They Erased Me. I Owned Their Empire Chapter 02

Sunday dinner at my parents’ house was at six.

I arrived at five fifty-five. I always arrived early. As if being early might earn me something.

There were eight chairs at the table.

There were eight of us.

I counted twice. Dad. Mom. Theo. Miles. Grant. Bianca. Bianca’s friend Sloane, who I’d never met.

And an empty space by the radiator where my chair used to be.

“Oh, Wren.” Mom’s eyes flicked to me, then away. “I didn’t think you were coming. You didn’t confirm.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Well, there’s a folding chair in the garage.”

Miles snorted into his wine. Bianca smiled at her plate.

I didn’t get the folding chair. I stood.

That was when I saw her necklace.

Emeralds. Old gold. Seven stones in a delicate row.

My grandmother’s necklace. She’d left it to me in her will. Mom had said it was “safer” in the family vault.

“Do you like it?” Bianca touched it lightly. “Mom said I could wear it for the gala. It goes with my dress.”

“It’s mine.”

“Wren.” Mom set down the gravy boat hard. “Don’t start. Not tonight. Bianca’s under so much pressure.”

“It’s my grandmother’s necklace.”

“It’s jewelry, Wren.”

Dad cleared his throat. He didn’t look at me. He never looked at me when he was about to say something important.

“Since we’re all here.” He raised his glass. “I want to toast Bianca. Three years ago, this family was going under. And this girl walked into Northgate Capital and convinced them to believe in us.”

Bianca lowered her eyes. Modest. Perfect.

“Christmas Eve,” Dad said, “the Northgate principal has agreed to attend the gala in person. For the first time. And Bianca will be there to introduce them to our board.”

Everyone clapped.

Grant clapped loudest.

“What’s the principal’s name?” I asked.

Silence.

Bianca’s smile didn’t move. “They value privacy, Wren. You wouldn’t understand. It’s a finance thing.”

“Try me.”

“Wren.” Grant’s hand closed on my elbow. Too tight. His voice went low, the voice he used in public. “Stop embarrassing yourself.”

I looked at his hand. Then at him.

He let go.

After dessert, which I ate standing up, Grant drove us home in silence. In the driveway, he didn’t get out. He reached into the back seat and pulled out a folder.

“I need you to sign something,” he said.

A postnuptial agreement. Twelve pages. Notary tabs already flagged.

“My lawyer says it’s standard. With the CFO role coming, there’ll be equity. Bonuses. I need to protect it.” He tapped a paragraph. “It’s mutual. Neither of us can touch the other’s separate property. Business interests, assets, whatever. Before or during the marriage.”

He thought he was protecting his future from me.

He didn’t ask what my separate property was.

In three years, he’d never asked.

“You’re quiet,” he said. “Don’t make this a whole thing, Wren. You don’t even have anything to protect.”

I read every page. Slowly. He drummed his fingers on the wheel.

Section 6. Mutual waiver of claims to all business interests held by either party, including but not limited to investment funds, equity, and trusts.

I signed.

He blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He laughed, relieved, and kissed my cheek like I’d done him a favor. Like a good dog.

My phone buzzed as he walked inside.

Callum. [Your father’s office just called. They’ve asked Northgate to submit the principal’s name for the gala program.]

Another buzz.

[Bianca Calloway has requested that the name printed be hers.]

I typed back.

[Tell them the name will be sealed in an envelope. Opened on stage. By my father.]

[Understood. And Wren?]

[Yes?]

[What do you want the envelope to say?]

I sat in the dark car for a long time.

Then I went inside, took out my grandmother’s stationery, and began to write.

On the front of the envelope, I wrote one line.

To be opened by Richard Calloway. On my birthday.