Chapter 9 - The Midnight DecreeThe holding cell at the federal district courthouse downtown was cold, sterile, and smelled faintly of floor wax and old iron.
Grant sat on the edge of the metal bench, his designer navy suit hopelessly wrinkled, his hands trembling as he stared at the concrete floor. The reality of what had happened hadn't just sunk in; it had crushed him completely.
The studio was gone. The money was gone. The penthouse was locked. Sloane Monroe had already blocked his number on every social media platform and fled to Miami with a minor television producer. And his father, the man who had built the entire dynasty, hadn't even answered his phone calls.
The heavy steel door clanked open.
A guard stepped aside, and Theodore Carrington walked in.
The older man didn't sit down. He stood in the doorway, leaning slightly on his polished ebony cane, looking down at his only son with a mixture of profound disappointment and cold pity.
“Are you happy now?” Grant whispered, his voice cracking. “Did you come here to gloat? To watch me rot in a federal holding cell?”
“I didn't come to gloat, Grant,” Theodore said quietly. “I came to deliver your final notice.”
Theodore pulled a single piece of heavy parchment from his coat pocket and tossed it onto the metal table in front of Grant.
“What is this?” Grant asked, not even looking up.
“It’s the formal disinheritance decree,” Theodore replied evenly. “Effective midnight, your name is permanently removed from the Carrington Family Trust. All future dividends, trust distributions, and estate claims are officially voided.”
Grant’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “You can’t do that! I’m your son!”
“You were my son,” Theodore corrected, his voice like ice. “Until you decided to sell out the legacy my father built just to fund your lifestyle with an actress who wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire.”
Theodore turned toward the heavy steel door, stopping just before he stepped out.
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“Lily gave birth to a healthy baby girl an hour ago,” Theodore said without looking back. “Her name is Margaret Rose Carrington. She owns more of this city than you will ever comprehend, and she will grow up knowing the exact value of loyalty, hard work, and integrity—three things you never bothered to learn.”
The door slammed shut, the heavy lock sliding into place with a definitive, echoing clank.
