Chapter 3 - Smiling with the Enemy
The next two weeks were a masterclass in psychological warfare. Every single morning, I woke up next to Eleanor, pretending to sleep soundly while my mind plotted her downfall. I watched her closely. I noticed how she subtly checked my medication bottles in the bathroom, how she subtly suggested I take a step back from the firm due to my "fragile health," and how she constantly brought up Preston and Harper's need for financial autonomy.
On Tuesday evening, we hosted a family dinner at our estate to celebrate the newlywed's return from their brief weekend honeymoon. Preston looked radiant, holding Harper's hand across the long dining table. Harper played her role flawlessly, occasionally rubbing her belly and asking Eleanor for advice on nursery decorations.
"Dad," Preston said, lifting his glass of water to toast me. "I just want to thank you again for the lake house. It’s incredible. Harper and I went up there yesterday, and we already started planning the baby's room facing the water."
"You're very welcome, son," I said, taking a sip of my wine. I kept my eyes locked on Harper. "A beautiful property for a beautiful new beginning. Have you guys finalized all the deed registration paperwork yet?"
Harper cleared her throat, a tiny, almost imperceptible flicker of panic crossing her eyes before she recovered. "Oh, yes, Mr. Sterling. Our legal representative is handling all the tedious tax filings this week. We want to ensure everything is perfectly set up for the future."
"Wonderful," I murmured. "Make sure it’s secure. In this day and age, you can never be too careful about who is trying to take what belongs to you."
Eleanor smiled smoothly from the head of the table. "Richard is right, children. The world is full of opportunistic people. That’s why family must always stick together and protect one another."
The sheer hypocrisy of her words almost made me laugh out loud.
The next morning, I received an encrypted message from Marcus. He had established a secure communication channel through a burner phone he had provided me. “We found the real father,” the text read. “Meet me at the warehouse district office at 2:00 PM. I have someone you need to see.”
To avoid suspicion, I told Eleanor I had a routine cardiology check-up. She even offered to drive me, her eyes filled with a terrifyingly maternal concern. I declined, claiming I had a quick business call to make on the way.
Marcus's secondary location was a plain, unmarked building in the industrial sector of the city—completely removed from the luxury of Sterling Tower. When I walked into the sparse concrete room, Marcus was standing next to a nervous-looking young man in his late twenties, dressed in a faded leather jacket.
"Richard, this is Caleb Cross," Marcus introduced. "Caleb is an independent contractor, an audio-visual technician who frequently works high-end events in the city. He also happens to be Harper Jenkins' long-term, off-and-on boyfriend."
Caleb looked terrified, looking at me as if I were about to order his execution. "Mr. Sterling, please, I didn't know how far this was going," the boy stammered. "Harper told me she was doing a long-term corporate consulting gig for Mrs. Sterling. She said it was just a fake relationship to help your son get through some public relations issues. I didn't know she was actually going to marry him! And the baby... the baby is mine. We have the ultrasound photos from a private clinic we went to before she ever met Preston."
I closed my eyes for a second, feeling a wave of relief for my son, mixed with absolute fury. "You have proof of paternity?"
"Yes sir," Caleb said, trembling as he pulled out a tablet. "We have text messages. Hundreds of them. Harper texting me from your son’s apartment, telling me she loves me, telling me she’s only doing this so we can get the five-million-dollar payout Mrs. Sterling promised her. She said once the money hits the Cayman account, she’s going to file for divorce, claim full custody based on fabricated abuse allegations against Preston, and we’d flee to Europe together."
"Abuse allegations?" I whispered, the room dropping twenty degrees. "She was going to destroy my son's life completely."
"Eleanor provided her with the playbook," Marcus added grimly, handing me a printout of intercepted emails between Eleanor and an anonymous encrypted server. "Your wife was planning to use Harper to legally strip Preston of his inheritance rights by portraying him as an unstable, abusive husband, leaving Eleanor as the sole trustee of the Sterling family fortune when you pass away."
I looked at Caleb. "Are you willing to testify to this in a court of law, young man?"
"If it keeps me out of prison, yes," Caleb nodded rapidly. "Marcus promised me immunity if I cooperate fully."
"Good," I said, turning to Marcus. "What’s the status on the St. Jude’s clinic director?"
"We caught him," Marcus smiled, a genuine, predatory grin. "We tracked a wire transfer of five hundred thousand dollars from Eleanor's 'art procurement' shell company directly into his sister-in-law’s bank account. He broke within ten minutes of my investigators showing up. He’s signed a full confession. He’s agreed to provide the real, unaltered medical records to the court."
"Excellent," I said, feeling the trap snapping shut around my enemies. "Now, we just need the final piece. The secondary deed transfer. When is Harper scheduled to execute the move of the lake house into E.H. Holdings?"
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"This Friday at 3:00 PM," Marcus replied. "They’ve scheduled a private signing at Eleanor's personal estate attorney's office. They think you'll be at the charity golf tournament."
I straightened my tie, looking at my reflection in the dark warehouse window. "Cancel my tee time, Marcus. Tell our legal team to prepare the paperwork. This Friday, we’re going to give my wife and daughter-in-law a wedding reception they will never forget."
