Chapter 44
Chapter 44:
“Actually,” Skye corrected, “I used my personal inheritance from my mother. The Sterling Trust was not touched. I have the receipts p>
“Lies!” Arthur produced a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “I have a document here! A transfer authorization signed by your father! It says all real estate acquisitions must be approved by the board! You violated the charter! We are seizing the land p>
Skye looked at the paper. It was a clumsy forgery. The signature looked almost perfect, but there was a fatal flaw.
She laughed. It was a cold, sharp sound.
“Uncle,” she said, leaning forward, “did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Father developed a tremor in his hand after his stroke. This signature is smooth. It’s dated six months before the stroke happened, but the ink flow suggests a ballpoint pen he didn’t start using until a year later p>
Arthur froze. His bluster deflated instantly.
“It’s a copy,” he stammered. “The original is… in the vault p>
“There is no original,” Skye said, standing up. She slammed her hands on the desk. “Get out of my study. Before I call campus security for harassment and fraud p>
“You can’t do this to family!” Petunia wailed, tears streaming down her face. “We’re destitute, Skye! The dividends are shrinking p>
“Then maybe you should stop buying yachts,” Skye suggested.
Arthur’s eyes darted around the room. He looked desperate. Dangerous.
“We’ll sue,” he hissed. “We’ll tie this up in court for years. You won’t see a dime of profit. Unless p>
“Unless what?” Skye asked.
“Unless you sign over fifty percent,” Arthur bargained. “Right now. We split it p>
Skye picked up her phone. “I can’t do that, Uncle p>
“Why not p>
“Because I sold the land,” Skye lied.
𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗼𝗻 𝗯𝗲.𝗰𝗼𝗺
The room went silent.
“What?” Arthur whispered.
“I sold it this morning,” Skye said, her face a mask of regret. “I got scared. The market is volatile. I sold the deed at 9:00 AM p>
“To whom?” Arthur demanded, his voice trembling. “Who has our land p>
Skye smiled. It was the smile of an executioner.
“A private buyer,” she said. “He made an offer I couldn’t refuse p>
“Who?” Arthur screamed. “Name him p>
Skye leaned in close, whispering the name like a curse.
“Alistair Thorne p>
The effect was instantaneous. Arthur’s face went from purple to a sickly, sheet-white. Petunia stopped crying and let out a small, terrified squeak.
In Sea City, the name Thorne wasn’t just money. It was blood. It was concrete shoes and disappearances. You didn’t sue Alistair Thorne. You didn’t negotiate with him. You ran.
“Thorne?” Arthur choked. “You… you sold the Sterling legacy to the Devil p>