SERIES : My Husband Drove Our Car Into The River To Drown Me And My Paralyzed Brother For A $90M Shipyard, But My Brother Stood Up, Sliced My Seatbelt, And Whispered: "Play Dead, He’s Watching"

At 1:50 PM, the grand executive boardroom on the thirty-fourth floor of the Vance Corporate Tower on Pratt Street was filled with suffocating, triumphant tension.

The room featured panoramic floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the glittering expanse of the Inner Harbor and the distant cranes of Vanguard Shipyards.

Seated at the head of the forty-foot polished mahogany conference table was Harrison Vance—the seventy-two-year-old patriarch of the Vance dynasty. He was an imposing, ruthless man with cold gray eyes, slicked-back silver hair, and an aura of absolute, tyrannical entitlement.

Sitting to Harrison’s right was Garrett, looking rested, sharp, and radiating predatory confidence.

To Garrett’s left sat Penelope, clutching her leather designer bag containing the offshore wire verification tokens.

Surrounding the table were six corporate attorneys, the legal representative of the Shanghai Maritime Syndicate, and Probate Magistrate Judge Arthur Harrison—a corrupt judicial official who had been on Harrison Vance's payroll for twenty years.

"Gentlemen," Judge Harrison announced, opening a thick red probate binder. "Following the tragic and untimely demise of Rosalind Sterling-Vance and Tobias Sterling in the Savannah River accident on Thursday evening, we are convened to execute the expedited transfer of all underlying corporate assets of Vanguard Shipyards Inc. to the surviving spouse, Garrett Vance."

Harrison Vance smiled—a cold, terrifying parting of his thin lips. "A tragic loss for our community, but one that allows our corporate family to ensure Vanguard's future prosperity."

Garrett picked up a heavy gold fountain pen, resting the nib on the signature line of the ninety-million-dollar title transfer deed.

"Before you sign, Garrett," Penelope whispered, leaning close, her eyes gleaming with greed, "ensure the secondary clause guaranteeing my thirty percent maternal allocation is initialized."

"Of course, my love," Garrett whispered back, smirking as he began to write the first letter of his name:

G... a... r...

Suddenly, the heavy double mahogany doors at the end of the boardroom clicked open.