Chapter 4 - THE SISTER'S VENOM
Eleanor’s heels clicked against the hardwood floor, a sharp, rhythmic sound that felt like a countdown.
She walked past the terrified lawyers and stood next to her father. Arthur looked at his daughter, a flicker of genuine apprehension crossing his usually stoic face.
"Eleanor," Preston said, his voice dangerously low. "You answered Mark’s phone?"
"I bought the number from the carrier after it expired," Eleanor said casually, setting her tablet on the table. "It was quite simple. When you finally tracked down your dead brother’s phone number, I hired an actor to answer it. He told you Hannah was in Paris with another man. And you, blinded by your own heartbreak, believed it."
I clutched Grace tighter against me. "Why?" I asked, my voice shaking with a mix of rage and disbelief. "I never did anything to you, Eleanor."
Eleanor turned her cold, calculating eyes to me. "You existed, Hannah. That was enough. Our grandfather’s will stipulated that the first Waverly grandchild would inherit the controlling fifty-one percent of the family trust. I have been undergoing IVF for three years. I have spent a fortune trying to give this family an heir."
Her eyes dropped to the baby carrier strapped to my chest.
"And then you, a nobody who served coffee for a living, got pregnant."
The room went dead silent.
Preston stared at his sister, horrified. "You knew she was pregnant? A year ago?"
"I saw the ultrasound in her purse when she came to visit you at the office," Eleanor sneered. "I knew if you found out, you would never let her go. And my child would be locked out of the legacy."
"So you worked with Dad to forge the eviction? To forge the divorce?" Preston’s voice cracked. The betrayal of his entire bloodline was crashing down on him all at once.
"Dad handled the paperwork," Eleanor said, glancing at Arthur. "I handled the money. I intercepted the two-million-dollar settlement he thought he sent you. I funneled it into an offshore account. I wanted you destitute, Hannah. I wanted you so broken you would never dare show your face in Seattle again."
I felt sick. The cold nights. The hunger. The absolute terror of holding my newborn daughter in a charity ward, wondering how I would buy formula. It wasn't bad luck. It was a calculated, vicious attack.
"You are monsters," Preston whispered.
He didn't yell this time. The anger had crystallized into something cold and absolute.
Preston reached up and unpinned the silver Waverly Industries badge from his lapel. He tossed it onto the mahogany table. It slid across the wood and stopped right in front of Arthur.
"Preston, don't be a fool," Arthur warned, his voice tight. "You are the CEO. You walk out that door, you leave behind ten billion dollars."
"Keep it," Preston said.
He turned to me. His eyes, usually so guarded, were completely open. Filled with tears, filled with regret, and filled with a desperate, overwhelming love.
"Hannah," he said softly, holding out his hand. "Please. Let's go home."
I looked at his outstretched hand. I wanted to take it. I wanted to collapse into his arms and let him carry the weight of the world for a while.
But as I moved to reach for him, Grace woke up.
She didn't cry. She let out a soft, sharp wheeze.
I froze. I pulled back from Preston and quickly unzipped the side of the carrier. I slipped two fingers against Grace’s tiny neck, checking her pulse. It was racing, a frantic, fluttering bird beneath her skin. Her lips, usually a healthy pink, were taking on a faint, terrifying blue tint.
"Hannah?" Preston asked, panic flooding his face. "What's wrong? What is she doing?"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, plastic object.
It was a pediatric pulse oximeter. I clipped it onto Grace’s tiny toe. The red numbers flashed on the screen.
Oxygen: 82%.
"Call an ambulance," I screamed, looking at the paralyzed men in the room. "Call an ambulance now!"
Preston didn't reach for his phone. He grabbed his keys from the table.
"We are not waiting for an ambulance," Preston said, his voice finding its command again. "My car is downstairs. We are going now."
He put his hand on my lower back, guiding me toward the door.
"Preston," Eleanor called out, her voice dripping with malice. "If you walk out that door with her, you forfeit your position. I will call a board meeting by noon. You will have nothing."
Preston stopped. He didn't turn around.
He simply reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, worn object, and threw it over his shoulder. It hit the floor with a metallic clatter.
It was a silver baby rattle.
"I bought that the day I found out she was pregnant, Eleanor," Preston said quietly. "I knew before she ever showed you the ultrasound. Because she is my wife."
May you like
He pushed the boardroom doors open.
"And you are dead to me."
