Chapter 5 - The Glass Fortress
By 4:00 PM that afternoon, a fleet of private moving vehicles arrived to pack the children’s few prized possessions.
An hour later, the black sedans pulled through the massive wrought-iron gates of the Thompson Estate in the leafy suburban hills of the city.
Tyler, Mia, and Lily pressed their faces against the tinted glass windows of the limousine. The estate was breathtaking—a stone mansion surrounded by fifty acres of rolling green lawns, oak trees, a private lake, and a heated indoor swimming pool.
When the car doors opened, a kindly older woman in a navy dress stepped forward, tears in her eyes.
"Mr. Thompson... is it true?" she asked, looking at the children.
"It's true, Mrs. Gable," Marcus said, helping Sarah out of the car. "Meet Sarah, Tyler, Mia, and Lily. They are the owners of this house now. Prepare the master guest suites on the second floor immediately."
The children were led inside, their eyes wide as they walked across plush Persian rugs and under crystal chandeliers. Mrs. Gable immediately showed the twins to a magnificent playroom filled with plush toys, miniature tea sets, and dollhouses, while Tyler was given a room with a balcony overlooking the lake, stocked with books, art supplies, and a state-of-the-art telescope.
While the children explored their new sanctuary under Mrs. Gable's care, Marcus led Sarah into his private study on the main floor.
The study was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a grand mahogany desk, and secure monitors displaying financial markets and estate security.
Marcus walked behind his desk, opened a locked wall safe, and pulled out a leather-bound journal and a stack of financial records from eight years ago.
"Look at these dates, Sarah," Marcus said, laying the papers out on the desk. "The car accident occurred on October 14th. On October 16th—while I was hooked up to life support in ICU—Richard Sterling signed a power of attorney document transferring six of my private holding accounts into a shell company based in the Cayman Islands."
Sarah stepped closer, reading the signatures. "He robbed you while you were in a coma?"
"He didn't just rob me," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, terrifying rumble. "He redirected all my personal mail. He paid off my private investigator to report that my apartment had been cleared out and that I had no surviving relatives or romantic ties. He kept you away from me so I wouldn't have a family to leave my assets to."
"Why?" Sarah asked, horrified. "If you died without an heir, what would happen to Thompson Industries?"
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"The board of directors would automatically appoint the senior vice president—Richard Sterling—as permanent CEO and primary shareholder," Marcus replied, his eyes burning with cold rage. "For eight years, I worked eighteen-hour days building a corporate empire, thinking I was alone in the world, while the man sitting in the office next to mine was pocketing millions and keeping my son in poverty."
Suddenly, Marcus’s private phone rang on the desk. The caller ID displayed a name: RICHARD STERLING.
