Chapter 4 - The Heirloom of Blood
"Why are you telling me this now, Julian?" I asked, my knuckles white against the armrests of the chair. "You sat on this for twenty-six years."
"Because your father left a secondary codicil in his will," Julian said, drawing a heavy, sealed document from the accordion file. "A codicil that Eleanor and Maya do not know exists. Richard knew he was dying, Leo. His conscience, late as it was, finally caught up with him."
Clara took the document, breaking the red wax seal with a small silver knife.
"Under the terms of the original 2002 trust," Clara explained, "Eleanor was named sole executor of the family estate, with Maya receiving sixty percent of the liquid assets upon Eleanor's death, and you receiving forty percent. However, this codicil—signed by your father three days before his fatal heart attack—transfers thirty-five percent of the voting shares of Miller Architectural Group directly to you, effective immediately upon proof of Sarah Lin's legal lineage."
I stared at the paper. "Thirty-five percent?"
"With Julian's twenty percent," Clara said, a faint, cold smile touching her lips, "you and Julian hold the controlling interest in the entire company. Eleanor and Maya hold thirty percent combined."
"They think they are going to sell the firm to pay off Maya's debts at the estate meeting on Friday," Julian said, his voice dropping into a dark, resolute growl. "Maya owes over two million dollars to private creditors in Chicago from her failed fashion line—creditors who are currently threatening to file a lien against the family estate. Eleanor has been quietly liquidating your father’s private accounts to keep Maya out of court."
The picture was complete now.
Maya hadn't just been the favored child because she was Eleanor's daughter. She was the weapon Eleanor used to drain the family resources, ensuring that nothing would ever be left for the "bastard child" sitting at her table.
"They want to sell the firm," I said, the shock inside me slowly hardening into a cold, terrifying clarity.
"They intend to sign the sale agreement with Blackwood Capital on Friday afternoon," Clara confirmed. "Unless you stop them."
I stood up from the leather chair. The rain outside had turned into a steady, freezing drizzle, washing over the glass of the skyscraper like a grey curtain.
For twenty-six years, I had walked on eggshells in Eleanor's home. I had taken the back seat, apologized for existing, and accepted their subtle cruelty because I believed I owed them for taking me in.
I didn't owe them a damn thing.
May you like
"Clara," I said, turning to the sharp young lawyer. "Are you prepared to represent me in a contested estate battle?"
Clara closed her briefcase with a crisp, decisive snap. "Mr. Miller, I've been waiting three years for someone to bring Eleanor Sterling to a courtroom."
