Chapter 5 - A Father's Spite
Richard’s eyes burned with feverish greed as he marched into the veranda. He had discarded his wedding elegance; his charcoal suit was rumpled, his hair unkempt, and the stench of bourbon drifted across the table.
“You thought you could cut me out?” Richard spat, slamming a thick leather folder onto the glass table, nearly shattering Valentin’s teacup. “You thought you could buy my daughter off with pocket change and leave me to face my creditors alone?”
Valentin did not flinch. He slowly adjusted his posture, resting both hands firmly atop his cane, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. “Your creditors are no longer my concern, Richard. Your debts to the syndicates were settled as part of the initial contract. What you gamble away from this day forward is your own demise.”
“Not quite, Valentin,” Richard chuckled darkly, a triumphant sneer curling his lips. He nodded toward the slick attorney beside him. “You see, when you hastily drafted that trust fund transfer yesterday, you used the standard Whitmore Trust holdings. But seventy years ago, when you established your first shipping company after prison, you incorporated using a joint partnership contract with George Bennett—my grandfather.”
Emma felt the blood drain from her face. She looked at Valentin, whose knuckles whitened against the dark wood of his cane.
Richard leaned over the table, his face inches from Valentin’s. “That contract had an unrevoked survivorship clause. My grandfather died, but the Bennett family trust retained an obscure three-percent claim on all parent assets derived from that original entity. That means your entire modern conglomerate—and the very trust you just handed to Emma—is legally contested!”
“You parasitic leech,” Valentin said, his voice deadly quiet. “Your grandfather stole the patent for the engine design I drew in a prison cell. He contributed nothing.”
“The law doesn't care about your sob story!” Richard roared, slamming his fist down. “If I file this injunction today, the courts will freeze all Whitmore accounts instantly. Emma won’t get a single penny. The cottage will be sealed. And you, Valentin... you’ll spend the last few months of your miserable life tied up in probate court, watching your legacy bleed out while the press drags Clara’s scandalous little secret through the mud!”
Emma stepped in front of Valentin instinctively, her fair skin flushed pink with righteous fury. “Stop it, Dad! How can you do this? He saved us! He wiped out your debts! How much more do you want to take from people?”
Richard looked at his daughter with utter contempt. “You be quiet. You’re eighteen years old; you know nothing about how the world works. You owe me your life, Emma.” He turned back to Valentin. “One hundred million dollars into my private account by five o'clock. Or I file the paperwork and bury you both.”
Richard turned on his heel and stormed out, his entourage trailing behind him.
Emma turned to Valentin, terrified. “Is what he said true? Can he take everything away?”
May you like
Valentin slowly closed his eyes, his breathing shallow and strained. Suddenly, his grip on the cane slipped, and he slumped sideways in his chair, gasping for air.
***
