Chapter 3 - THE ASHES OF THE PAST
The ride back to my penthouse was suffocatingly quiet.
I turned up the heat in the back of the Maybach, wrapping a thick cashmere blanket around my mother’s shoulders. She clutched the tarnished silver locket in her hands, her knuckles white. She hadn’t spoken since we left the Monroe estate.
When we finally reached the penthouse, I instructed my staff to draw a warm bath and prepare hot tea. I sat in my quiet, dimly lit study, staring at the city skyline.
He’s the man who set the fire.
Twenty-five years ago, we lived in a crumbling tenement building in the South Ward. My father had been a factory worker, a quiet man who spent his evenings trying to organize the tenants to demand basic repairs from a phantom landlord. One night in November, the building caught fire. The fire escapes had been padlocked. My father died pulling a neighbor from the smoke. My mother and I escaped with nothing but the clothes on our backs and the silver locket my father had given her.
The police ruled it an electrical accident.
When Elena finally emerged from her room, wearing dry, comfortable clothes, she walked into my study and sat across from my desk.
“His name wasn't Charles Monroe back then,” Elena said, her voice steady but laced with a pain that spanned decades. “He went by Charles Montgomery. He was the developer trying to buy our block to build luxury condos. The tenants refused to sell. Your father found out Montgomery was bribing city inspectors to condemn the buildings.”
I leaned forward, my blood running cold. “Dad had proof?”
“He did,” Elena nodded, her eyes flashing with old grief. “Your father kept the documents in a lockbox. The night of the fire, Montgomery came to the apartment. He demanded the papers. Your father refused. Montgomery told him he would regret it. Three hours later, the building burned.”
I sat back in my chair. The Monroes hadn't just insulted my mother tonight. They had built their entire empire on the ashes of my father’s life. I had chosen to acquire Monroe Holdings because they were a failing competitor in the real estate sector. I thought it was just business. I had no idea I was marrying the daughter of the man who murdered my father.
Before the full weight of this revelation could settle, the private elevator to my penthouse chimed.
My security detail stepped out, looking tense.
“Sir, Miss Monroe is downstairs in the lobby,” the head of security said. “She bypassed the front desk. She says it is a corporate emergency and she will not leave until you speak with her.”
I looked at my mother. Elena nodded slowly. “Finish it, Adrian.”
“Send her up,” I said.
A moment later, Celeste marched into my study. She wasn’t wearing the silver gown anymore. She wore a sharp, black designer trench coat. Her eyes were red, but there was no apology in her posture. There was only cornered desperation.
“You ruined my family tonight,” Celeste sneered, dropping her designer handbag onto my desk. “Vanguard called in our loans. My father is having a nervous breakdown in his study.”
“He deserves far worse,” I said coldly, remaining seated. “And he will get it. The audit I ordered will expose every fraudulent asset your family holds.”
Celeste laughed. It was a harsh, jagged sound. “You think you’re untouchable because you have money, Adrian. But you’re still just a street rat trying to play in our world. You think I didn’t do my homework before agreeing to marry you?”
She reached into her handbag and pulled out a faded, glossy photograph. She slid it across the polished mahogany desk.
I looked down.
It was a picture taken ten years ago. It showed my trusted Chief Operating Officer, David, shaking hands with Charles Monroe in a dimly lit restaurant.
“David has been on my father’s payroll since you started your first company,” Celeste said, a malicious smile twisting her lips. “He sabotaged your early bids. He made sure you were desperate enough to need our political connections to survive. You didn't conquer us, Adrian. We groomed you.”
May you like
I stared at the photograph. David was my right hand. He was the man currently overseeing the audit of Monroe Holdings.
“If you don't reinstate my ten-million-dollar trust and sign the debt relief papers by morning,” Celeste threatened, leaning over my desk, “David will wipe your corporate servers clean. You’ll lose everything. Again.”
