“You instructed me to contain the situation,” Marcus said.
Victor turned slowly.
“Be very careful.”
“You said the trust could not be allowed to vest while you were restructuring the company.”
“Stop talking.”
“You ordered the mail diversion.
You approved the security notice.
You told me Preston was too emotionally compromised to make rational decisions about her.”
Preston rose again.
“You spoke about me as if I were a child.”
Victor faced him.
“You were behaving like one.
You were prepared to hand control of a multibillion-dollar company to a woman you had known for less than three years.”
“She was my wife.”
“She was a vulnerability.”
Grace had stopped crying.
She was awake now, looking over my shoulder with solemn gray eyes.
Victor noticed her watching him.
For a fraction of a second, something softened in his face.
Then his attention returned to the trust.
Power mattered more.
It always had.
Naomi gathered the documents into neat stacks.
“The probate hearing is scheduled for two o’clock,” she said.
“The court will determine temporary voting authority and consider our request to suspend Victor Waverly from all fiduciary roles pending investigation.”
Victor laughed once.
“No judge will remove me based on a frightened woman’s story and a crying infant.”
“The judge will not be relying on my story,” I said.
I nodded toward the door.
An elderly man entered the conference room carrying a weathered leather case.
Preston recognized him immediately.
“Mr.
Hollis?”
Samuel Hollis had served as personal counsel to Preston’s grandfather for almost forty years.
He had retired before Preston and I married and had not entered Pierce Tower since the funeral.
He set the case on the table and looked at Victor with open disappointment.
“Your father expected you to challenge this clause,” he said.
“That is why he left me the original execution file.”
Victor’s face lost what little color remained.
Samuel opened the case.
Inside were the signed trust instrument, handwritten notes from Preston’s grandfather, and a video recording preserved on an encrypted drive.
“What is that?” Preston asked.
“Your grandfather’s final statement concerning the stewardship provision.”
Victor moved toward the drive.
The officer blocked him.
Samuel connected it to the conference-room display.
The screen flickered.
A thin, elderly man appeared, seated behind the same oak desk that now stood in Victor’s office.
Preston’s grandfather looked directly into the camera.
“Victor,” the recording began, “if you are watching this, then you have attempted to prevent the trust from passing to the next generation.”
No one breathed.
“You have always mistaken possession for leadership,” the old man continued.
“The company was never meant to become your private kingdom.
I placed control with the guardian of Preston’s first lawful child because a parent protecting a child may possess more wisdom than a son protecting his pride.”
Victor stared at the screen.
