Chapter 4 - The Partnership
Daniel didn’t wait for them to unlock the deadbolt. He pushed the door open—he had apparently gotten the spare key from the building superintendent downstairs—and stepped into the cramped kitchen.
He stopped dead when he saw the papers spread across the laminate table.
His eyes scanned the cream-colored parchment, the signatures, and finally the letter written by Clara Vance.
“You found it,” Daniel said quietly.
“Her name wasn't Bennett,” Emma said, standing up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the linoleum. “You knew that, didn't you? When you saw me at the gala, you already knew who my mother was.”
Daniel looked up, his expression guarded. “I didn't know for certain until I saw the stitching on your dress. But yes… I knew Clara Vance vanished from the records in ninety-eight. My father spent the last ten years of his life trying to find her before he died.”
“Why?” Noah demanded, stepping in front of Emma defensively. “To pay her off? To finish what he started?”
Daniel turned his gaze to the boy. There was no anger in Daniel’s eyes, only a profound, exhausted sadness.
“To give her back what she was cheated out of,” Daniel said. “My father didn't burn those archives, Noah. Someone else inside the board did. And when Clara left, she took the only existing copy of the original equity agreement with her.”
Emma crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her elbows. “And why should we believe you? You’re sitting on a real estate empire built on those exact patents. If those papers are legal, your entire company belongs to us.”
Daniel let out a dry, humorless laugh.
“It does,” he said. “Legally and financially. Every building, every logistics hub, every share of Carter Rowe Development belongs to the estate of Clara Vance. Which means, as of ten minutes ago when I had my legal team run a preliminary check on her lineage… it belongs to you.”
The kitchen fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Noah stared at Daniel, then at Emma. “Wait. You mean we’re… we’re rich?”
“No,” Emma said sharply, her eyes never leaving Daniel’s. “It means we’re standing in the middle of a war we didn't even know existed.”
Daniel walked closer to the table, resting his palms on the edge. “You’re right about that. Because my board of directors doesn't know yet. And if they find out that Clara Vance had a living daughter—a legal heir to fifty-one percent of the company—they won't offer a settlement, Emma. They’ll try to bury you.”
Before Emma could respond, her phone buzzed on the counter.
It was an unknown number.
She looked at it warily, then pressed accept and put it on speaker.
May you like
“Miss Bennett?” a smooth, cold voice asked from the other end. This wasn't Daniel. This was someone older, sharper, wrapped in velvet and corporate steel. “I understand you had an interesting evening at the charity gala. My name is Julian Vance. I believe we need to have a conversation about your mother’s estate before you sign anything with my nephew.”
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