The Heiress’s Reckoning: Canceling the $500M Trust Chapter 16

The Heiress’s Reckoning: Canceling the $500M Trust Chapter 16: The Truth Dawns

“He sees the ultimate holding entity,” Julian noted, leaning over my shoulder.

I kept my eyes on the secondary monitor. “Watch his posture.”

Marcus stumbled backward. His calves hit the edge of his leather office chair. The heavy piece of furniture tipped, crashing onto the carpet with a muffled thud.

“Look at his hands,” I told Julian.

On the screen, Marcus dropped the liquidation file. He lunged at his desk drawers, ripping them open. Papers flew into the air, scattering over Chloe. She still cowered near the window, clutching her bruised cheek.

“What are you doing?” Chloe cried through the audio feed.

Marcus ignored her. He dug into the bottom safe, pulling out a thick manila folder.

“The divorce settlement,” I whispered.

“Why does he need that?” Julian asked.

“He wants to compare the signatures.”

Marcus slapped the divorce papers onto the desk. He smoothed out the final page, his eyes darting frantically between the two documents.

“Wentworth,” Marcus muttered on the feed. “Serena Wentworth.”

Chloe crawled closer. “Who is Serena Wentworth?”

“My wife!” Marcus screamed. He slammed his fist onto the documents. “She signed the trust papers. The handwriting is an exact match to the divorce settlement. The loops, the pressure, it is her signature!”

“That is impossible,” Chloe argued, her voice shrill. “She is broke! You said she took nothing!”

“She owns the Consortium!” He grabbed his hair, pulling violently. “She bought Horizon. She orchestrated the price drop. She is the one liquidating Zenith!”

“Marcus, you are scaring me,” Chloe wept. She backed away from the desk.

“I am scaring you?” He threw the settlement at her face. “You pawned the corporate seal! You gave her the opening to strike!”

“I did not know!”

“You never know anything!” He kicked the overturned chair out of his way. “Get your things. We have to go to the estate. I have to talk to her.”

“She will not let us in!”

“She has to!” Marcus roared. “I built this company from nothing! She cannot just take it away!”

“You built it with her money!” Chloe shrieked back.

“Shut up!”

“You told me she was a parasite!” Chloe scrambled toward the door. “You told me I was upgrading your life! You lied to me!”

“I did not know!” Marcus slammed his fists onto his desk, cracking the glass top. “She played the victim. She wore thrift store clothes and clipped coupons. She let me think I was the provider.”

“Well, she provided your bankruptcy!”

“I said shut up!”

My cell phone lit up on the glass console.

The screen flashed Marcus’s name. It vibrated violently against the hard surface, rattling a stray pen.

I picked the device up. The buzzing transferred to my hand, numbing the webbing between my thumb and index finger.

“He connected the dots,” Julian stated.

“Ten years of dots,” I replied.

My chest heaved in rapid, jerky motions. A violent tremor started in my calves and shot straight up my spine. Exposing the secret felt like ripping a bandage off raw flesh, exposing the rot to the harsh light of day. The muscles in my arms trembled involuntarily.

My phone stopped buzzing.

Two seconds later, it started again. Missed call number thirteen.

“Are you going to answer?” Julian asked.

I stared at the flashing screen. A bizarre, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I expected to feel victorious. Instead, I just felt a deep, hollow exhaustion.

“There is nothing left to say,” I told him.

I walked over to the wet bar. I grabbed a crystal glass and filled it with ice from the silver bucket. I poured sparkling water to the brim and downed it in three massive gulps. The freezing liquid shocked my system, forcing the tremors to subside. I set the empty glass onto the marble counter.

“Block the number,” I ordered.

Julian tapped the screen of my device. “Done.”

“He is dialing again,” Julian added, pointing at the audio console.

“Who is he calling now?”

“Not you. The tracking software shows he is calling the private school.”

“Put it on.”

I tapped the console.

“Headmaster’s office,” a prim voice answered.

“This is Marcus Vance,” he barked. “I need to speak to my daughter. She is at the dance.”

“Mr. Vance, your daughter left the premises twenty minutes ago.”

“Left? With who?”

“She ran out alone, sir. We tried to stop her, but she was quite distressed.”

“Distressed about what?”

“There was an incident regarding her attire. I suggest you check your home.”

The headmaster hung up.

“He lost control of every single narrative,” I said softly.

“The illusion is entirely broken,” Julian agreed.

I pressed the intercom button on my desk. “Front gate security, report.”

“Gatehouse here, Madam President,” the guard answered through the speaker.

“Initiate a full lockdown,” I instructed. “No one gets near the estate. If Marcus Vance shows up, do not speak to him. Call the police and have him arrested for trespassing.”

“Understood. Raising the steel barricades now.”

“He is leaving the building,” Julian observed. He checked a different camera feed on the tablet. “He dragged Chloe into the elevator.”

“Let him try to breach the gates,” I said.

The intercom chimed again.

“Madam President?” the guard asked, his tone laced with confusion.

“I gave you an order,” I snapped.

“It isn’t your ex-husband, ma’am.”

I frowned. “Who is it?”

“You need to look at camera four.”

Julian switched the main monitor to the perimeter feed.

Rain lashed against the carved iron gates of the manor.

Headlights cut through the darkness. A beat-up yellow taxi idled at the curb.

The rear door swung open.

A figure rolled out of the backseat, hitting the wet asphalt hard.

“Is that…” Julian started.

I gripped the edge of the console.

Mia pulled herself up onto her hands and knees. Mud coated her ruined school dance dress. Her bare feet slipped against the pavement as she dragged herself toward the intercom call box.

“The taxi driver is shouting at her,” Julian said, pointing at the screen.

I watched the grainy footage. The driver leaned out of his window, waving his arms angrily. Mia ignored him. She crawled through a puddle, her fake-designer dress ruined beyond repair.

“She doesn’t have the fare,” I realized.

“Should I send someone out to pay him?” Julian asked.

“No.”

Mia reached the stone pillar housing the call box. She collapsed against the brick, smearing mud across the keypad. She pressed the button, leaving dirty fingerprints on the stainless steel.