Page 34 of I'm sorry, Princess
“Stop being dramatic, Rivera. What statement?” I snap, rolling my eyes as I walk over to the coffee machine. Pouring myself a cup, I brace for whatever bullshit he’s about to drop.
Andres isn’t usually one to let emotions show, which makes the look he’s giving me now all the more unsettling. Whatever he’s about to say is important.
He finally looks up, his voice calm but pointed.
“Thomas Beaumont.”
The name hits me like a punch, the air in the room growing heavier.
The Attorney General.
“What about him?” I demand, my eyes darting between Andres and Francesco. Both of them look as confused as I feel, which only fuels my frustration.
Andres hesitates for a moment before speaking. “He gave a statement to the police on the day your father died,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, as if he’s testing how much to tell me.
A cold silence settles over the room as his words hang in the air.
“I don’t have the full details yet,” he continues cautiously. “Lucy’s powerful, but it’s slow as fuck. What I do know is that when your father died, Thomas Beaumont gave a statement.”
I freeze.
What the fuck?
My father died of a heart attack. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. Why the fuck would Thomas Beaumont feel the need to give a statement to the police on the day of his death?
The thought twists in my gut, cold and sharp, a feeling I can’t shake.
Francesco steps closer, his presence calm but heavy, and places a firm hand on my shoulder. “Son,” he says, his voice steady but probing. “What do you really know about your father’s death?”
I meet his gaze, but my mind is elsewhere, spiraling back to the worst day of my life.
I’m trying to piece it all together, to remember the fragments of what I was told back then. To find something, anything, that makes sense of this.
“Not much,” I admit, my voice quiet but sharp. The memory feels distant, like a haze I can’t fully shake. “I was at a party when my father died. Dante, my uncle, called me and told me to come home as soon as possible. No explanation, just urgency.”
I pause, my eyes falling to the faint scar on my hand. The mark feels heavier now, a reminder of a different life, a different time.
“When I got home, my mother was crying. She hugged me like her world had ended. She was… devastated,” I continue, my voice lowering as the scene plays out in my mind. “She told me he’d had a heart attack. That he’d been preparing his testament for years, just in case something happened to him.”
I glance at Francesco, then at Andres, my tone sharpening again. “And just like that, I was named the one to run the Moretti Estate after his death.”
“That’s when she called me,” Francesco adds, stepping into the conversation. His voice is calm, but the words are loaded with weight. “I remember it clearly, your mother called me immediately that day to handle the paperwork and ensure the full ownership of the Moretti Estate was transferred to you.”
He pauses, his gaze steady as he looks at me. “You became the CEO of the company just a few hours after your father died.”
The room feels colder now, the implications of his words hanging in the air.
A few hours.
Why the rush?
“Yeah,” I confirm, running a hand through my hair, the motion doing nothing to ease the sudden heat in the room. Why does it feel like the walls are closing in?
“Why does this matter?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended. My eyes dart between Francesco and Andres. “Do you think my father’s death wasn’t natural? That Beaumont had something to do with it?”
The words leave my mouth before I can decide if I even want the answer.
Andres stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes, doubt? Hesitation?
