Nathan laughed. “Why? You think I’ll miss your budgeting spreadsheets?”
I studied him for a long moment. “Don’t regret this later… lol.”
That small laugh irritated him more than any speech could have. Nathan hated being laughed at, especially by someone he had already decided was beneath him.
His expression tightened. “You think you know something?”
“I think you should read carefully before you celebrate.”
He stepped closer. “The will is clear.”
“That’s what worries me,” I said.
It unsettled him, but not enough to stop him. Two weeks later, he filed. His attorney moved aggressively, assuming I would panic under the speed, the pressure, the headlines his last name could attract. But I didn’t fight for the mansion, the cars, or the art. I signed faster than he expected, accepted a modest private settlement, and walked away with only what was already mine, along with one small item from Charles’s study: a leather folder he had specifically instructed his lawyer to give me after the funeral.
Nathan smirked when the divorce papers were finalized. “You should have asked for more.”
“No,” I said. “You already gave me enough.”
A month later, the family attorney, Leonard Graves, summoned Nathan to the estate office for final trust activation.
Nathan arrived smiling.
I was there too, because Leonard had asked me to attend.
Nathan dropped into the leather chair, stretched his arms wide, and said, “Let’s wrap this up. I have plans.”
Leonard opened the file, glanced at me briefly, and then started laughing.
Nathan’s smile disappeared. “Excuse me?”
“Young man,” Leonard said, removing his glasses, “have you actually read your father’s will carefully?”
Nathan went pale.
Because in that instant, he realized the fortune he had divorced me for wasn’t as simple as hearing one number spoken aloud.
Nathan had only absorbed what suited him at the original reading of the will.
That had always been his talent.
He could sit through an entire conversation, latch onto one flattering line, and ignore every condition, warning, and consequence surrounding it. Charles understood that better than anyone. He had spent years watching his only son mistake access for achievement. That was why he never gave Nathan real authority while he was alive, and why he structured the trust the way he did before he died.
Leonard folded his hands over the file and let the silence linger.
