Chapter 8 - The Desperate Call
I didn't flinch. The old Elena—the one who cowered in the basement while her mother screamed through the wood paneling—would have dropped the phone in sheer terror. But the woman holding the phone now was a multi-million-dollar tech founder, a survivor of stage 2 lymphoma, and a legally recognized heiress.
"You don't own the estate, Beatrice," I said, my voice ice-cold and steady. "Grandfather disinherited you fifteen years ago. The legal documents are already filed with the county clerk. If you ever contact this number again, my legal team will file harassment charges and freeze whatever pitiful bank accounts you have left."
"You ungrateful, bald little monster!" Beatrice shrieked, her composure completely snapping. "I gave birth to you! I housed you! I fed you!"
"You charged me rent while I was dying of cancer and hid me in a damp basement," I retorted sharply. "Do not talk to me about maternal debt. We are finished. Lose my number."
I hung up and blocked the line instantly.
Silas stood by the kitchen window, watching me with a steady, protective gaze. "How did she find out?"
"It doesn't matter," I replied, tossing my phone onto the counter. "County property transfers are public record. She’s hunting for scraps because her boutique failed and her high-society friends won't return her calls. She's completely cornered."
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"A cornered animal is dangerous," Silas noted quietly, walking over to wrap his arms around me. "We need to step up security here and back in New York."
Back in the city, however, Beatrice wasn't just planning a petty phone call. Humiliated, broke, and desperate to reclaim her social status, she had formed a toxic alliance. Desperate to strike back at the daughter who had stripped away her empire, she reached out to the only person left who hated me as much as she did: Khloe’s bitter ex-fiancé, a disgraced corporate media consultant named Julian Vance, who was more than willing to trade lies for a paycheck.
