Chapter 5 - The Lake Forest Property
Before the gala, there was one piece of business that required immediate, personal attention.
At two o'clock in the afternoon, Adrian’s driver pulled up to the heavy wrought-iron gates of the Sterling Estate in Lake Forest—the twenty-acre property my father had built, and the house where I had been raised until my mother died when I was twelve.
Chloe had converted the estate’s secondary guesthouse into an unauthorized private vault, where she was storing millions of dollars in stolen family heirlooms, art pieces, and legal documents that belonged to my grandmother’s trust.
The heavy gates were locked, but Donovan—Adrian’s head of security—simply stepped out of the SUV, pressed a heavy electronic override device against the gate’s control panel, and watched the gates swing wide open.
We drove up the winding, tree-lined driveway, stopping in front of the sweeping stone manor.
A man in a sharp grey suit—Chloe’s personal estate manager, Mr. Henderson—came hurrying down the front steps, his face red with anger.
“What is the meaning of this?” Henderson shouted, gesturing at the three heavy SUVs parked on his driveway. “This is private property! I am calling the sheriff!”
Adrian stepped out of the vehicle, unbuttoning his suit jacket.
“Call him,” Adrian said calmly. “Ask him to bring the county land registrar while he’s at it.”
Henderson stopped in his tracks, looking from Adrian to me as I stepped out beside him.
“Amelia?” Henderson stammers, his voice dropping an octave. “What... what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to inspect my property, Mr. Henderson,” I said, stepping past him toward the front doors.
“You don't own this house!” Henderson yelled, chasing after us. “Miss Chloe owns this estate!”
Adrian didn't even turn around. He raised one hand, and Donovan stepped into Henderson’s path, placing a single, massive hand against the manager’s chest, halting him completely.
“Fourteen hours ago,” Adrian said as we entered the grand marble foyer, “the probate court issued an emergency injunction freezing all assets associated with the Sterling Family Trust, pending the criminal investigation into Chloe Sterling for forgery, fraud, and corporate espionage.”
I walked across the familiar marble floors, looking up at the sweeping staircase where my father used to hang our family portraits. Chloe had removed every single picture of my mother, replacing them with massive oil paintings of herself and her socialite friends.
“Downstairs,” I said, pointing toward the cellar doors behind the staircase.
We walked down into the climate-controlled wine cellar and vault.
There, sitting on velvet-lined tables, were dozens of wooden crates stamped with my grandmother’s initials: E.B.
Inside were forty-two oil paintings by mid-century American masters, three sets of antique diamond jewelry, and the original, handwritten journals of my father, detailing every cent he had placed into the trust for his eldest daughter.
I reached out and touched the dusty wooden edge of a crate containing my mother’s pearl necklace.
“She took everything,” I whispered, tears pricking the backs of my eyes. “She didn't just want the money, Adrian. She wanted to erase me from this family entirely.”
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Adrian walked up behind me, resting his hands gently on my shoulders. His touch was firm, grounding, and solid as iron.
“She failed, Amelia,” Adrian said softly into my ear. “By midnight tonight, every single item in this room will be returned to your shop. And Chloe Sterling will have nothing left to trade.”
