Page 171 of Unholy Obsession

“Surely, there’s a mistake.” Charles’s voice is tight, but there’s an edge of desperation beneath it. “My father wouldn’t?—”

“He did.” Rotterdam flips a page, adjusting his glasses. “The will was amended six months before his death. The paperwork is in order.”

Gabriella exhales a sharp laugh, dark and bitter. “So that’s it? We getnothing?”

“Correct.”

Simon is less elegant about it. “Thatfucking bastard!” He slams his fist onto the table, silverware rattling. “He left us scraps? What about the company? What about?—”

“All holdings.” Rotterdam doesn’t even look up. “Including the company.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Charles snaps, voice finally cracking. “You expect us to just accept that Bane getseverything?”

I take my time swirling the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the firelight. Then I meet his gaze, slow and deliberate. “Yes.”

Chaos erupts.

Miriam hisses something under her breath, venom dripping from every syllable. Gabriella is laughing again, wild and mean. Simon is half out of his chair, face red, furious, looking like he’s ready to launch himself across the table. Charles is already plotting, I canseeit—the calculations running behind his eyes, searching for any loophole, any way to claw back what was never his to begin with.

Moira hasn’t moved.

She’s watching them, expression unreadable, but I can feel the tension in her body. It’s different now. Before, they were attackingher. Now, they’re devouring each other.

And me?

I sit back, relaxed, and let them.

Simon finally rounds on me, voice furious. “What the fuck did youdo?”

I blink at him. “Inherited.”

Charles rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply through his nose. “This doesn’t make sense. Father wouldn’t just leave everything to you.”

“Wouldn’t he?” I arch a brow. “I was the only one who never needed a leash.”

That lands. A direct hit. Charles’s fingers twitch like he wants to throw his glass at my head. Instead, he turns to Rotterdam. “There has to be a way to contest this.”

Rotterdam is unbothered as he slides the papers forward. “You’re welcome to try. But I assure you, there is no avenue to contest.”

Gabriella scoffs. “Oh, come now. The old man was losing his mind at the end. He probably didn’t even know what he was signing.”

Rotterdam lifts a brow, turning a page with infuriating calm. “The will was amended before he contracted Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. His mental faculties were intact. The paperwork is sound.”

“So you’re saying Banedidn’tblackmail him into changing it?” Simon sneers, crossing his arms. “Because that seems more likely.”

Rotterdam doesn’t even glance up. “I’m not exactly sure what you imagine a man on a lowly priest’s salary could do to influence a man like your father, but I assure you, there was no coercion, no undue influence. Your father made his wishes explicitly clear. And as your father so often loved to remind anyone in his vicinity, as the richest man in the world, he could afford thebest.”

He continues shuffling papers. “And Iamthe best. The will is iron-clad against contestation, lawsuit, or any other infringement the lot of you might think up.”

Miriam lets out a cold laugh, eyes glittering with something sharp. “Of course it is. Even if it wasn’t blackmail, I still suppose we’re meant to believe Bane hadnothingto do with it? That he didn’t whisper in his father’s ear and poison his mind against the rest of us?”

“Believe what you like,” I say, tipping my glass toward her. “It won’t change the outcome.”

Silence again, but this time, it’s different. This time, it’s heavier. More dangerous.

I exhale slowly, stretching out my fingers against the table. “Are we done?”

Miriam scoffs, shaking her head, her nails digging into her palm. “You don’t evenwantit, do you?”

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