part 4
The dining room at the Ferguson estate had always felt like a courtroom pretending to be a home.
Long polished table.
Crystal glasses.
Oil portraits of dead men who probably never heard the word no.
Abigail sat at one end that night with the transfer folder in front of her and Patricia smiling from the other end like a woman hosting a funeral she had personally arranged.
Nicholas sat beside Abigail.
Gregory across from her.
No one else was there.
Not even the house staff.
That should have warned her.
Patricia folded her napkin and said, “Tonight we settle the future of both families.”
Abigail did not touch the folder.
“What future?”
Gregory smiled.
“The efficient one.”
Nicholas slid the papers closer.
“All this does is temporarily transfer your voting authority to me.”
Abigail laughed once because the sentence was too insulting to answer with anything softer.
“No.”
Patricia’s smile thinned.
“Be serious.”
Abigail pushed the folder back.
“My father left those shares to me.”
“And I’m not signing them over.”
Gregory leaned back.
“That company will perform better under firm hands.”
Abigail looked at him.
“You mean your hands.”
Nicholas’s voice changed.
The softness vanished.
“Don’t do this.”
Abigail turned to him.
“Don’t do what?”
“Protect what’s mine?”
Patricia stood first.
That was what Abigail remembered most clearly.
Not the shouting.
Not even the first hit.
The sound of Patricia’s chair scraping back against the hardwood floor.
“You ungrateful little girl,” Patricia said.
“We gave you this family.”
Abigail rose too.
“You wanted my father’s company.”
Gregory moved toward the door.
That was when she realized it had been locked.
“Nicholas?”
He would not meet her eyes.
Fear struck first.
Then fury.
Abigail grabbed the folder and threw it across the table.
Pages scattered over crystal and candles.
“I’m leaving.”
She tried to move past Nicholas.
He caught her wrist.
Hard.
Too hard.
She gasped.
“Let go.”
Patricia stepped close enough for Abigail to smell her perfume.
“Sign.”
Abigail pulled back.
Nicholas tightened his grip.
Gregory blocked the doorway.
Then Patricia slapped her.
Fast.
Open-handed.
A white flash went off behind Abigail’s eyes.
She stumbled.
“What is wrong with you?” she cried.
Gregory muttered, “Just make her do it.”
Abigail tried to wrench free.
Nicholas shoved her back into the chair.
She hit the table edge with her hip.
The second bruise came when Gregory grabbed her other arm.
The third when Patricia tried to force a pen into her hand.
The fourth when Abigail threw the pen away and Nicholas hit her across the face in front of his mother.
No one looked shocked.
That was what horrified her most.
They looked inconvenienced.
Abigail kicked backward, caught Gregory in the shin, and broke free for one second.
One second was enough.
She ran.
Upstairs.
Into the guest bathroom.
Locked the door.
Hands shaking so hard she dropped her phone twice.
Nicholas pounded on the door.
Patricia shouted threats from the hallway.
Gregory said, “If she calls anyone, take the phone.”
Abigail hit one name.
Mom.
When Rachel answered, Abigail had only enough breath for the truth.
May you like
“Mom, come get me.”
Read the full story 👉 Abigail escaped to the bathroom and made the call, but what happened between that locked door and the hospital would prove the Fergusons never meant to let her leave untouched.
