Chapter 6 - The Heir Barry Never Knew About
Vivian woke Zachary at three in the morning.
He stumbled into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and an old UCLA T-shirt.
“What happened?”
She placed the trust papers on the counter.
“Read.”
He looked at her suspiciously.
“Mom, I’ve been awake for almost thirty hours.”
“Read.”
He did.
At first, nothing changed.
Then he stopped.
“What is this?”
“Your grandfather’s trust.”
Zachary looked at the final page.
“This says—”
“I know.”
He stared at her.
“I own twelve percent of Crestview?”
“Not exactly.”
The trust contained twelve percent of the company’s original founder shares.
Because of voting multipliers attached to those shares, they represented nearly twenty-one percent of voting control.
Added to Zachary’s existing inheritance trust, Vivian’s personal shares, and Donald’s family trust, their family held an overwhelming voting majority.
Barry had spent years behaving as if Crestview belonged to him.
Legally, Vivian’s side of the family could remove him permanently.
Zachary pushed the papers away.
“I don’t want it.”
Vivian blinked.
“What?”
“I don’t want a company because Grandpa secretly left me shares.”
“It isn’t just money.”
“That makes it worse.”
He walked toward the sink.
“My whole life, Dad cared about Crestview more than us. Laurel almost poisoned you because of Crestview. Charles set a fire because of Crestview.”
Vivian listened.
Zachary turned.
“Maybe this company is poison too.”
The words hurt.
Because part of Vivian believed them.
She had sacrificed birthdays, vacations, friendships, sleep, and pieces of herself to build Crestview.
For what?
A husband who betrayed her.
A son who associated the company with fear.
A friend who drugged her.
Vivian sat down.
“When I started Crestview, I wanted freedom.”
Zachary leaned against the counter.
“I was twenty-six. Barry and I had nothing. Your grandfather had money, but I refused to use his connections. I wanted to know I could build something myself.”
She smiled sadly.
“The first year, we almost failed six times.”
“Why didn’t you quit?”
“Because every time we solved a problem, I felt like I had made something real.”
Zachary looked at her.
“I loved the company before I ever loved its value.”
“Do you still?”
Vivian looked toward the dark windows.
“I don’t know.”
At eight that morning, Donald arrived.
When he saw the trust, he laughed.
“Dad.”
“You knew?”
“No. But this is exactly something he would do.”
Vivian shook her head.
“He never trusted Barry.”
Donald’s smile disappeared.
“No.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Because you loved Barry.”
Vivian looked down.
Donald sat opposite her.
“Dad once told me Barry liked winning more than building.”
“That sounds like him.”
“He said you would eventually learn the difference.”
Vivian swallowed.
Twenty-one years.
Her father had been dead for thirteen.
And somehow he was still protecting her.
By noon, Malcolm confirmed the trust was valid.
Barry learned about it two hours later.
He called Vivian immediately.
She almost ignored him.
Then answered.
“Did you know?” he demanded.
“Good afternoon to you too.”
“About Zachary’s shares.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since three this morning.”
Barry went silent.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I no longer care what you believe.”
“Vivian, listen to me. Charles will come after Zachary if he learns—”
“He already came after him.”
“No. Not like this.”
Vivian’s stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
Barry lowered his voice.
“Charles doesn’t just want Crestview destroyed.”
“You said he did.”
“I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“He wants the voting block.”
Vivian stood.
“How would he even know about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Barry.”
“I don’t!”
He sounded frightened.
“Two months ago Charles asked me whether your father had created legacy shares. I told him there were none.”
“But there were.”
“Yes.”
“How could he know?”
Barry exhaled.
“Someone has access to old family records.”
Vivian looked toward Donald.
He was across the room speaking with Malcolm.
Only a handful of people could have seen her father’s estate documents.
Family lawyers.
Trust administrators.
And one person who had handled the estate after her father died.
Vivian’s aunt Miriam.
Miriam had practically raised Laurel.
Vivian froze.
Laurel’s mother had died when Laurel was fourteen.
Miriam, a close family friend, had paid part of Laurel’s college tuition.
That was how Vivian had first met her.
It could not be coincidence.
Vivian asked, “Where is Aunt Miriam?”
Barry was silent.
“Barry?”
“You need to talk to Donald.”
The call ended.
Vivian slowly turned.
Donald was watching her.
“What?”
She walked toward him.
“Where is Miriam?”
His expression changed.
Vivian felt a sick certainty.
“You know something.”
Donald sat down.
“Miriam died eight months ago.”
Vivian stared.
“No.”
“I tried to tell you.”
“When?”
“You were in Europe with Barry.”
“I would remember.”
Donald looked devastated.
“I told Barry.”
The room became silent.
Vivian whispered, “He never told me.”
“Miriam had asked for you.”
Vivian pressed a hand over her mouth.
Donald continued.
“She was sick. It happened quickly.”
Tears filled Vivian’s eyes.
A woman who had been part of her childhood had died asking for her.
Barry had hidden it.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
But Vivian did.
Because Miriam might have told her something.
Vivian grabbed her purse.
“Where are you going?”
“To Miriam’s house.”
Donald stood.
“It was sold.”
“Then I’m finding whoever has her things.”
It took six hours.
Miriam’s belongings had been stored in a warehouse in Pasadena after the estate sale.
At seven that evening, Vivian, Zachary, and Donald stood between rows of dusty boxes.
Zachary opened one labeled ALSTON FAMILY.
Inside were photographs.
Letters.
Old company documents.
And a diary.
Vivian opened it near the end.
The final entries mentioned Laurel.
Laurel has become obsessed with what Vivian has.
Another:
I made a terrible mistake telling her about Richard’s founder trust.
And the last completed entry:
Laurel says Vivian stole the life that should have been hers. I fear Charles Wexler has found the perfect person to use.
Vivian lowered the diary.
Zachary whispered, “Mom.”
He was holding a photograph.
Vivian took it.
Laurel was perhaps seventeen.
Standing beside Charles Wexler.
The picture had been taken nineteen years ago.
Long before Laurel became Barry’s assistant.
Long before the affair.
Long before Vivian invited her into Crestview.
On the back, Miriam had written:
Charles meeting his daughter. Laurel finally knows the truth.
Vivian stared at the words.
May you like
Laurel Bennett was Charles Wexler’s daughter.
And suddenly the entire conspiracy made sense.
