Chapter 4

Three days after the funeral, Ryan called a family meeting.

The location was the study in Grandpa's estate.

When I pushed open the double doors, Uncle Richard, Aunt Eleanor, and Brad were already seated around the mahogany table.

Ryan was sitting in Grandpa’s old high-backed leather chair, a thick stack of folders in front of him.

He smiled warmly as I entered. "Chloe, you're here. Have a seat."

I remained standing by the doorway. "What kind of meeting is this?"

Richard tapped the table impatiently. "Ryan is the sole executor of the estate now. He has every right to brief us on how the property will be managed."

"The will is fraudulent," I said flatly.

Eleanor slammed her palm on the table, rattling the porcelain teacups.

"You married out of this family! What right do you have to speak?"

She pointed an acrylic nail at my nose. "You might be born a Sterling, but you belong to your husband's household now. You have zero say in our family affairs!"

"Arthur left everything to Ryan. Swallow your pride and deal with it."

Brad leaned back, cracking sunflower seeds and dropping the shells onto the carpet.

"The notary stamped it, Chloe. Stop embarrassing yourself."

Ignoring them, I stared straight at Ryan.

He flipped through a few pages before looking up.

"I called everyone here today to settle the living arrangements for the estate."

He looked at the others. "Under Grandpa’s will, I hold total disposition over all real estate."

"I’ve decided: the first floor belongs to Richard, the second floor goes to Eleanor, and the third floor is for Brad."

He paused, turning his eyes toward me. "Chloe, you and I will live in our downtown penthouse. There won't be a room reserved for you here."

"Excuse me?" I took a step forward.

Richard snorted. "You don't live here anyway. Why keep a room empty?"

Eleanor chimed in, "Exactly. A married woman trying to hold onto her childhood bedroom? People would laugh at us."

I glared at Ryan. "This is my grandfather's house. You have no right to kick me out."

Ryan sighed softly.

"Chloe, nobody is kicking you out."

"The title of the estate is under my name now. I'm just allocating space logically."

"You're welcome to visit anytime. But maintaining an entire wing for just you doesn't make sense, does it?"

"I don't consent to this."

Richard stood up, sneering. "Ryan is the executor. His word is law."

Brad chuckled. "Know your place, Chloe."

I gritted my teeth, looking at their smug faces one by one.

Richard. Eleanor. Brad. Ryan.

My own blood relatives were bowing down to an outsider just for scraps of meat.

"I'm not moving my things."

That very evening, Ryan brought two private security guards to the penthouse.

They knocked three sharp times on my bedroom door.

"Mrs. Vance, please cooperate and pack your bags."

I opened the door. Ryan stood at the end of the dimly lit hallway.

I locked eyes with him. "Are you really doing this?"

"I didn't want to, Chloe. You forced my hand."

I sucked in a cold breath, turned back into the room, and grabbed a single roller suitcase.

I packed only a few of Grandpa’s old keepsakes and two changes of clothes.

Dragging my suitcase down the grand staircase of the estate, I passed Thomas wiping the coffee table in the foyer.

His head stayed low, his rag scrubbing the exact same spot over and over.

He never once looked up.

I said nothing, pushed the heavy front door open, and walked out into the dark.

I took an Uber to a boutique hotel downtown.

At the front desk, the clerk asked for a card for the deposit.

"Ma'am, this card was declined."

"That's impossible. Try it again."

She swiped it a second time and shook her head. "It's showing as frozen by the primary account holder."

My stomach dropped. I pulled out my backup card.

Declined. Frozen.

I tore through my wallet and finally found an old debit card from my college days with about eight thousand dollars in it—my old savings account.

I handed it over. "Try this one."

It went through.

Once inside the hotel room, I dumped my suitcase on the floor and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, staring at my phone.

A text from Ryan popped up:

*Chloe, why didn't you come to our apartment? Did you check into a hotel?*

I didn't reply.

Another message arrived:

*Don't be mad. I only froze the cards to keep your assets safe. Once you calm down and talk to me, I'll unfreeze everything.*

Silence.

A third text pinged:

*Chloe, please don't make me worry about you.*

I powered off the phone.

Reaching into the bottom of my suitcase, I pulled out an old framed photograph of Grandpa holding me when I was three years old, standing in front of the estate with his eyes crinkling into joyful crescents.

His deep, raspy voice echoed in my head:

*"Chloe, baby, everything I build in this life belongs to you. Nobody will ever take it away."*

Pressing the cold glass against my chest, the tears I held back all day finally spilled over.

I cried in the dark for fifteen minutes. Then, I wiped my face dry.

I powered my phone back on and scrolled down to a dusty contact.

Robert Davis. Grandpa’s oldest friend, and a retired Chief Deputy District Attorney.

I had hesitated to bother him because of his declining health.

But now, I had no other cards to play.

I tapped call.

"Uncle Robert, it's Chloe. I need your help."