Chapter 6 - Erasing the Montgomery Name
Z
Sterling Montgomery stared at the silver pen in his hand for three long minutes. The room was so quiet that the faint hum of the building’s climate control sounded like a roar.
He looked at me, hoping to find a flicker of the soft, accommodating Genevieve Brooks he had spent six years manipulating. But that woman had ceased to exist. Sitting across from him was Genevieve Vance—the sole heiress to an eighty-billion-dollar dynasty, whose eyes reflected only absolute resolve.
He looked down at the debt numbers on the second page: twelve million four hundred thousand dollars in immediate liabilities. Foreclosure notices on his personal vehicles, luxury club memberships, and private jet accounts. Federal fraud investigators circling his personal tax shelters.
With a ragged, defeated sob, Sterling pressed the pen to the paper and signed his name across all four execution lines.
Arthur immediately pulled the documents back, checked each signature with meticulous precision, and stamped them with the official Vance corporate notary seal.
“The wire transfer for your settlement will clear within twenty-four hours,” Arthur said, closing his briefcase. “You have sixty minutes to vacate this building. Vance private security will ensure you reach the airport.”
Sterling slowly pushed his chair back. He stood up, looking smaller, older, and thoroughly broken.
“You ruined my life, Genevieve,” he muttered, his voice trembling with bitter venom.
“No, Sterling,” I replied, standing up to meet his gaze. “You ruined your own life the day you confused my kindness for weakness. Goodbye.”
Without another word, Sterling turned and walked out of the conference room, flanked by two private security officers who escorted him directly to the freight elevator.
Ten minutes later, Harrison and I walked out of the Vance Legal building into the cool autumn afternoon. The city of Boston was bustling, but my mind was completely clear.
“Arthur,” I said, as we stepped into the back of our armored Maybach. “What is the status of the Newport estate?”
“The title transfer is complete,” Arthur replied from the front seat. “Because Montgomery Capital held the property under a holding company that was sixty percent collateralized by Vance debt, our legal team executed a complete foreclosure buyout at noon today. The estate is now wholly owned by the Hazel Vance Trust.”
“And Eleanor Montgomery?”
“She was removed from the premises by local law enforcement at two o'clock,” Arthur stated smoothly. “She attempted to take several antique paintings and heirlooms, but our asset team proved that all household furnishings were purchased using lines of credit extended by Atlantic National. She was allowed to leave with two suitcases of personal clothing.”
A heavy weight that had rested on my shoulders for six long years finally dissolved into nothingness. Eleanor Montgomery had spent years boasting about the irreplaceable heritage of the Montgomery estate, reminding me daily that an ordinary girl would never understand what it meant to belong to such history. Now, her family estate belonged to the five-year-old child she had deemed unworthy.
“Where to now, Rosie?” Harrison asked, smiling warmly as he patted my hand.
“To Newport,” I said. “I have one final piece of business to finish.”
Two hours later, our executive convoy pulled up the long, winding driveway of the Newport estate. The iron gates, which had once borne the ornate ‘M’ crest of the Montgomery dynasty, stood wide open.
A crew of private contractors was already working on the front facade.
I stepped out of the car and walked into the grand marble foyer—the very spot where, just four days ago, Hazel had stood crying while Victoria sneered and Sterling adjusted his watch.
The house was completely silent now. The cold, suffocating arrogance that had filled its halls for generations had been stripped away.
The contractor supervisor walked over, holding a clipboard. “Ms. Vance, we’ve begun inventorying the property as requested. What are your orders regarding the interior decor and family portraits?”
I looked up at the grand staircase where a massive, gold-framed oil painting of the Montgomery ancestors hung over the landing.
“Take down every portrait,” I ordered calmly. “Every plaque, every monogrammed fixture, and every trace of the Montgomery name. Donate the antique furniture to regional charities, and prepare the entire estate for a complete architectural redesign.”
“And what should we do with the main gate crest, ma'am?” the supervisor asked.
May you like
I pulled out the thin red bracelet my grandfather had given me six years ago, holding it up against the fading sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows.
“Replace the crest with the Vance family phoenix,” I said. “This estate is no longer a monument to arrogance. It’s Hazel’s playground now.”
