CHAPTER 2: The Reading of the True Will
The whispers in the grand ballroom grew into a roaring torrent of shock. The sealed document in Sophia’s trembling hand didn't just bear the official stamp of the city’s highest probate court; it carried the original signature of Arthur Hawthorne—the visionary patriarch who had built the Hawthorne multi-billion-dollar shipping empire from scratch before his untimely death ten years ago.
Isabella staggered backward, her hand flying to her mouth, the very palm that had slapped her sister just moments before now burning with a sickening wave of regret and confusion. "Mother!" Isabella screamed, her voice cracking as she turned to Eleanor. "Tell her to stop! Tell everyone this is a fake! She's an impostor trying to steal my night!"
But Eleanor Hawthorne couldn't move. The matriarch, who had ruled high society with an iron fist and an unshakeable poise, was clutching the edge of the mahogany host table so hard her manicured nails threatened to snap. Her skin had turned the color of ash.
Sophia did not look at the crowd, nor did she look at the hundreds of smartphones capturing her every breath. She looked only at Isabella. With a steady, deliberate movement, she began to read from the legal decree, her voice carrying a haunting power through the silent ballroom.
"This is the true and final addendum to the Last Will and Testament of Arthur Hawthorne," Sophia read, her words cutting through the golden light like a blade. "To my eldest daughter, Sophia Hawthorne, whom I believed to be lost to a tragic kidnapping at the age of seven, I leave fifty-one percent of all voting shares in the Hawthorne Global Consortium, along with the primary deed to Hawthorne Manor. This inheritance is to be unlocked immediately upon her twenty-fifth birthday, or upon her return to the family estate."
The crowd erupted. Corporate attorneys, international investors, and old family friends traded frantic glances. If this document was legitimate, it meant that the entire power dynamic of the city’s wealthiest family had just inverted on a silver tray. Isabella was no longer the sole heiress; she was a minority shareholder in her own home.
"You're lying!" Eleanor suddenly shrieked, breaking her paralysis. She lunged across the spilled orange juice, trying to tear the paper from Sophia’s hands. "You died in that river! The police found the jacket! You are a fraud hired by our competitors to destroy our stock value!"
Before Eleanor's hands could reach the document, a tall, distinguished man in a dark charcoal suit stepped out from the crowd. It was Julian Vance, the senior managing partner of Vance & Associates, the prestigious law firm that had handled Arthur Hawthorne’s estate for forty years.
"Stand down, Eleanor," Julian said, his voice cold and commanding. He stepped between the mother and the young maid. He took the document from Sophia’s hands, adjusted his reading glasses, and carefully examined the watermark and the court seal.
The ballroom held its collective breath. Isabella watched Julian's face, desperately praying for him to declare it a forgery.
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Instead, Julian looked up, his expression grim. "The seal is genuine, Eleanor. This is the master copy of the sealed trust Arthur created in secret three weeks before his death. And I am the notary who witnessed his signature."
Julian turned to the stunned crowd, his voice echoing under the crystal chandeliers. "Ladies and gentlemen, the celebratory portion of this evening is officially concluded. Security, clear the room. The Hawthorne family has private legal matters to attend to."
