Chapter 3 - THE WOLF IN THE STUDY
I didn’t go back through the front door. I used the side gate that led directly to the garden office—my father’s old study, which Luca had apparently converted into his personal command center.
The French doors were unlocked. People who steal empires always grow arrogant; they stop checking the locks because they believe nobody dares to test their authority.
I slipped inside, the heavy mahogany smell of the room instantly transporting me back to childhood. But the nostalgia was ruined the second I saw the desk. It was buried under stacks of financial statements, blank checkbooks, and a laptop left open to an online banking portal.
On the screen was my account dashboard. Balance: $412.50.
They had systematically drained everything. The savings I had earmarked for my future, the emergency funds, the medical buffer for Mom—all of it funneled into high-risk crypto assets and luxury car leases under Apex Holdings.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the hallway.
"Wendy, I swear if the caterer cancels for Saturday, I’m cutting their fee," Luca’s voice drifted through the heavy oak door. The knob turned.
I had seconds.
Without thinking, I ducked behind the floor-to-ceiling velvet drapes flanking the bookshelf, holding my breath as the door swung open. Luca walked in, loosening his silk tie and muttering to himself. He sat down right at the desk, pulled a bottle of scotch from the bottom drawer, and poured himself a heavy glass.
He picked up his phone and dialed a number on speaker.
"Yeah, it’s me," Luca said, his voice dripping with condescension. "The old lady is completely broken. She took her memory pills an hour ago, so she's wandering around the kitchen thinking she's the domestic help. It’s hilarious. No, Jessi is still halfway across the globe. She’s too buried in her corporate spreadsheets to notice anything."
My nails dug into my palms so hard I nearly broke the skin behind the velvet curtain.
"Just keep milking the accounts until the property loan is fully leveraged," the voice on the other end—a lawyer, judging by the clipped, icy tone—replied. "Once we flip the house next month, take your cut and ditch the mother in a state-run facility. She’s a liability anyway."
"Done," Luca chuckled, taking a sip of scotch. "She’ll never know what hit her."
The call disconnected. Luca leaned back in the leather chair, kicking his feet up onto my father’s desk.
I stepped out from behind the curtain, letting the velvet fall back into place with a soft, ominous rustle.
"You know, Luca," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet room like a razor blade. "It’s really bad manners to talk about your business partners behind their backs."
Luca bolted upright, his chair screeching against the hardwood floor. The scotch glass slipped from his fingers, shattering into a thousand amber shards across the Persian rug.
Color drained completely from his face. For a second, he looked like a terrified child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then, his features twisted back into that defensive, sneering mask I knew too well.
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"Jessi," he stammered, scrambling to stand up. "How—when did you get here? Why didn't you knock?"
"I tried," I replied, walking slowly toward the desk, stepping over the shattered glass without flinching. "Then I noticed you were busy turning my life into a dumpster fire. Let’s talk about Mom, Luca. And let’s talk about why my signature is on a fraudulent deed."
