Page 66 of The Cruel Heir
Murmurs stirred, but no arguments came. They knew better.
Langford tried again. "We’ll need background, lineage-"
I sighed and gave a subtle nod.
The door opened. Malachi walked in, followed by Isaiah, both dressed in black. Isaiah carried a flat case wrapped in blood-red silk.
He set it before me.
Gasps ricocheted off walnut paneling.
I unwrapped the silk bundle; blood-spotted wedding sheets, and laid them across the conference table like stock certificates.
“Lineage verified,” I said. “Vote the dividend increase, gentlemen, or explain to shareholders why you ignored proof of a Kingsley heir.”
Legacy secured; scandal weaponized.
And every wrung-out breath in that room told me the empire was mine.
Greer scoffed. "We’re supposed to accept some little nobody, just because you decided to breed her?"
Silence.
I drew my weapon and fired.
Greer collapsed forward, skull shattered.
Blood sprayed across the boardroom. Men recoiled. Langford twitched, but stayed seated.
I holstered my weapon. "Let me make something clear. I don't need your approval. Zara is my wife. That’s not up for debate."
Langford exhaled, stiff. "We understand."
"Good. Then we’re done here."
I’d already mapped this reaction in my risk memo: four votes hostile, three wavering, two too afraid to speak first, exactly the leverage I required.
Langford’s jaw ticked. "This complicates things."
"No," I said. "This secures everything."
As I buttoned my jacket, he looked resigned. "We expect to meet her."
"You will."
Frankie held the door. "You really do know how to clear a room."
"She’s my wife." I shrugged.
In the elevator, Frankie whistled. "That went well."
Isaiah was waiting outside of it when the doors opened. “I brought the cleaners,” Isaiah said.
“The boardroom will be spotless in ten minutes,” Malachi added. “Want us to bag the head?”
"Make it disappear," I said. Then to Frankie, "They’ll fall in line. They always do."
"You gonna tell Zara?"
