Chapter 4 - The Presentation of the Deed
"Dad?" Preston asked, his brow furrowing as he looked between me and his trembling wife. "What are you talking about? What amendment? The deed is already finalized and registered."
"Not quite, son," I said softly. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out two things: the small silver USB drive Tony Russo had given me, and a thick, blue legal folder prepared by my corporate attorneys two hours ago. I placed them directly next to Eleanor's wine glass.
Eleanor stared down at the blue folder, her perfect composure beginning to fray at the edges, a tiny muscle beneath her left eye twitching violently. "Richard, really. This is a family dinner. Whatever business nonsense you’re obsessing over can wait until tomorrow morning in your office."
"This isn't business nonsense, Eleanor. This is a family legacy," I said, my voice dropping into a dangerous, low rumble that filled the expansive room. I looked directly at Harper. "Harper, why don't you tell Preston about the conversation you had in the VIP bridal lounge at midnight on Sunday? The one about the bustle. The one where my wife reminded you how easily she could bankrupt your father's business if you didn't play your part."
Harper let out a sharp, choked gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as a heavy sob tore out of her throat.
"Harper?" Preston asked, his voice cracking with a sudden, rising panic. He turned to his wife, reaching out to grab her arm. "What is he talking about? What conversation? Mom, what is going on?"
Eleanor stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. She looked magnificent in her fury, her eyes blazing as she glared at me across the candles. "Richard! Have you lost your mind? Are you having a stroke? How dare you accuse me of threatening this girl! I have done nothing but welcome her into this family with open arms!"
"You welcomed her because she was carrying a child, Eleanor," I said, standing up slowly, matching her height, looking down the length of the table like a judge delivering a death sentence. "But it wasn't Preston's child, was it?"
The room went so silent you could hear the rain lashing against the glass three rooms away.
Preston froze, his hand dropping from Harper's arm as if he had been burned. He looked at his wife, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated confusion. "What... what do you mean, Dad? Of course it's my child. We conceived in London... we were together..."
"She was in London, Preston," I said, my heart breaking as I delivered the strike that would ruin my son's innocence forever. "But you were on the north portfolio assignment for three weeks in Manchester. And do you know who was staying at the Mayfair penthouse with her during those three weeks? Your cousin, Julian."
"No..." Preston whispered, shaking his head frantically, turning back to Harper. "Harper, tell him he's wrong. Tell him he's crazy. Look at me, Harper!"
Harper couldn't look at him. She collapsed forward, her forehead resting against the white linen tablecloth, her body wracked with violent, hysterical weeping. "I'm sorry, Preston... I'm so sorry... she threatened my dad... she said she would destroy everything..."
Preston looked like a man who had just been executed but was somehow still standing. The color drained from his face, his mouth opening in a silent, agonizing gasp of betrayal.
Eleanor didn't weep. She didn't panic. She realized the game was up, and within a single second, her face hardened into the cold, corporate strategist she truly was. She sat back down, took a slow, deliberate sip of her wine, and looked at me with a terrifying calmness.
"Alright, Richard," Eleanor said, her voice completely flat, devoid of any emotion. "You found out. Congratulations. Your investigator actually earned his fee for once. But let's look at the board reality, shall we? You can't divorce me without liquidating half of the Sterling Group shares. If you do that, the market value collapses, the banks call the margin loans on your commercial towers, and you go bankrupt within a year. And as for Preston? He’ll raise Julian’s child because if he doesn't, I will personally release the corporate audit showing he mismanaged the London funds—an audit I fabricated and signed three months ago. You think you’ve won because you have a tape? You have nothing but the destruction of your own name."
May you like
I looked at the woman I had loved for thirty-five years, wondering how a human being could become so entirely rotten inside.
"I figured you’d say that, Eleanor," I said quietly. I reached over and tapped my phone screen. "That’s why I didn't just call Marcus Vance this afternoon. I called the federal district attorney. And I called the board of directors."
