Chapter 8
Estela's study was smaller, more intimate, and far more dangerous than the boardroom. The walls seemed to close in as Frances took a seat across from the Dowager.
Estela sat behind her desk, her hands folded. "Speak," she commanded. "What is your price? Money?"
Frances shook her head slowly. "I don't want money. I want you to cancel your plan to bring Gia Hobbs into this house."
Estela's eyes widened a fraction. She knows. But how much?
"The art consultant position is a board decision," Estela bluffed, her voice steady. "You have no authority."
Frances didn't blink. "Okay. Then let's discuss something else. Let's discuss the related-party transactions within the Burnett Group."
She nodded to her lawyer. The lawyer placed a single document on Estela's desk.
Frances leaned forward. "This document details the money trail. The shell company in the Cayman Islands that funded Jagger's education? It's connected to a Burnett Group supplier. Payments for 'goods' were routed through this shell company and into Jagger's trust."
Frances's voice was flat, clinical. "Is this embezzlement? Or is it money laundering? I'm not sure. But I know who would be interested."
Her lawyer chimed in, "My client is obligated to report these suspicious transactions to the SEC."
The SEC. The Securities and Exchange Commission. The bogeyman of every Wall Street tycoon. A federal investigation would freeze assets, tank the stock price, and send people to prison.
Estela's face went slack. The color drained from her cheeks. This wasn't a family spat anymore. This was a nuclear threat.
She leaned back in her chair, her breath coming in short gasps. "You... you wouldn't."
"I would," Frances said, her voice hard. "Of course, we can both back down a bit; I agree to her coming in, but you must agree to my several conditions.Here are my terms. One, the divorce petition is put on hold. I will remain Mrs. Burnett, for now."
Estela stared at her, confused.
"Two," Frances continued, "whatever arrangement you've made for Gia Hobbs, end it."
Estela's confusion deepened. This was the opposite of what she expected.
"However," Frances said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register, "today, we will sign a trust amendment. It will have the highest legal priority."
She stood up, placing her hands flat on the desk, looming over Estela. "The core provision is this: Arvel Galvan will be the sole and primary heir to all assets under my personal trust."
She pointed a finger at Estela. "Jagger can be adopted. But he will be second in line. He only inherits if Arvel dies or renounces his claim. And no one, not you, not Baron, can ever change this order."
This was the real goal. Not divorce. Not money. But power. The power to elevate her chosen heir above theirs.
Estela stared at her, a mix of horror and disbelief on her face. "You're insane. You would sacrifice your own freedom, stay in this marriage, just for some stranger?"
"This isn't a negotiation, Estela," Frances said coldly. "It's a notification."
She turned to leave. "You have thirty minutes to have your lawyers draft the amendment. If I don't have a signed copy in thirty minutes, the evidence goes to the SEC."
Frances and her lawyer walked out, closing the door behind them.
Estela sat alone in the silence. She felt a weakness in her limbs she hadn't felt in decades. She had been outmaneuvered. She had been beaten at her own game.
She picked up the phone, her hand trembling. "Legal department," she rasped. "Do exactly as she says."
An hour later, Frances held the signed amendment in her hands. She looked at Arvel's name, printed in black and white at the top of the list. She felt no joy, no relief. Only a cold, hollow victory.
She had won the battle. But the war was far from over.
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