Catherine: Robert, look at me! Tell me she is lying!
Robert: She isn't lying, Catherine.
Catherine: What do you mean she isn't lying?! You told me Grace had no living relatives!
Robert: That is what I wanted to believe for twenty years.
Clara: You wanted to believe it because it made stealing her trust fund so much easier, didn't it?
Catherine stepped back, her hands trembling as she looked between Robert's pale face and Clara's gray maid uniform.
Catherine: You brought a bastard child into this house as a servant?!
Clara: I applied for the cleaning job three months ago under my adopted name, Catherine. I needed to see what kind of people lived in my mother's home.
Robert: Clara... please. Let us talk about this in my study.
Clara: It isn't your study, Robert. My mother's original will was locked in the master vault until yesterday morning.
Catherine: The master vault was cleared out when Grace died!
Clara: You cleared out the top drawers, Catherine. You didn't know about the iron compartment behind the mahogany wall panels.
Robert took a slow step forward, his voice barely a whisper.
Robert: Your mother left the master key to you?
Clara: She mailed this key to my foster family six days before she passed away in the county hospice ward.
Catherine: Hospice ward?! She was in a private medical facility in Boston!
Clara: That was another lie Robert told you so he could drain her medical insurance policies into his offshore bank accounts.
Catherine turned on Robert, her long fingernails digging into his gray coat sleeve.
Catherine: Robert! Is this true?! Did you forge those medical receipts?!
Robert: Catherine, keep your voice down! The house staff will hear you!
Clara: The house staff already knows, Robert. I spoke with the head butler and the estate lawyer an hour before breakfast.
Catherine: You have no authority to speak to our estate lawyer!
Clara: Mr. Vance was my mother's personal attorney for thirty years. He has been waiting for me to turn twenty-five so this key could be used.
Robert dropped into a nearby dining chair, resting his head in his hands as heavy sighs escaped his chest.
Robert: Grace planned this... she planned this from the very beginning.
Clara: My mother knew what kind of man you were, Robert. She knew you married her for her father's shipping fortune.
Catherine: That fortune belongs to this family now! We have lived here for fifteen years!
Clara: Living in a house doesn't make it yours when the deed bears my mother's maiden name.
Catherine: We paid the property taxes! We maintained the grounds!
Clara: You paid the taxes using the interest generated by my private inheritance trust fund.
Catherine's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out as she stared at the silver key resting against Clara's gray apron.
Robert: Clara... I am still your father.
Clara: A father doesn't let his daughter grow up in state care while he drinks scotch in a forty-room mansion.
Robert: I didn't know where Grace took you! I searched for months!
Clara: You searched for the key, Robert. You never searched for me.
The heavy grandfather clock in the corner chimed eight times, its deep gong resonating through the tense dining hall.
Clara: The sheriff's deputy will be at the front gates in fifteen minutes with the official eviction notice.
Catherine: Eviction notice?! You can't throw us out on the street!
Clara: Watch me, Catherine. Take your personal clothes and get out.