Arthur’s attorney—Mr. Sterling, a stern and meticulous man—requested the official reading of the will. Curtis called me, furious.
“I don’t know why you’re even invited,” he snapped. “Dad probably left you some worthless trinket or photo album. Just show up, sign whatever, and disappear. Don’t ruin this for me.”
I arrived at the law firm wearing my best outfit—the only thing I owned that didn’t carry the scent of humiliation. Curtis was already there, seated at the head of the polished mahogany table, flanked by financial advisers who looked like sharks circling fresh blood.
And he smiled—confident, certain, and completely unprepared for what was coming next.
He looked at me with open contempt as I entered the room.
“Sit in the back, Vanessa,” he snapped. “And keep quiet.”
Mr. Sterling arrived moments later, carrying a heavy leather-bound folder. He took his seat, straightened his glasses, and surveyed the room. His eyes paused on me for a fraction longer than on anyone else—thoughtful, impossible to read—before moving on to Curtis.
“We will now begin the reading of Mr. Arthur’s final will and testament,” Sterling announced.
Curtis tapped his fingers impatiently against the table.
“Let’s skip the formalities,” he said sharply. “I want to hear about properties and liquid assets. I’m flying to Monaco on Friday and need funds ready.”
Sterling proceeded through the legal language. Curtis sighed loudly. Finally, the lawyer reached the inheritance section.
“To my only son, Curtis, I leave ownership of the family residence, the automobile collection, and the sum of seventy-five million dollars…”
Curtis slammed his fist down and jumped to his feet.
“I knew it!” he shouted, grinning triumphantly. “Every cent is mine!” He turned toward me, cruelty curling his lips. “Did you hear that, Vanessa? Seventy-five million. And you? You get nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
I sat motionless, shame burning my chest. His advisers snorted under their breath. I braced myself for one last humiliation.
Curtis grabbed his briefcase.
“All right, Sterling. Start the transfers. I’m done here.”
“Sit down, Mr. Curtis,” Sterling said calmly.
The room fell silent. His voice wasn’t raised, but it carried unmistakable authority.
Curtis hesitated, irritated, then dropped back into his chair.
Sterling turned the page. The soft scrape of paper sounded thunderous.
“There is an additional provision,” he said evenly. “One your father drafted two days before entering his coma. It is titled the Loyalty and Character Clause.”
Curtis scoffed.
“Spare me. Dad’s lectures. Skip it.”
“I cannot,” Sterling replied. “Because your inheritance depends on it.”
He cleared his throat and read aloud:
“I built my fortune on solid foundations. And a structure cannot stand if the foundation is corrupt. I have observed my son Curtis for many years—his vanity, his selfishness, and, most painfully, his lack of compassion toward his dying father. But I have also observed Vanessa.”
My heart jolted. Arthur… had written about me?
Sterling continued:
“Vanessa has been the daughter I never had. She tended to my wounds, tolerated my moods, and preserved my dignity in my final days—while my own son watched the clock, waiting for my death. I know Curtis values money over people. And I fear that once I am gone, he will discard Vanessa to enjoy my fortune without witnesses to his cruelty.”
Curtis’s face drained of color. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“Therefore,” Sterling read firmly, “if at the time of my death and the reading of this will, Curtis remains married to Vanessa, living with her, and treating her with the respect she deserves, he shall inherit the seventy-five million dollars. However—”
Sterling paused. Curtis was visibly shaking.
“If Curtis has abandoned Vanessa, removed her from the marital home, or initiated divorce proceedings prior to this reading, it confirms my fears. In that case, Curtis’s inheritance shall be limited to a trust of two thousand dollars per month, designated solely for basic living expenses, with no access to the principal.”
The room went utterly still.
“That’s impossible!” Curtis screamed, leaping up. “I’m his son! He can’t do this!”
“Please wait,” Sterling said, raising his hand. “I have not yet read where the remaining assets are allocated.”
He turned toward me. This time, his expression softened into a small, respectful smile.
“In the event that my son has revealed his true character and cast aside his wife, all remaining assets—including the residence, investments, and seventy-five million dollars—shall transfer fully and irrevocably to the only individual who proved herself worthy: Mrs. Vanessa.”
The room seemed to tilt. My hands shook against the table—not from fear, but disbelief.
Curtis stood frozen, staring at me as though I’d risen from the dead.
“All of it… to her?” he whispered.
Sterling snapped the folder shut with a decisive crack.
“Yes, Mr. Curtis. According to the divorce documents you personally submitted last week”—he lifted the papers—“and the testimony of security confirming Mrs. Vanessa’s removal from the home, the disinheritance clause has been fully activated.”
Curtis collapsed into his chair, gasping.
“No… no… this can’t be right,” he cried. “Sterling, fix this! Vanessa, please!”
He spun toward me, desperation replacing arrogance in seconds. He lunged forward, trying to seize my hands.
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