"Security won't let them up, so they're... they're shouting. Saying you—" She hesitated. "Saying you defrauded your own uncle out of his property."
"There's a crowd gathering. What should I do?"
My grip tightened on the receiver. My gaze went cold.
No need to guess. Oliver's family had seen my messages—or heard through the grapevine. Now they were here to make a scene, destroy my reputation, force my hand.
"Let them."
My voice was ice.
"Don't stop them. Let them scream all they want."
"And call the police. Tell them we have people causing a disturbance and disrupting business operations."
"Oh—and make sure the security footage is saved."
I hung up, straightened my blazer, and headed for the elevator.
You want to hand me your face on a silver platter? Fine. I'll slap it for you.
The elevator doors slid open.
There they were—Oliver, Vivien, and Jarvis—sprawled across the lobby floor, putting on a full theatrical performance.
Vivien slapped her thighs, wailing at the top of her lungs:
"There's no justice in this world! A niece swindling her own uncle out of his home!"
"My poor father-in-law barely cold in the ground, and this ingrate swallows the entire inheritance!"