Judge Halpern reclined in his chair, wearing the expression of a man enjoying dinner theater rather than ruling on my future. “Miss Vale,” he said, “you are twenty-nine, unmarried, currently renting a studio apartment, and unemployed according to this filing. You expect this court to believe your late mother wanted you to supervise an empire?”
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Behind me, my brothers snorted. My aunt lifted a hand to her mouth, not out of embarrassment, but to hide her laughter.
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I stared at my father. Victor Vale, a founder to the public, a thief behind closed doors. He wore mourning as flawlessly as his tailored suit. In the six months since Mom’s death, he had held press conferences about “protecting her legacy,” while shutting me out of the company, canceling my health insurance, and changing the locks on the home where I had spent every childhood Christmas. Mother-daughterjewelry
My mother, Elaine, had held fifty-two percent of Vale Harbor Group, a shipping and logistics company valued at thirty-one million dollars after debt. My father had married into it, refined it, grown it, and then decided every part of it belonged to him.
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I was not unemployed. I had been suspended from my consulting position after my father called my firm and accused me of stealing client records. I had stolen nothing. I had copied only one thing: the backup drive my mother handed me three days before she died. Mother-daughterjewelry
“Lena is unstable,” Dad went on. “She was always emotional. Elaine indulged her.”
That nearly broke me. Nearly.
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