Chapter 3 - The Wolves at the Gate
Owen did not flinch. He walked slowly to his mahogany desk, sat down, and rested his hands on the leather blotter. His face was a mask of unreadable iron.
“Julian,” Owen said calmly. “You enter my home uninvited, yelling like a street brawler. Explain yourself before I revoke your security clearance.”
Julian stepped closer, pointing a trembling finger toward the glass doors leading to the living room.
“You’re sick, Owen! Everyone on the board knows you’ve been visiting cardiologists in secret! And now, out of nowhere, you pick up some random street kid and want to make her the primary beneficiary of the Faulkner Trust? That trust was established for the legitimate bloodline! I have dedicated ten years of my life to this company!”
“You have spent ten years living off my allowance and attempting to dilute my voting shares,” Owen replied coldly. “The Faulkner Trust is entirely my private property. I created it. I fund it. And I choose who inherits it.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed into slit-like venom. “She’s a fraud! She’s probably an anchor child sent by some scam artist! I will have my private investigators dissect her background by sunrise. If she has a living relative, I will find them, pay them, and have her removed from this house by court order!”
From the living room, a quiet gasp sounded.
Hannah was standing by the glass door, holding her half-empty bowl of soup. She had heard every word. Her small body was shaking, her dark eyes filled with the terrible, familiar terror of being cast back out into the freezing alley.
Julian turned his head and glared at her. “Look at her! She doesn't belong in this family, Owen! She belongs in a state facility!”
Owen stood up. He didn't raise his voice, but the sudden aura of raw authority that radiated from him made even Julian’s attorneys take a step back.
“Julian,” Owen said, his voice dropping into a register that vibrated through the floorboards. “If you speak to my daughter in that tone ever again, I will strip you of your executive title, freeze your trust dividends, and have you blacklisted from every financial board in North America before the stock market opens tomorrow.”
Julian went pale. He opened his mouth to retort, but the sheer coldness in Owen’s gray eyes stopped him cold.
“Get out of my house,” Owen commanded.
Julian clenched his fists, threw a murderous glare at Hannah, and turned on his heel, sweeping out of the penthouse with his lawyers trailing behind him.
The study fell silent again.
Owen took a deep, shaky breath, feeling a sharp, burning pain radiate through his chest—a warning sign from his failing heart. He pressed a hand to his sternum, waiting for the arrhythmia to pass, before walking out to the living room.
Hannah was kneeling on the carpet, trying to wipe up a small splash of soup she had dropped when Julian shouted.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears finally welling in her large dark eyes. “I made a mess. Please don't send me to the state facility. I can sleep in the closet. I won't cost much money.”
Owen sank down onto his knees beside her, ignoring the protest of his aching joints and screaming heart. He gently took the paper towel from her small hands.
“Hannah,” Owen said, looking directly into her eyes. “Listen to me very carefully. You are not a mess. You are not a mistake. And no one—not Julian, not the courts, not God himself—is going to take you away from here. This is your home now.”
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She looked at him, searching his face for the deception she had learned to expect from adults. “Why are you doing this? You don't even know me.”
Owen gave a sad, beautiful smile. “Because until today, I thought I was the richest man in the world. But when I met you in that alley, I realized I didn't have a single thing that mattered. You are saving my life, Hannah. Even if my heart doesn't know it yet.”
