I Froze the Shares Before He Could Give Them Away Chapter 01

I Froze the Shares Before He Could Give Them Away Chapter 01

At the Shareholders’ Meeting, My Husband Handed My Shares to His Mistress’s Child

At the annual shareholders’ meeting, Richard Vance projected a Deed of Gift onto the grand screen.

In the beneficiary column was the name: Leo Vance.

The five-year-old son of Chloe Davis.

My mother-in-law slammed the table. “You can’t conceive, and the Vance family needs an heir. Sign it. Don’t let a child remain without a legitimate status.”

A fountain pen sat before me, its cap unscrewed to reveal a sharp metallic nib. My wedding ring rested on the top right corner of the document like a seal that had already been pressed.

In my previous life, I signed right here.

After I signed, Richard kicked me out of the Vance estate, and Chloe moved into the master bedroom with the child. It wasn’t until three months later that I discovered the “infertility diagnosis” had been forged by a doctor arranged by my mother-in-law. Even the capital that saved Vance Enterprises years ago hadn’t come from the Vances—it was a pre-marital family trust left to me by my mother.

I died on the steps in the freezing winter night, clutching only an old brooch left by my mother.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the end of this long conference table.

***

I didn’t throw the files, nor did I cry.

I picked up the old brooch, pinned it to my blazer lapel, and pressed the microphone on the table.

“Before signing, I demand that the Board first confirm the source of the gift’s underlying asset.”

The boardroom fell silent for a moment.

Richard looked at me, the familiar spark of impatience in his eyes.

“Eleanor, don’t make a scene. This is a shareholders’ meeting, not the place for your tantrums.”

I looked up at the screen.

“Since this is a shareholders’ meeting, we should be clear. Are the shares you’re asking me to give away marital property, or are they my personal trust assets?”

Beatrice Vance, the dowager of the family, sneered.

“You’ve lived off the Vances for seven years. If the shares are in your name, they belong to the Vance family. Now that we’re asking you to make a way for the Vance bloodline, you want to settle accounts?”

When she said the word “bloodline” ,her eyes flicked toward the side door.

Soon, the sound of crying came from the hallway.

Chloe Davis stood there holding Leo, dressed in a plain white dress, her eyes reddened just the right amount.

“Mrs. Vance, I know I shouldn’t be here,” she sobbed. “But Leo doesn’t understand anything. He just wants to call him ‘Daddy’. He shouldn’t be caught in the crossfire of adult grievances.”

Leo was nudged forward, whispering, “Daddy.”

Several veteran shareholders exchanged looks.

In my last life, it was that one word, “Daddy”—that forced me to surrender my last shred of dignity.

Back then, I thought I was barren and felt guilty. I thought if I were “sensible” enough, Richard would remember our seven years of marriage.

I didn’t realize until I was thrown out that being “sensible” was just clearing the way for them.

I looked at the juice box in Leo’s hand.

The paper rim was bitten into a soft circle of marks, orange liquid staining his fingertips.

Excellent.

In this life, even the cup arrived just in time.

I turned off the microphone and kept my voice low.

“Richard, have the Finance Department pull up the original acquisition records for these shares.”

Richard let out a short laugh.

“Do you even understand them?”

“I don’t,” I said. “But my lawyer does.”

I slid my phone onto the table; the screen was still lit.

The call was active.

The contact name: Margaret Thorne, Attorney at Law.

Richard’s smirk faltered.

Beatrice’s face darkened instantly.

She didn’t know Margaret Thorne, but she knew the weight the word “Attorney” carried at a board meeting.

I looked at them, my fingertips brushing the cold edge of the brooch.

It was my mother’s legacy.

In my last life, I only understood at the moment of my death that my mother hadn’t just left me a keepsake. The serial number on the back of the brooch was the original file number for that trust.

Margaret Thorne was the managing attorney for my mother’s old trust.

But in my previous life, I had dismissed it as a useless antique.