Chapter 8
"Excuse me?" Julian stared at me as if I had spoken in tongues.
"You heard me," I said, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet lobby of the bank. "As of this morning, I hold fifty percent of the voting shares in the Moretti Family Trust. You hold twenty. The board requires forty to make executive changes."
"You're bluffing," Celeste said, stepping forward, though her voice wavered. "She's bluffing, Julian."
"Call your grandfather's lawyer," I suggested, stepping around them toward the exit. "Ask him about the Evelyn Miller contingency."
Julian lunged forward, grabbing my arm violently. "You listen to me, you ungrateful little bitch—"
"Take your hand off my client."
A sharp, authoritative voice cut through the air.
We all turned. Standing by the entrance was a tall man in a tailored charcoal suit, carrying a leather briefcase.
Julian released my arm, his eyes narrowing. "Marcus? What the hell are you doing here?"
Marcus Vance was the Moretti family's most feared attorney. He handled the things that never saw the inside of a courtroom.
Marcus adjusted his glasses. "I was alerted the moment the vault was accessed. My instructions were to secure Ms. Miller's safety immediately upon the reading of the documents."
"I am the head of this family!" Julian roared.
"Not anymore, Julian," Marcus said smoothly. He walked over to me and nodded respectfully. "Ms. Miller. My car is waiting outside. We have board members to assemble."
Julian looked like he was going to be sick. Celeste slowly backed away from him, her eyes wide as she realized the golden goose she had bet on was suddenly bankrupt.
"Celeste," Julian snapped. "Let's go. We're going to fight this."
But Celeste didn't move. She looked at me, then at Julian. "You told me you had it under control, Julian. You told me she was nothing."
"She is nothing!"
"She's your boss," Celeste corrected coldly. She turned on her heel and walked out the front doors, leaving Julian standing alone in the lobby.
I felt a surge of triumph, but it was quickly overshadowed by a lingering dread.
The legal transfer was secure. But the original will—the document that proved the grandfather's intent to disinherit his own sons entirely—was still at the house. In my wedding ring box.
If Julian's uncles found it before I did, they could tie me up in probate court for a decade.
"Marcus," I said as we stepped into the bright morning sunlight. "I need to go back to the house. Right now."
"That is highly ill-advised, Evelyn. Julian's uncles are already gathering there for the Sunday meeting."
"I know," I said, sliding into the back of his town car. "But there's something I need to retrieve before they burn the place to the ground."
When we arrived at the Moretti estate, the driveway was lined with black luxury cars. The wolves had gathered.
I walked through the front doors, Marcus two steps behind me.
The house was chaotic. Voices echoed from the grandfather's study. Men were shouting.
I slipped past the grand staircase and hurried up to the master bedroom.
The door was ajar.
I pushed it open and stopped dead in my tracks.
My vanity had been smashed. The drawers were pulled out, clothes strewn everywhere.
And standing in the center of the room, holding my heavy, vintage velvet ring box, was Julian.
May you like
He looked up, a manic grin spreading across his face.
"Looking for this, Evie?" he asked.
