“Did you read it?” he asked, his voice low and raspy.
“Why, Dad?” I sobbed, the adrenaline crashing through my system. “Why did you keep this a secret for two months?”
“Because I needed you to sit at that table,” he replied, his tone devoid of pity. “I needed you to witness what they are capable of. If I had simply told you they were monsters, you would have made excuses for them. I needed you to see them erase you with a smile, so you know you aren’t crazy.”
He took a ragged breath. “Use the power, Alice. Fix the foundation I broke, or burn the entire house to the ash. It is your choice. I will back your play.”
I ended the call. Ten minutes later, I checked my voicemail. There was a message from an unknown number.
“Ms. Jordan, this is Russell Walsh, your father’s estate attorney. I have been expecting your call. Everything your father executed in that ICU is legally unassailable. Let’s meet Monday morning. We have an empire to discuss.”
I gripped the steering wheel, staring into the dark parking lot. My mother had fired the first shot, but she had absolutely no idea she was standing in a minefield.
Chapter 4: The Ironclad Arsenal
On Monday morning, I rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor of a sleek downtown high-rise. Russell Walsh was a sharp, gray-haired man with the predatory eyes of a seasoned litigator.
He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He slid three heavy, cream-colored folders across his mahogany desk.
“Let us review the arsenal your father has provided you,” Walsh murmured, opening the first file. “Durable Power of Attorney for Healthcare. Signed September 16th, witnessed by your surgeon, Dr. Priya Sharma, and the hospital social worker, Amy Brennan. You now hold absolute authority over your father’s medical fate. If he falls ill again, your mother cannot legally authorize a band-aid.”
He opened the second folder. “Life insurance. Your father stripped your mother of a two-point-three-million-dollar death benefit that she has relied upon for eighteen years. You are now the sole beneficiary. It is effective immediately, and because he is the policyholder, he did not require her consent.”
Then, his fingers tapped the third folder. “The nuclear option. The Jordan Medical Supply restricted stock transfer. Your father owned sixty-eight percent of his company. He transferred fifty-one percent of the voting shares directly to you. He legally filed it with the North Carolina Secretary of State.”
Walsh leaned back, interlacing his fingers. “Your mother owns twenty-five percent. Natalie owns seven. Neither of their shares carry voting power. You now have the unilateral authority to fire executives, dissolve the board, or liquidate the assets. You are the kingmaker.”
My stomach performed a violent somersault. “Why don’t they know?”
