My heart pounded.
“The contract?”
The call had already ended.
For a long moment, I stared at my phone, wondering if I had imagined what I had heard. Then Phoebe texted again.
Phoebe: Meet me behind the greenhouse. Five minutes. Come alone.
I almost ignored her.
After everything that had happened at the wedding entrance, why would I trust the woman who had stood there smiling while my own mother humiliated me?
But something about Dad’s words kept echoing.
“She was never supposed to find out about the contract.”
I walked around the building until I found Phoebe waiting beside a row of white roses.
She looked exhausted.
“You hate me,” she said quietly.
“I don’t even know you.”
“You know the version your parents created.”
I crossed my arms.
“Then explain.”
Phoebe handed me a thick manila envelope.
Inside were legal documents.
At the top of the first page were the words:
Family Asset Protection Agreement.
My name appeared on page three.
“What is this?”
She swallowed.
“Your grandfather left his company equally to you and your parents.”
I frowned.
“That’s impossible. They told me he left everything to them.”
“They lied.”
My stomach dropped.
Phoebe pointed to another page.
“They could only inherit your share if you voluntarily signed it away… or if you believed you had never inherited anything in the first place.”
I looked at the signature line.
Blank.
“I never signed this.”
“They’ve spent years trying to convince you there was nothing to inherit.”
Pieces of my childhood suddenly made sense.
Every conversation about money.
Every time I asked about Grandpa.
Every family gathering where his name was forbidden.
Every lie.
“So why are you telling me now?”
Phoebe’s eyes filled with tears.
“Because today they planned to announce that my marriage merged the companies. Once that happened, your legal claim would become much harder to fight.”
“You knew?”
“I found out two weeks ago.”
“And you still married him?”
She looked away.
“I canceled the marriage an hour ago.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“There isn’t going to be a wedding.”
At that exact moment, shouting erupted inside the glass hall.
Guests rushed toward the entrance.
Someone yelled,
“The groom is gone!”
Phoebe let out a shaky laugh.
“He left after I confronted him with the documents.”
Before I could respond, several black SUVs pulled into the driveway.
Men and women in business suits stepped out.
Leading them was an elderly attorney carrying another leather folder.
He walked straight toward me.
“Miss Eliza?”
“Yes.”
He smiled politely.
“My name is Richard Bell. I’ve represented your grandfather’s estate for fifteen years.”
He held out the folder.
“I believe it’s time you finally received what has always belonged to you.”
To …