Chapter 15 - THE COMPANY IN MY NAME
Hayes Continental Holdings.
I had never heard of it.
Apparently, I owned thirty-one percent.
Natalie found the shares buried inside an old subsidiary attached to my grandmother's trust.
They had been dormant for decades.
Or appeared dormant.
The company controlled land.
A lot of land.
Industrial property.
Commercial developments.
Mineral rights.
Warehouses.
The estimated value was staggering.
“Two hundred and eighty million?”
I stared at Natalie.
“Approximately.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because numbers that large stopped feeling real.
“Why didn't I know?”
“The shares were nonvoting until a triggering event.”
“What event?”
Natalie looked at me.
“Elizabeth's death.”
“But she's alive.”
“Legally, she isn't.”
I stared.
After thirty years missing, Elizabeth had been declared legally dead.
That transferred voting rights.
To me.
“Why me?”
“Your grandmother.”
Of course.
Margaret had taken everything from Elizabeth.
Then left the power to me.
A child who knew nothing.
“What happens if Elizabeth proves she's alive?”
Natalie looked grim.
“She may have a legitimate claim.”
Grant spoke from across the room.
“Then why threaten Ryan?”
“Because legitimate claims take years,” Natalie said.
“And because,” I added, “there's something else.”
Everyone looked at me.
I remembered the tape.
Penelope must never pay for what we did.
My grandmother hadn't said protect the money.
She had said Penelope.
“This isn't about ownership.”
I whispered.
“It's about revenge.”
That evening, I finally told the children part of the truth.
Not everything.
Enough.
Owen listened silently.
Lily looked frightened.
Noah asked:
“Is the bad lady coming here?”
I hated that question.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Because adults lie to children when the truth is too heavy.
But I had promised myself years ago that fear would never become normal in my home.
So I said:
“I don't.”
Grant looked at me.
“But we have people protecting us,” I continued. “And we're being careful.”
Owen asked:
“Does Dad have to stay here?”
Grant looked down.
I waited.
“What do you want?”
Owen shrugged.
Then:
“I think he should.”
Grant looked at our son.
“Why?”
“Because you're involved too.”
Thirteen-year-old logic.
Brutal.
Accurate.
Grant slept in the guest room.
It was the first night he had slept under my roof since the divorce.
Nothing about it felt romantic.
It felt strange.
At midnight, I found him in the kitchen drinking water.
“Can't sleep?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
He looked around.
“You built a good home.”
“I know.”
“I used to think the big house meant I was successful.”
I said nothing.
He continued.
“This feels more like success.”
“Don't romanticize my mortgage.”
He laughed.
I almost did too.
Then the alarm sounded.
Every light outside activated.
Grant dropped the glass.
Security rushed toward the backyard.
I ran upstairs.
The children were safe.
No intruder.
Instead, someone had thrown something over the fence.
A framed photograph.
My grandmother.
Young.
Standing beside Elizabeth.
The glass was shattered.
Written across Margaret's face in red ink:
LIAR.
On the back:
BOARD MEETING. FRIDAY. 10 A.M.
COME ALONE.
I stared at it.
Grant said:
“You're not going.”
I looked at him.
“You don't get a vote.”
“Penelope—”
“Actually…”
Natalie picked up the photograph.
“She does.”
Grant frowned.
May you like
Natalie looked at me.
“Thirty-one percent of them.”
