Chapter 8 - THE WAR COUNCIL IN THE EAST WINGTwo hours later, the massive oak table in the East Wing library was covered in decades-old ledgers, federal tax documents, and newly unsealed court injunctions.
Riley sat in a velvet armchair, holding a cup of steaming tea, while little Aria slept soundly in Olivia’s lap on the sofa nearby. Olivia was softly stroking the baby’s hair, whispering stories about her pet hamster.
Michael stood by the fireplace, while Marcus Vance outlined the endgame.
“With the federal indictments signed this morning, Arthur Sterling’s assets have been completely frozen,” Marcus reported, laying down a final stack of papers. “He’s facing sixty years in federal prison for racketeering, witness intimidation, and malicious prosecution. His board control of Sterling-Vane is officially forfeit.”
Eleanor sat at the head of the table, her expression grave. “And the legacy trust?”
“It legally reverts back to the rightful heirs,” Marcus said, looking directly at Riley. “According to the original charter drafted by your grandmother Sarah, fifty percent of the entire Sterling estate and all subsidiary holdings now belong legally and unconditionally to Riley Evans.”
Riley nearly dropped her teacup. She stared at Marcus, then at Michael, her chest heaving.
“I don't want an empire,” Riley whispered, her voice shaking. “I don't care about money. I just... I wanted a safe place to sleep. I wanted my baby to live.”
Michael walked over, kneeling beside her chair. He looked up into her eyes, his expression full of profound warmth and unspoken devotion.
“You’ve fought alone for too long, Riley,” Michael said softly. “You don't have to carry the weight of the world anymore. The empire is yours, yes—but you don't have to face it by yourself.”
Riley looked down into Michael’s dark, steady eyes. She saw no pity there. Only truth. Only a man who had stopped his car in the freezing rain because his little daughter asked a simple question that broke the world open.
Before Riley could answer, the library doors flew open.
May you like
Mrs. Gable rushed in, looking pale and panicked.
“Mr. Harrison! You need to come to the front security monitors right now!”
