The Billionaire Heir Called Me a Freeloader-I’d Bankrolled His Family for 600 Years Chapter 01

I was immortal. I’d lived for six hundred years.

The orphan who’d once driven my carriage had built a business empire with the seed capital I’d given him. Eventually, he’d become the richest man in the world.

The Whitmore family business had now passed through twelve generations.

The current heir was hailed as a business prodigy. Within a year of returning to New York from London, he’d increased the group’s market value thirtyfold.

Everyone else at the company thought I was a freeloader who lived off the Whitmores and never worked.

I didn’t explain. I drank tea and enjoyed the sunshine in the rooftop garden every day, then signed the dividend papers at month’s end. That life suited me just fine.

Until his fiancée approached me at the company’s annual dinner.

“Ms. Bennett, Nathan doesn’t want to challenge you directly, so I will.”

She set down her wineglass.

“You take sixty percent of the profits every year. Do you think you’ve earned it? We have three thousand employees, and not one can name a thing you’ve done. We do the work while you collect the payments. Is that how this works?”

The banquet hall fell silent.

Nathan Whitmore took her hand but made no move to stop her.

He looked at me and sighed softly.

“Claire, old personal ties don’t justify these ongoing payments. If you want a say, show us what value you can bring to this company first.”

I nodded and set down my untouched glass of wine.

Times had certainly changed.

But I’d bought the land beneath this building a hundred and twenty years ago. The purchase was registered in my name.

I’d signed the deed myself.

…

“So the Whitmores have decided to unilaterally break our agreement?”

I took a napkin and wiped a little red wine off my fingertips.

Vivian Reed gave a short laugh and brushed her curls off her shoulder.

“Don’t call routine corporate restructuring a breach of contract. We’re writing off sunk costs that add no value.”

She slapped a new agreement down in front of me.

“I’ve gone through the company’s early records. It’s not clear where your shares with special rights came from or what they were intended for. You don’t hold a management position or take part in day-to-day decisions. The Whitmores have paid you for years. No one owes you a lifetime of support.”

Several executives near the head table leaned closer, lowering their voices.

I didn’t need to strain to hear them. I already knew what they were thinking.

In the year since Nathan had brought her back from London, his fiancée had become director of strategy. Her heavy-handed management had made the other executives reluctant to challenge her.

“Vivian’s right. She doesn’t help run the business. Why should she get the biggest share of the profits?”

“We worked overtime with Nathan, night after night. That’s how we got the company to its current valuation.”

“And she gets most of the returns. She doesn’t even have to show up for work.”

I didn’t respond. I just glanced down at the agreement.

The agreement cut my profit share from sixty percent to a tenth of one percent.

Another clause required me to unconditionally transfer all the special authorizations and control rights I held in connection with the group.

I looked up at Nathan, who hadn’t said a word during the exchange.

“Did you approve this?”

He turned his wineglass in his hand and finally glanced at me.

His look seemed to warn me that his patience was running thin.

“Vivian was a little blunt, but I agree with her. We’re expanding internationally. Every dollar of profit should go toward something that creates value.”

He set down his glass.

“In the year since I returned, my team and I increased our market value thirtyfold. We did it by working late, night after night. And you? Nothing but the rooftop garden, orchids, and afternoon tea.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“My father was willing to keep the old arrangement. That was his choice. I won’t sacrifice shareholder returns to preserve some personal connection no one can explain. What matters now is ability, Claire. Whoever delivers results makes the decisions.”

Looking at his young face and his certainty that he could control everything, I thought of someone else: a boy with chilblains on his face.

Six hundred years earlier, snow had been falling heavily outside an abandoned chapel in Europe.

Inside, an orphan named Thomas was too cold to stand. He clutched the bowl of hot porridge I’d given him, his tears falling into it.

He struggled onto his knees and bowed his head to me again and again.

“Miss Bennett, I’ll never forget who saved me. Give me a job. I can do anything. I’ll give you most of every coin I earn.”

By then, I’d already grown weary of my long life.

I gave him a carriage and a few silver coins so he could drive for me, haul goods, and do a little trading. It gave me something to pass the time, too.

The boy wasn’t much of a talker, but he worked hard. His business grew from local trade to cover all of Europe. Then he expanded into North America.

On his deathbed, he held his son’s hand and insisted that his heir continue to honor our original agreement.

“She gave us our starting capital and the chance to build this business. You can take over the company, but you have no right to take away what’s hers.”

Six hundred years had passed, and Thomas’s family had carried on for twelve generations.

Now the business had come down to Nathan, and someone finally thought he could write the original investor out of the agreement.

“Claire? Are you listening?”

Vivian tapped the table.

“Staying silent won’t make this document go away.”

She folded her arms.

“Nathan’s still willing to leave you a tenth of one percent. That’s several million dollars a year. You won’t need to find a job or change your lifestyle. Sign it, and we can end this conversation.”

I picked up the pen, spun it once between my fingers, and tossed it back onto the table.

“What if I don’t sign?”

She paused. The smile vanished from her face.

“This is our final offer. Turn it down, and the terms will only get worse. You think the company has to keep paying you? All it takes is one email from Nathan. Finance can stop your payments tomorrow and freeze all your access to funds in the company system.”

Her voice rose. A few more people nearby turned to look.

I looked at her. I was done wasting time.

“Then send the email.”

I stood.

“I’m not signing.”

Then I looked at Nathan.

“You think that thirtyfold increase in market value was all your doing. Fine. Let’s see how long you can keep this company going without my support.”

I turned and walked toward the banquet hall’s exit.

Vivian laughed behind me.

“When the Whitmores stop paying you, I hope you’re still this calm.”