Chapter 9 - The Unknown Heir
The library doors swung open ten minutes later.
Captain Miller escorted the shivering young woman in, directing her toward a velvet armchair near the fireplace. A maid handed her a warm cup of tea and a thick woolen blanket, which she clutched tightly around her shoulders.
Up close, she looked to be in her mid-twenties. Her face was striking—possessing the exact same sharp cheekbones and piercing gray eyes that defined every Montgomery.
"Who are you?" I asked, walking slowly down the spiral staircase from the mezzanine, my emerald silk robe trailing behind me. "And why are you standing in my rain at nine o'clock at night dropping bombs about Arthur Montgomery?"
The young woman looked up, her gray eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and deep-seated terror.
"My name is Victoria," she said, her voice shaking slightly as she sipped the hot tea. "Victoria Montgomery. And the trust your sons inherited... legally belongs to me."
The room went dead silent.
I stopped halfway down the stairs, my mind racing through every legal document, every audit, and every line of corporate law Julian Vance and I had combed through during the hostile takeover. Every single asset was accounted for. Every heir was verified.
"That's impossible," I said, stepping firmly onto the hardwood floor and walking toward her. "Arthur Montgomery had two legitimate children: Eleanor and Charles. Charles died unmarried in Europe twenty years ago. There are no other heirs."
Victoria let out a bitter, humorless laugh, pulling a battered leather journal from beneath her coat and sliding it across the coffee table toward me.
"Charles didn't die unmarried," Victoria whispered, tears finally spilling over her lashes. "He was hidden away because he married a woman Eleanor and Arthur deemed 'unsuitable.' My mother. And before my father died last year, he left me proof that Eleanor didn't just steal the family empire from you, Katherine... she stole it from my family first."
May you like
I looked down at the leather journal. Embossed on the cover in faded gold lettering were the initials A.M.—Arthur Montgomery's personal diary.
And as I opened to the marked page, the foundation of everything I had fought for began to crack.
