarch's Wrath

The presence of the matriarch commanded the utmost respect. She hadn't even said a word, and yet an aura oozed out of her as she walked into the reception hall.

She was dressed in an elegant but understated suit, and she walked royally as though she was twenty years younger. Her hair was silver and had been impeccably styled and packed behind her head.

The bodyguards that had opened the door for her walked dauntlessly by her sides and scanned the room with their military eyes.

Spencer Delacroix gulped. But realizing that this was the woman he needed to impress, he did not waste any time, he rushed forward eagerly, walking past Wellington and Matthew, desperate to make a good impression despite the earlier fiasco.

“Mrs Houston!” he said with a big smile. “It’s an honor to see you! I am Spenc—”

But the old lady didn’t so much as glance in his direction. It was almost like he wasn't even there, like his presence was meaningless compared to the grandness of the matriarch.

Her sharp eyes zeroed in on Matthew, who gazed back at her with confusion and surprise. She drew closer to him, and once she noticed the injuries all over Matthew's face and body, her expression turned to anger and concern.

“What happened here?” The matriarch's voice was icy and sounded like an old but still energetic woman.

Spencer's eyes widened, and his smile faltered as he watched the matriarch approach Matthew. ‘Is it true? Is he the Young Master?’.

“Mrs. Houston, there seems to have been a misunderstanding. this man is not the—”

But the matriarch wasn’t listening to him. She stepped past him and walked directly to Matthew. Her old hands reached out to touch Matthew’s arm, and her face was filled with a deep, maternal worry.

Her grandson was back.

“My boy, who did this to you?” she asked calmly, although everyone present knew that that was a calm before the storm that would be unleashed on the culprit.

Before Matthew could respond, the lawyer stepped forward. “Mrs. Houston, the injuries were a result of the police brutality he suffered earlier in the hands of the Chief of police who has now been fired from his seat. But here, in this hall, Spencer Delacroix added insult to injury.”

Mrs. Houston frowned. “I am not familiar with that name,” she said.

“I’m Spencer Delacroix, ma'am!” Spencer introduced himself to her with nervousness in his voice. “I’m afraid there has been a slight confusion, ma'am. I didn't mean to — ”

Eleanor’s eyes gave the man a quick, condescending once-over, and then she cut off his protests. “You insulted my grandson?” Her voice was low, dangerous.

Spencer's throat went dry. And he saw from the corner of his eyes that Wellington had won the bet, he was the one laughing at the look on his face. “Mrs. Houston, I had no idea he was your—”

“Ignorance is no excuse!” Wellington interjected coldly. “Besides, I told you many times that he was the Young Master and you chose not to believe it, rather you kept on ridiculing him for his clothes and appearance.”

Spencer glanced at Wellington, pleading with him to be quiet.

“What names did he call you, grandson?” the matriarch asked Matthew.

Hesitating a little, Spencer answered; “He called me a ragamuffin, and an unseasoned hick amongst under names.”

A tense silence followed. Spencer gulped.

Remaining calm, the matriarch turned her back on Spencer, dismissing him as if he were nothing more than an irritating insect. “Take Matthew to the luxury room,” she instructed her bodyguards. “Call our private doctors immediately. I want him treated by the best and want him in full shape as soon as possible.”

The bodyguards all moved quickly to obey her orders.

Spencer, now very desperate as he realized he was losing a potential business deal, stepped forward and begged the matriarch. “Mrs. Houston, please, I assure you, this is all a misunderstanding! My intentions—”

The matriarch didn’t even bother to look back. “Stay away from me, you rodent!”

Spencer stepped back fearfully as some guards warned him with a footstep’s approach.

“You come into my home and you insult my son? Your intentions are completely irrelevant, Mr. Delacroix,” she said, her tone final. “For this act of disrespect, the Houston family will never engage in business with the Delacroix family ever again. This partnership is over. Leave my estate.”

Spencer's eyes widened in fear and the world crumbled all around him. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. “No! Mrs. Houston, please! I swear, it wasn’t like that—”

“Get him out,” the matriarch ordered her guards as she walked away, heading to the luxury room where the guards were taking Matthew.

“Mrs Houston, please! Please forgive me, and give me one more chance! Please!”

But there were no second chances. The guards dragged him outside the manor and he struggled out of their grasps.

“Okay! Okay!” he grunted, raising his hands in retreat.

“Leave,” one of them said. “And never come back here again.”

They banged the doors, and sealed Spencer out. Once he entered his car to leave, it didn’t take long for his phone to ring. He nearly jumped out of his skin, fumbling to answer it, knowing who it would be.

“Spencer! What have you done?!” his father, Hector Delacroix roared through the phone. “I just got a call from Harold Wellington that our family's partnership with the Houstons has just been canceled! Do you have any idea what you’ve just cost us? The information is spreading like wildfire already! Half of our partners have already pulled out of deals! We’re on the brink of bankruptcy because of you!”

Spencer's heart sank, not believing what he was hearing. ‘How did that happen so fast? Is this how influential the Houston family is?’

“Father, I... I didn’t know,” he stammered with a trembling voice. “I didn’t know who he was...”

“It’s too late for that!” his father spat. “You’ve already ruined us!”