Chapter 149

Chapter 149
Alina's POV

I hadn't died. Adams, on the other hand, was in bad shape. Even with prompt emergency care, he needed to stay under observation at the hospital.

When I heard the news, I was, without question, pleased.

It meant that Adams's grip on power was slipping away, and that I—the adopted daughter who had come through this scare unscathed, the next-generation godmother—naturally had every right to purge the family of its rebellious factions.

For no other reason than to root out whoever had tried to "poison" me and my adoptive father.

Facing the bodyguards waiting for me, I issued my orders at once. "Summon all the family elders. Within the hour, I want them in the conference hall of the main building, waiting for me. Anyone who doesn't show up is the mastermind who dared to poison me and my adoptive father!"

The butler looked at me, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something. But in the end he only lowered his head, murmured a "Yes," then turned and walked briskly toward the far end of the corridor.

An hour later, I had changed into clean clothes and was standing before the doors of the conference hall in the main building.

When the doors swung open, every eye inside turned toward me. Seven or eight people sat along the two sides of the long table, all past fifty. Some wore respectable suits, others were draped in heavy coats. Their expressions varied—some tense, some grim, some studying me as if weighing whether the woman before them was even worth taking seriously.

I walked to the seat beside the head of the table but did not sit down. I simply stood there, my gaze sweeping over each of them.

"My adoptive father is still being resuscitated," I said, my voice ringing out so that everyone could hear clearly. "Until he recovers, family affairs will be handled by me."

From across the table came a short, contemptuous snort, followed by a hoarse voice. "You? Take over? And who are you, exactly? Adams's adopted daughter? Or just the thing that warms his bed? What gives you the right to stand here and give us orders?"

I didn't answer right away. I simply walked toward him and stopped less than two steps away. He sat in his chair, tilting his head back to look up at me, a trace of a smirk still lingering at the corner of his mouth, mockery written across his face—as though he thought there was nothing I could do to him.

I reached out and drew the sidearm from the hip of the security chief standing by the door. I flicked off the safety and aimed the muzzle at that man's knee.

When the gunshot cracked through the conference hall, everyone froze.

The man slid off his chair, clutching his leg and letting out a hoarse, agonized scream. Blood welled up between his fingers, spreading a dark red stain across the pale floor.

I hadn't hit anything vital. But that single shot was enough to keep him from ever standing again for the rest of his life.

I turned back to look at the others still seated along both sides of the table. No one said another word. The looks on their faces had shifted from scrutiny to fear, and from fear to silent submission.

Because before any of this, I had already stripped them of their weapons in Adams's name. Anyone who dared to resist would die here today.

I returned to the seat beside the head of the table, pulled out the chair, and sat down. "Does anyone else have an objection?"

No one answered.

"Good," I said. "From this moment on, the authority to decide all family affairs rests with me. If any of you have a grievance, you're welcome to come talk to me at any time. But I can't promise every conversation will be as gentle as today's."

"The first thing I'm going to do is find out who put the poison in the drinks!"

Over the days that followed, I began using the investigation into the poisoned wine as a pretext to clean house within the family. The butler, having been loyal to Adams his entire life, was in his own way devoted to me as well—and between the men who had long harbored other ambitions and a woman who appeared harmless enough, he seemed to consider me the safer bet.

For my part, I feigned grief over the poisoning, playing the dutiful adopted daughter to the hilt, going every so often to look in on my still-comatose "adoptive father."

As for those old subordinates who had been loyal to Adams, some were transferred away from key posts, some were confined to rooms in the manor's side courtyard, and some I simply sent away outright. I gave them little chance to plead their case—because I knew that, in a situation like this, any softness would become a weakness that would come back to bite me later.

The manor's servants underwent a thorough vetting as well. I had everyone gathered in the great hall and questioned them one by one. Those with a good attitude I kept on to continue their work; as for those who had once looked down on me or quietly made things difficult, I didn't keep a single one.

Throughout this period the entire family was shrouded in a taut silence. No one dared to openly defy me, and no one knew who would be next to be swept away.

Outside, meanwhile, the news of Adams's poisoning and critical condition had spread across the entire city after several media outlets reported on it.

Everyone knew that the man in charge of the Charlie Cross family had fallen, but no one knew exactly who was pulling the strings behind it all. The prevailing speculation was that the lawsuit between me and Lowell had allowed Lowell to infiltrate the Charlie Cross family from within.

Only I knew that Lowell's people had never once appeared anywhere near the Adams manor. But I wasn't about to correct that misjudgment—because that very speculation actually deflected a fair amount of probing from the outside.

Just as the whole manor had settled into quiet, I was in the study going through the documents Adams kept there when a bodyguard knocked on the door. Standing in the doorway, he told me that Lowell had sent people over, ostensibly to "express their concern." He said their godfather had learned I'd nearly died of poisoning and had specifically sent someone with a few things, hoping to hand them over in person.

I didn't even look up. "Send them back the way they came."

The bodyguard hesitated. "But they say these are tonics and medicinal herbs that Mr. Lowell prepared himself, meant to help your body recover—"

"I said, send them back the way they came." I raised my head and looked at the bodyguard in the doorway. "I won't accept the items, and I won't see anyone. Tell them I am now the one who speaks for the Charlie Cross family, and I'm in the middle of a lawsuit with their godfather. Until the proper proceedings run their course, there will be no private dealings between us."

The bodyguard said nothing more. He lowered his head and withdrew, and the door clicked softly shut behind him.

I drew my gaze back and lowered my head again to the documents spread across the desk.

There was still an unfinished lawsuit between him and me, and the position I now occupied meant I couldn't show any outward sign of intimacy connected to him—even if that lawsuit had never been my intention from the start.

I just needed this position, this identity. I needed everyone to see that even without Lowell at my side, I could hold the situation together on my own—needed everyone but me to believe that I stood, in this moment, firmly on the side of the family.