Hand over the company shares, Eleanor, or sign the resignation letter — Daddy would’ve

I opened the folder Brent shoved at me. Skimmed it. Slid it back. “Before I sign anything,” I said, “I’d like to introduce someone.” The double doors opened and Margaret Liu walked in — Dad’s estate attorney for thirty-one years, the woman who taught me to ride a bike the summer Vivienne forgot I existed. She set a leather portfolio in front of me and nodded once. Brent laughed. Vivienne’s smile thinned. “Sweetheart, the will was read. You got the lake house. Be grateful.” “The will you saw,” Margaret said evenly, “was the 2009 version. Mr. Hargrove updated it the morning of his diagnosis. Eleanor is the sole trustee of Hargrove Holdings. Controlling interest. Forty-one percent of voting shares. Effective the day probate closes — which was Tuesday.” The color drained from Brent’s face in real time. Vivienne stood up so fast her chair scraped. “That’s impossible. He would’ve told us.” “He tried,” I said quietly. “You were in Aspen. Both of you. He called fourteen times.” I slid my own folder across the table. Inside were the expense reports — the corporate jet Brent took to Ibiza, the “consulting fees” Vivienne paid her sister, the six-figure withdrawals coded as office supplies. Dad had been collecting them for two years. “You have until end of business Friday to repay one point eight million dollars to the company,” I said, “or the board votes on fraud charges Monday morning. I already have four signatures. I only need three.” Brent’s mouth opened and closed like a fish on a dock. Vivienne reached for the folder with shaking fingers. “Eleanor — sweetheart — we’re family.” I stood up, buttoned the blazer Dad gave me, and walked to the head of the table. His chair. My chair. “You told me at his funeral I wasn’t a real Hargrove,” I said. “So consider this a business decision. From the woman running the business.” I tapped the intercom. “Security, please escort Mr. and Mrs. Hargrove to collect their personal items.” Brent finally found his voice. “You can’t do this.” I smiled for the first time in three weeks. “Daddy already did.”