“Please sit down, Vanessa,” the senior estate attorney, Arthur’s longtime confidant Marcus Vance, said softly as I walked into the mahogany-paneled boardroom.
Curtis was already seated across the long table, leaning back in a tailored Italian suit, legs crossed, a smug, insufferable grin plastered across his face. Beside him sat a high-priced corporate lawyer he had hired to ensure I wouldn’t touch a single dime of his newly inherited empire.
“Don’t worry, Vanessa,” Curtis purred, looking at my simple trench coat with pure disdain. “I told Marcus to expedite this. I’ve already bought a penthouse in Miami, and the contractors are tearing down my father’s old house as we speak. We’re just here to finalize the asset distribution so you can go back to whatever little life you’ve cobbled together.”
I didn’t answer. I sat down next to Marcus, my hands folded neatly on top of the table. The three weeks I had spent crying in my car were over. Looking at Curtis now, I didn’t feel sadness or grief; I felt the absolute, cold clarity of a ledger balancing itself out.
Marcus adjusted his reading glasses, opened the thick, wax-sealed probate file, and cleared his throat. The room fell perfectly silent.
“As per the last will and testament of Arthur Sterling,” Marcus read, his voice steady and formal, “the primary liquid capital, the real estate portfolio, and the controlling shares of Sterling Enterprises—totaling an estimated value of seventy-five million dollars—are hereby released from the family trust.”
Curtis shifted in his chair, his grin widening as he glanced at his lawyer. “Perfect. Let’s sign the release forms.”
“However,” Marcus interrupted, raising a hand to silence him, “Arthur Sterling appended a mandatory conditional codicil to the primary execution clause exactly forty-eight hours before his passing. I am legally obligated to read the final section in its entirety.”
Curtis chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. “Probably some old-man clause about keeping the family name on the charity boards. Read it quickly, Marcus. I have a flight to catch.”
Marcus looked directly at Curtis, his expression turning into a mask of absolute granite.
“My father-in-law built a seventy-five-million-dollar empire from nothing. He was a master of risk management, and he spent his final months watching exactly who came to check his pulse, and who came to check his will.”
Marcus began to read the final clause:
