My fingers cold inside his hand.
The specialist explaining that Julian’s sperm count was low and scarring from an old surgery had reduced my chances of carrying a pregnancy naturally.
Difficult.
Not impossible.
Vivian had turned probabilities into verdicts.
But Brooke was still watching her.
Not with anger.
With suspicion.
“Why did you keep the ultrasound photographs?”
Vivian’s eyes flickered.
No one spoke.
Brooke asked again.
“If you believed Claire was lying, why keep them in a safe for four years?”
That question changed everything.
Julian slowly turned.
I felt something cold crawl over my skin.
Vivian did not answer.
Brooke walked toward her.
“You knew.”
Vivian whispered, “Be careful.”
Brooke’s jaw tightened.
“You knew those children could be Julian’s.”
Silence.
“And you hid them anyway.”
Julian’s face became almost expressionless.
That frightened me more than yelling would have.
“Why?”
Vivian lifted her chin.
“The circumstances were complicated.”
“Why?”
“Because there were things you did not understand.”
“Then explain them.”
Vivian looked around the ballroom.
Hundreds of people.
Phones recording.
Family members frozen at their tables.
Business partners whispering.
Journalists invited because the Prescott-Hensley marriage had been called the union of two American dynasties.
Vivian understood exactly what this moment meant.
For the first time, she could not control the room.
And then she made a mistake.
She looked at the cream folder in Brooke’s hand.
Brooke followed her gaze.
Her expression sharpened.
“What else is in here?”
Vivian took one step forward.
“Give me that.”
Brooke stepped back.
Julian blocked his mother again.
Brooke opened the inner pocket.
She removed a folded document.
It was old.
Legal paper.
Stamped.
Signed.
Brooke scanned the first page.
Then her eyes widened.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
Julian demanded.
Brooke looked at Vivian.
“This was never about grandchildren.”
Vivian’s face went white.
I stared at Brooke.
“What are you talking about?”
Brooke held up the document.
“This is an amendment to Arthur Prescott’s family trust.”
Arthur.
Julian’s grandfather.
The man who had built Prescott International from a regional construction company into a multibillion-dollar empire.
He had died five years earlier.
Brooke looked at Julian.
“Did you know about this?”
“No.”
She began reading.
The language was dense and legal.
But one paragraph was underlined in red.
Upon the birth of any lawful biological descendant of Julian Prescott, voting authority over the founder’s controlling shares would transfer from the interim trustee to Julian Prescott, with beneficial interests reserved equally for his descendants.
Julian frowned.
“Interim trustee?”
Brooke looked toward Vivian.
My stomach dropped.
Julian whispered, “Mother is the interim trustee.”
Brooke nodded.
Everything in the room seemed to stop.
Julian looked at Vivian.
Then at the children.
Then back at Vivian.
And suddenly I understood.
Vivian had spent years telling everyone how desperately the Prescott family needed an heir.
But
an heir was the one thing that would end her control
.
Julian’s voice came out hollow.
“If Claire had given birth to my children…”
“You would have received full voting control four years ago,” Brooke said.
“And Mother would have lost it.”
“Yes.”
Vivian exploded.
“You have no idea what you are talking about.”
Brooke turned.
“I’m an attorney, Vivian.”
That silenced several guests instantly.
“My specialization is corporate restructuring.
I know exactly what I’m reading.”
Vivian shook her head.
“Arthur was senile when he signed that amendment.”
“Then why did you hide it?”
“I did not hide it.”
“It was underneath Claire’s ultrasound photographs in your private safe.”
Vivian said nothing.
Julian looked physically sick.
