Chapter 336 She Is No Longer the Same

Chapter 340 Dispute

The joy of winning the election and the sweetness of announcing their wedding date hadn't yet faded when Brandon turned his attention to another matter that had been on his mind for a long time—Rachel's rightful inheritance from the York family.

For Brandon, this wasn't just about money; it was about principle and justice.

He couldn't tolerate that those who had once bullied the woman he loved were still getting away with it, perhaps even enjoying fruits that didn't belong to them.

With Brandon's direction and resources, a professional team of top lawyers was quietly assembled, targeting Yale and his control over the York family assets.

They began a comprehensive and thorough review of the York family's past financial situation, asset transfer paths, and the legality and compliance of various operations around the time of Frederick's death.

Soon, detailed reports were delivered to Brandon and Rachel.

The reports clearly revealed how Yale had exploited his guardianship and information advantage back then, using complex methods to gradually drain the enormous wealth that should have belonged to Rachel, transferring it to his own name or to shell companies under his control.

The evidence was solid, the chain of proof complete.

Rachel looked at these reports with mixed feelings.

She had long since stopped hoping to reclaim the family fortune, valuing more her current independence and future potential.

But Brandon's persistence still moved her deeply.

"What do you want to do?" she asked Brandon.

"Pursue it through legal channels, apply pressure through public opinion, and block him commercially," Brandon said calmly, but his eyes were sharp. "He'll return what he took, with interest. This isn't just about money, Rachel. This is what you deserve, and it's what we owe your father."

Rachel was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, we'll do as you say. But..."

She hesitated.

Amy's existence meant Rachel couldn't be completely ruthless.

"I understand." Without her having to say it, Brandon knew her concern.

The York Mansion, nighttime.

Even the heavy curtains couldn't block out the faint construction noise from outside—a luxury residential project was being built on the adjacent lot, one of the developments involving Brandon's company.

To Yale's ears now, this noise sounded more like wordless mockery and oppression.

Just as Brandon's team began tightening the legal and commercial noose around Yale, Yale's own life descended into another disaster.

Wave after wave of blows left him overwhelmed.

Rachel's tough stance and demand to reclaim the family fortune kept Yale up at night, then Brandon's election brought invisible pressure, and now a professional team was investigating his company's old accounts. Some previously solid partners were becoming hesitant.

The living room reeked of alcohol.

Yale sprawled on the expensive leather sofa, his tie askew, several shirt buttons undone, the crystal ashtray in front of him piled with cigarette butts.

"Audit, liquidation." Yale ground his teeth and threw his phone onto the thick carpet with a muffled thud.

He felt a chill rising from his feet.

Brandon wasn't just a wealthy capitalist now—he was a newly elected councilman with power and influence. If he was determined to take Yale down, Yale's not-so-clean past couldn't withstand scrutiny.

"Damn little bitch! Now that she's latched onto someone powerful, she dares to turn on her own family!" Yale gulped down a large mouthful of liquor, the burning liquid searing his throat, but it couldn't extinguish the panic and rage in his heart.

He recalled how earlier at the company, several old board members had looked at him with distance and scrutiny, as if he were already a discarded pawn.

"Where is everyone? Where the hell did you go?" he shouted irritably toward the upstairs, his voice slurred from alcohol. "Anna! Get me some water!"

There was a slight sound from upstairs, and after a long while, Anna slowly came down.

She wore a silk robe, had a face mask on, and carried a fashion magazine. She wrinkled her carefully groomed eyebrows at the mess throughout the house and the pungent smell of alcohol.

"What are you yelling about in the middle of the night? You've scared all the servants away," Anna's voice carried its usual shrill tone, her manner impatient.

She walked to the bar cabinet, perfunctorily poured a glass of cold water, and placed it far at the edge of the coffee table, as if afraid of catching Yale's air of defeat.

Yale squinted his drunken eyes at her.

Anna was well-maintained—nearly fifty but looking like she was in her early forties, with a good figure and dressed in designer labels. Her gestures still retained traces of the aristocratic bearing from her youth.

When he married her years ago, besides some old feelings, he had valued the Williams family's gradually declining but still somewhat prestigious reputation.

But over the years, besides spending money, keeping up with the Joneses, and turning a blind eye to his despicable actions, Anna had been no help to his career. Her temper had only gotten worse, and her tongue sharper.

"Look at yourself! What do you look like!" Anna put down her magazine, peeled off her face mask to reveal a face covered in expensive skincare products, and pointed at Yale. "You can't think of any solution for the company's problems—all you know is drinking at home and throwing tantrums! I said from the start, either don't take the money, or just get rid of that bitch Rachel. But you wouldn't listen! Now look—Rachel's latched onto someone powerful and come back for revenge, hasn't she? Serves you right!"

"Shut up!" Yale hated when people brought this up. "You think it's that easy to get rid of someone? When you were taking the money, why didn't you say anything? When you were buying jewelry, trading in for expensive cars, traveling abroad—why weren't your hands trembling then? Now that there's trouble, you're blaming me?"

"I spent what I deserved!" Anna raised her voice. "I've been with you all these years, managing this household for you—what's wrong with me enjoying myself a little? You're the one—if you don't have the ability, don't do such heartless things! Now you've dragged me and Amy down with you!"

"Amy? You dare mention Amy?" Yale swayed to his feet, pointing at Anna. "If you hadn't dumped her with nannies since she was little, ignoring her, letting Rachel practically raise her, would she be so close to Rachel? Now look—Amy's siding with outsiders!"

"I haven't been good enough to Amy? If not for me, could she have gone abroad to study design?" Anna was furious too. She hated hearing anyone say she hadn't taken care of Amy properly. "She's the ungrateful one, running off with that bitch Rachel. How is that my fault?"

The two went back and forth, old grievances and new hatreds erupting together, arguing fiercely.

Alcohol and pressure stripped Yale of all reason. He suddenly grabbed the crystal ashtray from the coffee table, making as if to throw it: "I'll teach you to keep talking!"

Anna jumped in fright, instinctively dodging backward. Her foot caught on the edge of the carpet and she fell to the floor. Her handbag also slid off the sofa, its contents spilling out.

Yale panted heavily, looking at Anna on the floor. He didn't immediately help her up; instead, he felt a twisted sense of satisfaction.

His gaze unconsciously swept over the scattered items on the floor: lipstick, compact, keys... then froze on a somewhat old rose gold phone.

That wasn't the latest model Anna usually used.