Chapter 49 REMAIN CALM
THIRD PERSON POV.
Serena drew a slow, steadying breath and closed her eyes, bracing herself for whatever Horace would do next.
“What, exactly, do you object to, Horace?” Sarah asked, folding her arms across her chest.
“Everything that was said regarding the distribution of the private estate and the shares.”
“And under whose authority are you objecting?” Sarah pressed, her jaw tightening with contained irritation.
“I object under my authority as interim CEO.”
“Sit down, Horace,” she said, cutting him off without bothering to soften it.
“Let the man speak, Sarah.” Andrew, a distant cousin called from the corner of the greenhouse. “You’ve just gained an extra ten percent in shares, so of course you don’t want the will contested.”
“Careful, Andrew,” Sarah replied evenly. “Even without that ten percent, I still outrank you by a wide margin. I suggest you watch what you say.”
Andrew swallowed, suddenly less eager to perform for the room.
Serena let herself breathe out the faintest, private smile. Sarah had always been like this. unafraid, unwilling to let anyone shrink her voice. And Serena felt, as she often did, how deeply that loyalty ran between them.
“Thank you, Andrew,” Horace said with a thin smile. “And with that, I’ll continue.
“First, I’d like to confirm we all heard the clause that required Serena to be married on the day of the reading in order to qualify for the takeover.”
Several heads nodded, more than a few faces turning watchful.
“Then I’d like to point out how questionable Serena’s sudden marriage to Damian Crowne appears. Did she see the will in advance?” Horace’s gaze settled on her, unhurried. “Because otherwise, why marry so abruptly?”
No one answered. Horace took the silence as permission.
“Ask anyone in this house,” he went on. “They’ll tell you the same thing: before Charles’s death, no one ever saw Damian and Serena together.”
The murmuring started immediately. Some voices demanding an explanation, others hissing for Horace to stop.
“Horace,” Sarah snapped, “do you understand what you’re accusing your own daughter of?”
“I do,” he replied, calm enough to be unsettling. “We can’t allow someone who treats family rules as optional to become the head of that same family. She’s reckless, and she can’t be trusted.”
A few people nodded. More than a few.
Clara watched the room’s attention turn toward Serena with disgust, suspicion, and judgment. A small, satisfied smile tugged at her mouth.
Serena didn’t move. She stayed exactly as she had for hours: composed, still, refusing to give them the relief of a reaction.
Sarah began to clap slowly, an exaggerated, deliberate rhythm that cut through the noise.
“Excellent work, Horace,” she said, her tone dry. “But you also heard the part of the will stating it cannot be contested, yes?”
“The rules also state that if a family member manipulates the will in their favor, it may be contested,” Horace replied. He lifted a hand toward Serena as if presenting evidence. “She manipulated the outcome by marrying under dubious circumstances and then announcing it on the news while the family was still in mourning.”
“Why does this sound like you’re pulling threads and hoping something sticks ?” Sarah countered. “Serena already stated at dinner that she and Damian have been together for months. And that the only reason they had to disclose their relationship was because of the threat Damian’s company was facing.”
Horace opened his mouth, but Pa Benedict spoke first.
“If we set sentiment aside,” the older man said, voice calm, “there may be elements of truth in what he’s implying.”
Serena’s head turned sharply.
Of everyone in the family, Pa Benedict was the last person she expected to lend Horace any support. He had loathed Charles, yes, but he had hated Horace, too, with just about the same consistency.
And yet, beneath her shock, something else troubled her, an uneasy recognition. The sound of his voice tugged at an old memory. She knew she had heard it somewhere recently. She just couldn’t place where.
“Bill,” someone prompted, “please continue.”
Pa Benedict inclined his head. “People don’t typically marry out of nowhere. And given how close Charles and Serena were, it is unusual that she would move from mourning to marriage so quickly. To an outsider, it might look as though she and her partner accelerated events for advantage.” He paused, then added with coldly, “Some might even interpret it as if she and her boyfriend colluded to kill Charles in order to claim her inheritance early.”
“When you put it that way,” Andrew said, a little too eagerly, “it does seem strange.”
“And the fact that Charles bypassed Clara his original heir, and crowned Serena is suspicious in itself,” someone else added. Serena recognized the person’s face, but the name escaped her.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sarah said. “Do you hear yourselves? You sound absurd.”
Pa Benedict raised a hand, as if offering moderation. “I’m not stating she killed Charles. I’m pointing out how it reads to someone without context.”
“Pa Benedict,” Serena finally said, “how can you even say that?”
“Serena my dear, I hold no grievance towards you, but as the eldest member of the family it is my job to look at things from everybody else’s point of view.”
“Fine,” Serena said, her voice flat, controlled. “Let’s talk about perception then. Clara and Jonathan also married in secret. Does that mean they saw the will early, too? Or that they conspired to kill Grandfather?”
A brief, surprised silence.
Sarah sat up straighter, her expression shifting. “That,” she said quietly, “is interesting. Seeing as we weren’t even aware Clara had married.”
Horace shot daggers at Serena, from where he sat he could see her smirking up at him, she knew what she was doing revealing Clara’s marriage before he had a chance to.
”we meat to bring that up.” He coughed.
Andrew’s voice cut in, incredulous. “What the hell is going on? Is this really how the first family of the Gregory bloodline behaves. You both got married just to snatch fortune away from the other?”
“If the public sees us tearing each other apart,” one of the older cousins snapped, looking between Serena and Clara, “how do we expect anyone to trust us again? We built an empire on family, tradition, stability and bond but look at us now, here we are, watching heirs maneuver around wills and secret marriages.”
“Where’s the loyalty we’re always preaching?” Andrew added.
“What are you implying, Andrew?” a shareholder asked.
“Our name is on every bottle in a Valenor kitchen cabinet,” another relative said, voice cold with alarm. “For decades, the Gregory estates haven’t just sold olive oil. We’ve sold an image: unity, continuity, legacy. If the public starts seeing division betrayal, scandal what exactly are we asking them to trust?”
A trembling silence followed, thick with anticipation.
“And now we learn both heirs may have reviewed the will before the official reading,” the man continued. “Secret negotiations. Strategic marriages. Casual disregard for process. Is this the governance model we intend to present to the board? To the shareholders? To the families who have tied their livelihoods to our name?”
From farther back, someone muttered, “The succession clause required a spouse approved by the family for a reason. Gregory holdings cannot be placed in uncertain hands. And yet you both married without seeking approval from neither the family or the shareholders.”
Pa Benedict spoke again, his tone absolute. “This level of disregard for rule and order is unacceptable.”
Serena, Horace, and Clara remained seated while the argument swelled around them. Horace had planted the doubt, but the room had carried it further than he seemed to have anticipated
and now, in a way, he was being pulled under with her.
One of the shareholders stood. “After everything we’ve heard today, it’s clear both heirs lack the ethical stability we require from a CEO.”
“They’re the only heirs,” someone said. “It’s not as if we can replace them or overturn the will.”
“Then,” Pa Benedict said, calm and clinical, “we utilize the one asset we do have: time. We have two heirs. Let them demonstrate who is more worthy.”
“Meaning what?” Sarah asked.
“Meaning,” he replied, “we give them one year. We observe their marriages, their conduct, their public standing. Then after a year, we decide who best represents the Gregory legacy.”
Serena went still in a different way. Frozen, as if the air had turned to glass.
“No,” she whispered. This wasn’t how it was meant to go.
Horace leaned back in relief with a small, satisfied smile. “If that’s the arrangement, then I will remain interim CEO and family head until then.”
“Incorrect,” Pa Benedict said at once.
Horace’s face fell.
pa Benedict carried on, “Your guidance contributed materially to this situation. Consider yourself fortunate we are not placing you under supervision as well.”
Clara frowned, confusion tightening her face. “Then who takes the CEO position?”
“Me,” Pa Benedict said, straightening in his chair. “Temporarily.”
“No.” Serena’s restraint finally cracked. “We’re not doing that. This is a ploy to take what’s mine. Nothing more.”
Under the table, Sarah reached for Serena’s hand and squeezed, gentle but firm, a quiet request to stop her from speaking further before the room devoured her.
“Sit down, Serena,” Sarah murmured. “You and your sister don’t get a say in this right now. Let me handle it.”
Then, aloud, Sarah turned back to Pa Benedict. “With respect, you know very little about the business. Why would we appoint you CEO?”
“Because I’m the eldest member of the family,” he said simply.
“You are,” Sarah agreed, her tone returning to calm. “Which is why we will appoint you family head. I will serve as interim CEO, with Horace as my deputy.”
“That seems reasonable,” one of the shareholders said. “Let’s put it to a vote.”
Joseph stepped forward, voice formal, almost ceremonial. “All in favor, say aye.”
More than half the greenhouse responded immediately.
“Aye.”
The sound echoed against glass and greenery, too unified to be comforting.
“Those against, say nay.”
Silence.
Joseph nodded once. “Then the ayes have it.”
Clara shifted in her seat, confusion plain. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Pa Benedict folded his hands over his cane. “It means that for the next year, you and your husbands will live under observation. Every public appearance. Every decision. Every scandal, every achievement. We will see it all. And at the end of that year, the family will decide who is genuinely fit to lead the Gregory empire.”
A ripple of murmurs moved through the room.
Serena didn’t move.
One year.
Another full year of careful steps and rehearsed composure another year of keeping the truth from Damian, stretching this fragile lie until it threatens to split.
Across the greenhouse, Horace leaned back, a faint glint of victory in his eyes: if he couldn’t have it, at least Serena wouldn’t, either.
Clara sat rigid beside him, knuckles whitening against the armrest.
Sarah’s fingers tightened around Serena’s hand beneath the table.
“Stay calm,” she whispered.
Serena’s breath caught. Calm was impossible when the entire point of her rebirth, the one thing she had come back for was being quietly, efficiently taken from her.