I don’t reach for it.
"What exactly does that include?" I ask, my voice quieter now.
The lawyer flips through his paperwork. "The Huntington-Russell estate, as well as the financial portfolios and business interests tied to it. Several properties, your father owned three outside the primary estate. One in Manhattan, a townhouse in London, and a villa in the south of France. Additionally, there are offshore accounts, a collection of trusts, and stock holdings across multiple corporations," he pauses. "It’s a vast portfolio."
I grip the arm of the chair, my nails pressing into the fabric.
"But there’s a problem," he continues. "Your uncle has formally contested the transfer. While his claim is being investigated, all assets are frozen."
I inhale sharply. "For how long?"
"That depends on how long it takes to settle the matter. But we need to meet and discuss options," he closes the folder. "I’ve arranged a meeting between you, your uncle, and I at our firm’s offices."
"When?"
"Two days from now. Ten o’clock in the morning." He watches me carefully. "Does that work for you?"
Hayden won't let me leave this house, but I agree anyway, knowing I don’t have any choice but to figure out how to make the meeting.
I nod. "Yes."
He stands, smoothing out his jacket. "Then I’ll see you there, Miss Huntington-Russell."
Without another word, he turns and leaves.
For a moment, I’m halted by the idea of everything being mine.
My father’s estate. My family’s wealth, their Legacy, their power.
My uncle will be furious.
And I—
I don’t know what to do with any of it.
I force myself to stand after the lawyer leaves. My body feels slow, like I’m moving through sludge, but my mind is awake now, sharpening around the details. I make my way across the great hall, the scent of coffee curling through the air. The staff must have already prepared breakfast, but I don’t want to sit in the dining room, don’t want the weight of formality pressing down on me.
Instead, I step into the kitchen, where one of the maids is quietly pouring coffee into delicate porcelain cups. She notices me and hesitates.
“Miss Huntington-Russell, would you like a full breakfast?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Just coffee.”
She nods, handing me a cup. I take it with both hands, letting the warmth seep into my skin and ground me.
I take a slow sip and lean against the marble counter, my thoughts circling the meeting in two days. Hayden will surely refuse to let me go. He will tell me it isn’t safe, that I don’t need to be involved, and that the lawyers can handle it without me. Or some other grunt of an excuse thrown at me without emotion. But I don’t care.
I need to be there.
I need to look my uncle in the eye, to see the fury on his face when he realizes he has no control, no claim, nothing left to leech off of.
Hayden thinks he can keep me here, but he’s wrong. I will convince him to let me go.
And if he refuses?
I take another sip of coffee, staring into the dark liquid.
Hayden Herron
