Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the Inheritance
Marcus stared at the black-and-white text on the legal document, his fingers trembling against the heavy bond paper. The letterhead bore the seal of a prominent probate firm downtown, one he thought he had severed ties with years ago when his father passed away in near-bankruptcy.
"This is a forgery," Marcus said, though the words lacked conviction. He looked up at Julian, whose expression remained entirely unreadable. "My father died with nothing. The business was built on a venture capital loan I secured myself in Chicago back in 2012."
Julian offered a thin, humorless smile. "That’s the story you told yourself to sleep at night, Marcus. But Dad stashed millions in an overseas offshore trust under a shell corporation. Elena discovered the paper trail when she was auditing your personal accounts for our divorce settlement."
Marcus whipped his head around to face his wife. Elena had fallen back into her chair, her face buried in her hands. Sobs wracked her slender frame, the expensive dangling earrings catching the chandelier light with every shudder.
"You filed for divorce?" Marcus asked, the ground beneath him seeming to dissolve. "When?"
"Three months ago," Julian answered for her, stepping into the dining room. He walked past the lavish spread of food, casually picking up a red grape and tossing it into his mouth. "She didn't want to tell you until the legal transfer was complete. But you had to go driving down Fourth Street and ruin the timeline by playing the overprotective father."
Marcus ignored his brother. He crouched down beside the eight-year-old boy sitting at the table—Leo, Elena’s son from her first marriage. The boy shrank away from Marcus’s massive frame, pressing his back hard against the high-backed wooden chair.
"Is this why you were living like royalty while my kids were on the street?" Marcus asked Leo, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "Was this the price of admission to your mother’s new life?"
Leo swallowed hard, his lower lip trembling. "She... she told me we had to raise cash quickly because the bank froze our personal accounts. She said if I stood on the corner with the mesh bags, people would feel sorry for us and give us twenties."
Marcus stood up slowly. The air in the room felt thick, heavy with toxic deceit. He looked at Maya and the twins by the doorway. They hadn't moved an inch. Their tiny faces were smudged with the dust of the city streets where they had been sent to beg while their stepmother played wealthy socialite.
"Get out," Marcus said.
Julian raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
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"I said, get out of my house," Marcus repeated, turning around. His hand slid inside his suit jacket, his fingers wrapping around the cold steel of his legally registered firearm tucked into his leather holster.
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