My Lawyer Tried To Steal My Empire — Until A Six-Year-Old Girl Interrupted The Signing Ceremony
Part 2
I slipped my phone back into my pocket, keeping my expression perfectly neutral despite the adrenaline spiking in my chest.
Twenty years of reading faces across hostile negotiation tables had taught me that the fastest lies were always told by hands, never mouths.
I watched Brenda closely as she moved through the crowded ballroom, pretending to be nothing more than my loyal attorney.
Her hand hovered over the expensive gold clasp of her purse, her fingers twitching just a fraction before she forced them to remain completely still.
“Five minutes,” Tyler announced to the room, lifting a crystal glass to command the attention of the murmuring crowd.
“Then we make history.”
Waiters carried silver trays through the thick throng of wealthy investors, the clinking of glasses masking the tension radiating from my corner of the room.
I stepped slowly away from the mahogany table, my eyes never leaving Brenda’s back.
She smiled flawlessly at the guests, thanked a major donor, and shook a few hands with practiced ease.
But one of her hands never left the clasp of her purse, guarding whatever secret she had tucked inside.
Down in the opulent lobby, Megan had finally slipped past the front entrance, her small frame unnoticed by the bustling staff.
The polished marble floor reflected the massive crystal chandeliers hanging high above her head.
A security guard approached her, his stern face softening instantly when he saw the battered lunchbox clutched fiercely against her chest.
“You can leave that with me,” he offered gently, reaching out a large hand.
Megan shook her head emphatically, stepping back.
“My mom said I can’t.”
“Your mother isn’t here,” the guard replied, his voice laced with pity.
Megan lowered her eyes, staring at her worn shoes.
“I know.”
Before the guard could gently guide her back outside into the rain, Brenda descended the grand staircase with purposeful strides.
Her dark green dress swept against the marble steps, turning heads as she moved.
“Is this the little girl?
Brenda asked, her voice dripping with an artificial warmth that made my skin crawl.
Megan looked at her and instinctively took another step back, her grip on the lunchbox tightening.
“Grown-up meetings can be very confusing,” she cooed softly.
“Why don’t you let us help you find your way home?”
Megan did not answer, her gaze locked onto Brenda’s flawless face.
“That lunchbox is very old,” Brenda observed, her tone shifting slightly.
“It was my mom’s.”
“Sometimes when people lose someone they love, they imagine promises that were never really made,” Brenda said softly.
I stepped out of the private elevator and into the lobby at that exact moment.
I stood far enough away that their conversation sounded like distant rain, but I saw Megan’s knuckles turn stark white around the metal handle.
“If there’s something inside that box, you can trust me with it,” Brenda pressed, reaching a manicured hand toward the child.
Megan looked straight into Brenda’s cold eyes without blinking.
“My mom said not to trust people who already know what’s inside.”
The entire lobby seemed to lose its sound, the background noise evaporating into an oppressive silence.
Brenda laughed nervously, pulling her hand back as if she had been burned.
“I don’t think we’ve ever met, sweetheart.”
Megan tilted her head, her young voice carrying clearly through the suddenly quiet space.
“Then how did you know my lunchbox was old before you even touched it?”
Megan reached into the metal box and pulled out the old, faded photograph of me and her mother.
“Can you tell me who took this picture?” she asked, holding it up.
Brenda barely glanced at it, scoffing lightly.
“No.”
“That’s funny, because in the reflection of this glass, you’re waving at the man standing behind my mom.”
Why was my own lawyer hiding in the background of a ten-year-old photograph, and what exactly had she erased at St Gabriel Hospital?
