Chapter 8
Back at a sterile downtown corporate office that served as temporary headquarters for the displaced Sterling family, the atmosphere was suffocating. David sat across a polished glass conference table from a high-priced defense attorney recommended by one of Eleanor’s remaining loyal acquaintances. The lawyer, a man named Henderson with slicked-back hair and an expensive watch, was rubbing his temples in visible frustration.
"Let me get this straight," Henderson said, sliding a financial summary back across the glass. "Your wife—whom you and your mother systematically marginalized—now holds a court-ordered injunction freezing every single asset your family controls, based on a decades-old codicil that your mother deliberately hid?"
"It’s not as bad as it sounds," David insisted defensively, though his voice lacked any real conviction. "Clara is timid. She’s eight months pregnant; she’s emotional. If we offer her a lump sum, a generous alimony package, she’ll fold. She always folds."
Henderson let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Mr. Sterling, did you read the forensic audit report I just handed you? Your wife isn't timid anymore. She walked into court this morning flanked by senior partners from Vance & Associates, and she didn't even look in your direction. The judge denied our motion to lift the asset freeze within thirty seconds."
Eleanor sat in the corner of the room, her posture rigid, her hands tightly clutching a leather handbag in her lap. "There must be a technicality," she insisted, her voice sharp and brittle. "A document from thirty years ago cannot supersede five decades of established precedent. My husband ran those companies! We built this empire!"
"Your husband stole that empire, Mrs. Sterling," Henderson corrected her bluntly, tired of sugarcoating the reality to appease their fragile aristocratic egos. "And now the law is catching up. Unless you can produce concrete evidence that Thomas Vance revoked that codicil of his own free will—which we both know you cannot do—your son is looking at civil fraud charges, and you are facing potential conspiracy indictments."
David slumped back in his chair, the color draining entirely from his face. For his entire life, his mother had shielded him from consequences, whispering in his ear that rules were meant for ordinary people, not for the Sterlings. Now, sitting in the cold corporate office, the illusion shattered completely. He wasn't a master of the universe; he was a privileged coward facing the wreckage of his own making.
May you like
"What do we do?" David whispered, his bravado entirely gone.
"You prepare for a deposition," Henderson said coldly. "And I suggest you start praying that your wife decides to show a mercy you never extended to her."
