Chapter 3 - The Forged Authority
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I knelt slowly on the wine-stained marble beside my wife.
“Leah,” I whispered.
Her dry lips moved, but no sound came out. She was shaking violently. I gently took the wet, stained cloth from her hand. Her fingers were ice cold.
“Stand up,” I said softly.
She tried to push herself up, then winced in pain, gripping the edge of the counter. I stood and supported her weight carefully, pulling her against my chest.
My mother, Celia, recovered her composure first.
“You frightened everyone,” she said, her tone attempting to sound maternal. “We thought you were still in Singapore.”
“I was,” I replied, my voice dangerously calm.
“Why didn’t you call to tell us you were arriving?”
I ignored her question, looking down at Leah’s battered hands.
“Why is my pregnant wife dressed like a housekeeper?”
Celia gave a heavy, tired sigh, as if I had just asked an irritating, childish question during a formal dinner.
“She insisted on helping, Adrian. The catering staff is completely overwhelmed tonight.”
Leah’s grip tightened desperately around my forearm.
Vanessa quickly retrieved her dripping phone from the sink, her face flushed.
“She has been completely unstable since you left,” Vanessa lied smoothly. “Crying constantly, accusing everyone of plotting against her, refusing to socialize. Mom has just been trying to give her some structure and discipline.”
“You forced her to clean the floors?” I asked, my eyes locked on Vanessa.
“No one forced her to do anything,” Grant interjected, stepping further into the room.
I looked down at Leah’s terrified face.
“Did you choose this?” I asked her.
She didn't answer me. Instead, she stared directly at my mother with wide, frightened eyes. That terrified glance was answer enough.
“The party is over,” I declared, my voice echoing off the tile walls.
Celia straightened her spine. “Do not make a scene, Adrian.”
“Get every single guest out of my house right now.”
Vanessa laughed nervously. “You can’t just end my event in the middle of—”
“Now!” I roared.
Grant put down his whiskey glass. “You should calm down before you embarrass the family, Adrian.”
I turned toward my brother, the fury finally breaking through my calm facade.
“The family is already entirely embarrassed, Grant. They simply haven’t realized it yet.”
My mother reached calmly into her designer handbag and removed a neatly folded legal document. She placed it deliberately on the steel counter between us. A gold notary seal reflected the harsh kitchen lights.
“You have been away for far too long, Adrian,” she said coldly. “The world did not stop spinning simply because you were on another business trip.”
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I unfolded the thick pages. The document explicitly granted Celia Mercer broad, sweeping power of attorney over my personal assets, the estate, and several critical corporate holdings during periods when I was traveling, unavailable, or deemed medically impaired. The signature at the bottom looked exactly like mine.
I had never seen this document in my life.
