Chapter 1 - THE FIVE ATTORNEYS AND THE SILENT TRAP
I stood at the head of the mahogany table,
my eyes sweeping across the five legal professionals my mother had hired to strip me of my inheritance,
while Victoria Sterling watched with a triumphant smirk,
convinced she had finally cornered the black sheep of the family.
"Sign the papers, Sienna," she repeated,
her voice dripping with manufactured warmth,
"and stop embarrassing yourself in front of these distinguished gentlemen."
I did not blink,
nor did I rush to defend myself,
because in military intelligence,
patience was always the deadliest weapon.
"Distinguished gentlemen," I echoed softly,
letting my gaze linger on the lead attorney,
whose expensive tailored suit could not hide the nervous twitch in his left eye.
"Is that what you call corporate mercenaries who specialize in forging probate documents?"
The lead attorney,
a man named Arthur Vance whose reputation for dirty litigation preceded him in federal court,
stiffened instantly.
"Colonel Sterling,
that is a defamatory accusation,"
he sputtered,
adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses with trembling fingers.
"We are merely executing a legal waiver drafted in accordance with your late father's final wishes."
"My father's final wishes were written in his personal leather-bound journals,
Mr. Vance,"
I replied,
my voice steady and commanding,
cutting through the heavy silence of the Greenwich estate.
"Journals that do not mention a single word of this fraudulent waiver you drafted in a Midtown basement three days ago."
Richard,
my stepfather,
stepped forward from the bay window,
his face flushing a deep,
angry crimson.
"You arrogant little brat,"
he snarled,
slamming his fist against the windowsill,
"your father was senile at the end,
and we are protecting this family from your communist military mindset!"
Julian,
my half-brother,
finally looked up from his glowing smartphone,
his expression twisted into a sneer of pure entitlement.
"You've lived off the government for a decade,
Sienna,"
he added,
sounding desperate,
"while I have a multi-million-dollar restaurant expansion hanging by a thread,
and those commercial properties in Boston are the only collateral keeping my investors from pulling out."
"Your restaurant expansion,
Julian,"
I said,
turning my full attention to him,
"is funded by illegal offshore accounts and laundered construction loans."
Julian's phone slipped from his fingers,
clattering loudly against the polished hardwood floor as the color drained entirely from his face.
My mother gasped,
her manicured hands flying to her mouth,
while all five attorneys collectively shifted in their leather chairs,
May you like
realizing the trap had not been sprung on me,
but on them.
