Chapter 80
Serena
Elena sat. But her eyes never left mine, burning with the kind of hatred that only family can really achieve.
My mother released her and turned to me. "If we... if we accept your offer. If we sign over the company." Her voice was carefully controlled now, measured. "You're saying you'll assume all of the debts? The full twenty million?"
"Every penny," I confirmed.
"And the house? We can keep the house?"
"That depends entirely on whether the house is currently used as collateral, which I suspect it isn't yet. But yes, if you sign this deal, you keep the house. For now. What you do with it after that is your problem."
My father had been silent through all of this, his face cycling through about a dozen different emotions. Finally, he spoke, and his voice sounded like it was being dragged over broken glass.
"Is there... are there any other conditions? Hidden clauses? Things we should know about?"
I reached into my bag and pulled out the document I'd drafted in the taxi. Two copies, actually—I'd stopped at a print shop on the way here. Both documents ready to be notarized and filed the moment the signatures were dry.
I set them on the table.
"Stock transfer agreement," I said, tapping the first document. "All shares currently held by Richard Vance, Catherine Vance, and Elena Vance—eighty percent of Vance Heritage—transferred to Serena Catherine Vance for the sum of one dollar, effective immediately upon signing. All company assets as of today's date remain with the company." I tapped the second. "Debt assumption agreement. Serena Catherine Vance assumes all outstanding corporate debts, liabilities, and financial obligations currently held by Vance Heritage LLC."
I looked up at my father. "No hidden clauses. No tricks. Just exactly what I said: one dollar for the company, and I take on your mess."
I paused, letting the moment stretch. "But if you wait—if you try to negotiate, try to play games, try to squeeze more out of me—I walk. Simple as that." I let a cold smile touch my lips. "After all, daughters who still care about preserving the family name? Practically extinct. You should probably sign before this one remembers she doesn't actually owe you anything."
My mother's hand shot out. "Give me a pen."
"Catherine—" my father started.
"Give. Me. A. Pen." Each word was bitten off, sharp and desperate. "We don't have a choice, Richard. You know we don't."
Elena found a pen in the sideboard drawer. Her hands were shaking as she handed it to our mother.
My father stared at the documents like they were written in blood. His jaw worked. His hands clenched and unclenched. Finally, he picked up the pen.
"These contracts are..." He scanned the pages, his lawyer's eye catching every clause, every term. "Jesus Christ. These are legally binding. Professional grade. Where did you—" He looked up at me, genuine shock in his eyes. "Did you write these yourself?"
"Yes."
"But you—you studied art history. You—"
"I have a degree in Art Business from Yale," I corrected coldly. "Which includes contract law, corporate structure, and financial management. You'd know that if you'd ever bothered to attend my graduation. Or ask me about my studies. Or treat me like anything other than a chess piece to be moved around a board."
My father's face flushed red. He didn't have a response to that.
"Just sign it," my mother hissed. "Richard, for God's sake, just sign."
He did. His signature was angry—hard enough that the pen nearly tore through the paper. Then he shoved the documents toward my mother.
She signed without hesitation. Then Elena, who scrawled her name like it physically hurt her.
I collected the documents, checking each signature carefully, then slipped them back into my bag. The whole thing had taken less than five minutes. Five minutes to reclaim my grandfather's legacy and trap myself under a mountain of debt.
Worth it.
I stood up, smoothing my blazer. "Well. Pleasure doing business with you."
"You'll never manage it." My mother's voice was bitter now, vicious. "That debt will crush you. You'll be bankrupt within one month, and we'll buy the company back for pennies when you fail."
"Is that so?" I picked up my bag. "That's interesting. Because I forgot to mention something."
Three pairs of eyes locked on me.
"That art collection you've been trying to liquidate for the past year? The one nobody wanted to buy? The pieces you were calling 'worthless' and 'outdated' and 'impossible to move'?"
My father's expression shifted. "What about it?"
"Turns out they're worth quite a bit more than you thought. Five million? Easily. You just didn't know the right buyers. Didn't understand the market." I headed toward the door. "Lucky for me, I do. I'll find the right channels to give those pieces what they're actually worth."
I paused at the threshold. "Just like I should have been valued all along."
Three faces went pale simultaneously.
I walked out and didn't look back.