My husband beat me with a heavy leather belt just to impress his arrogant mistress. Covered in bruises, I pulled out my phone to call my dad. My husband snatched it, put it on speaker, and laughed. “Let’s tell your pathetic, broke mechanic father how worthless you are,” he mocked. The line connected. But the deep, booming voice that answered wasn’t a poor mechanic. My father said one sentence and hung up the phone. And exactly five minutes later, they begged for forgiveness.

Winston slowly bent down and picked up the paper. He examined my bloody fingerprint on the signature line.

“A void document, tainted by physical coercion and profound stupidity,” Winston stated clinically. With deliberate, agonizing slowness, he tore the contract in half, then into quarters, letting the shredded pieces flutter down onto Julian’s lap.

“Mr. Croft,” Winston said, his voice echoing with absolute, untouchable authority. “You have exactly ten minutes to vacate this property.”

“Vacate?” Julian gasped. His voice cracked, high and pathetic. He pointed a trembling, desperate finger around the opulent grand hall. “This is my house! My name is on the deed!”

Winston unlatched his titanium briefcase. He pulled out a heavy stack of legal dossiers and dropped them onto the floor directly in front of Julian’s knees.

“Your name is on a lease, Mr. Croft,” Winston corrected smoothly. “A lease heavily subsidized by a blind trust wholly owned by Ms. Sterling. You do not own this property. You do not own the ground it sits on.”

Julian stared at the papers, his mind fracturing. “My company… I built it…”

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