Chapter 3 - THE COUP D'ÉTATA collective, deafening gasp swept through the cathedral like a freezing gale.
Aunt Celeste shrieked, dropping her designer leather handbag onto the hardwood pew. "That is absurd! Sterling, you senile old fraud! My son Damian runs Blackthorne Capital! He has a Harvard MBA! That sickly, useless girl hasn't done a productive thing in six years!"
"Silence, Celeste," Sterling commanded, his eyes flashing with ice. "The legal integrity of this document has been verified by the Supreme Court of New York. Furthermore, clause 9, section b of the Mercer Trust states explicitly: Any heir attempting to sabotage, assault, or disenfranchise another blood heir within company grounds or family estates shall forfeit all inheritance immediately."
Sterling turned his gaze back to Damian, who looked like he had been struck by lightning.
"Mr. Damian Mercer crushed an FDA-approved medical device belonging to Mara Mercer precisely three minutes ago on closed-circuit security cameras monitored live by my firm," Sterling continued smoothly. "That act constitutes felony assault and automatic corporate disqualification."
Damian lunged forward, his face distorted by an ugly, rabid fury. "You rigged this! Both of you! That old man was out of his mind when he signed that!"
Before Damian could reach the podium, the four tactical guards stepped forward, pinning his arms behind his back with military-grade precision.
"Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am?!" Damian roared, thrashing against them. "I am a billionaire! I own half the commercial real estate in Manhattan!"
"Not anymore, cousin," I stepped forward, my voice cool, clear, and carrying absolute authority.
I tapped my phone screen once, projecting the live global asset tracker onto the massive LED mourning screens flanking the altar—screens that were supposed to display a peaceful slideshow of Grandfather Elias's life.
Instead, the screens flickered. The photos vanished, replaced by a glowing red dashboard.
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BLACKTHORNE CAPITAL: TOTAL LIQUIDATION - 94% COMPLETED.
Damian stopped struggling. He stared at the screen in absolute horror as his hedge fund’s net worth evaporated into digital ether, swallowed entirely by the automated short position I had coded into the bedrock of Mercer Dynamics years ago.
