My Family Sold Me For $7 Million. I Owned Their Building Chapter 02
The living room went quiet.
Richard lit another cigar.
“Is this your idea of blackmail?”
“You said I was a curse.” I set the sack beside my foot and took out my phone. “You also said the stock fell because I walked through your door. Cutting me loose should be good for Monroe Holdings.”
Chloe thrust a finger toward my face.
“If we didn’t need Victor’s seven million, no one would care if you died in a ditch. Mom gave birth to you. You owe this family more than you could repay with your life.”
Her fingernail came within an inch of my eye.
I caught her wrist and pressed it down.
Chloe cried out and dropped to one knee.
Diane swung her Hermès bag at my head. I stepped aside. The bag struck the coffee table and sent a crystal decanter and two glasses crashing to the floor.
Richard shot to his feet.
“Get out! Take your trash and get out of my house.”
He rounded on Mr. Lewis.
“Call our attorney. Have him draft the agreement now. I want to see how long she lasts without the Monroe name and that fifteen thousand dollars.”
Mr. Lewis hurried away to make the call.
I glanced at my phone. A message from Daniel Carter, my personal attorney, waited on the screen.
[Monroe Holdings has fallen below its initial offering price. Victor Warren is liquidating assets. He plans to use the South Harbor parcel as collateral for the rescue financing.]
I typed back.
[Let him try. The property’s real owner will introduce herself tomorrow.]
Then I pocketed my phone and picked up Chloe’s debit card.
Money was money. Fifteen thousand dollars would just about cover the ceramic coating Grandma wanted for her new Rolls-Royce Cullinan.
The attorney arrived half an hour later.
The agreement was comprehensive. I disclaimed any future inheritance from Richard and Diane, resigned as a beneficiary of every trust they controlled, and waived the right to contest their estate plans. They released me from every alleged family debt and permanently waived any claim to my property, income, trusts, or companies.
In exchange, I had to appear with Victor at the Manhattan Marriage Bureau before noon the next day. His attorney had already arranged an expedited judicial waiver of New York’s waiting period and reserved a civil ceremony.
Richard signed, initialed each page, and threw the pen onto the table.
“Take your things to a hotel when you’re done. I don’t want to see you in this house again.”
I picked up the pen and signed my name.
Avery Monroe.
Black ink on white paper. Eighteen years of obligation ended with two words.
From that moment on, when the Monroes went bankrupt, they would not be able to blame their cursed daughter.