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Reborn as the True Billionaire 121
Morana’s POVIris caught me in the corridor outside the courtroom, waiting near the elevators while Tristan spoke with our legal team a few feet away, close enough to notice but far enough to give me space if I wanted it.“Can I have a minut?” I glanced at Tristan. He’d already seen her approach, his attention shifting even mid-conversation and I gave a small shake of my head that meant I was fine, that this didn’t require intervention. He held my gaze a moment longer than necessary before returning to the legal team though I knew he wasn’t actually listening to them anymore.“I don’t have anything to trade this time” Iris said, reading the wariness I hadn’t fully hidden. “No documents. No leverage. I’m cooperating fully with the prosecutors on my own charges. Whatever comes for me now, I’ve already accepted it.”“Then what is this?”She wrapped her arms around herself, the grey coat swallowing her thinner frame and looked genuinely uncertain for the first time since I’d known her.
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Morana’s POVThe courtroom was fuller than the arraignment had been, every seat in the gallery occupied and a line of press credentials stretched down the hallway outside. Sentencing day had a different weight than everything that came before it. Arraignments were procedural. Sentencing was an ending.I wore navy this time instead of black, something Catherine had chosen for me specifically because she said black read as performance and navy read as certainty and certainty was what I needed the room to feel when I stood to speak.Tristan sat directly behind me in the gallery, close enough that I could feel his presence without needing to turn around and confirm it. Theodore was beside him. Felix on the other side, uncharacteristically quiet, his usual commentary absent in a way that told me even he understood the weight of what this particular morning required.Iris was three rows back. I hadn’t expected her. She’d flown back voluntarily to face her own charges and I understood from m
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Morana’s POVThe Mortaine offices were empty by nine, the cleaning crew long gone, just the hum of the building settling into itself and the city glittering through the windows of my father’s office like it had somewhere better to be.I’d been sitting at his desk for two hours with a legal pad and eleven crossed-out attempts and I still didn’t have anything I was willing to say in front of a courtroom.The first version had been too clinical. Facts and timelines, the extraction protocols, the medical consequences, everything documented and precise and completely bloodless like I was presenting a board report instead of describing what it felt like to watch my own blood move through a tube while the man I loved told a doctor to continue.The second version had gone the opposite direction entirely, raw enough that I’d read it back and felt embarrassed by my own vulnerability sitting exposed on a page that other people would eventually read. I’d crossed that one out fastest.Tristan came
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MoranaWe went through the drive together at the kitchen island, the laptop between us and the city dark outside the windows and by the third file I understood that whatever I’d braced myself for wasn’t close to enough.The consent forms were the worst part. Not because they were absent, but because they existed, carefully worded documents that used phrases like experimental compassionate protocol and terminal patient participation program while burying the actual substance of what patients were agreeing to somewhere in paragraph nine of a document most of them were too sick to read carefully.Eleven patients. All terminal. All told they were receiving an experimental treatment that might extend their lives. None of them told the treatment was derived from research into my mother’s biology, continued years after my father had supposedly ordered it destroyed.Four of them died within weeks of treatment. The files didn’t specify whether the treatment killed them faster or simply failed
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Morana’s POVIris was already at the corner booth when I arrived and it took me a full three seconds to be certain it was actually her.She’d lost weight in a way that wasn’t flattering, the kind of thinness that came from a body running out of something it needed rather than discipline or vanity. Her cheekbones stood out sharper than I remembered and there were shadows under her eyes that no concealer was hiding properly. Her hair was pulled back without effort. No emerald silk. No diamonds. Just a plain grey coat and hands wrapped around a mug she wasn’t drinking from.She didn’t perform anything when she saw me. No warm smile, no rehearsed warmth, none of the careful softness she’d deployed at every dinner and every kitchen conversation for years. She just watched me approach with an exhausted kind of directness that felt more honest than anything she’d ever said to me before.I sat down across from her. “You look terrible.”“I know.” Her voice was flat not defensive. Just tired.
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Morana’s POVThe text came through at 11pm from a number I didn’t recognize.“I need to see you. Alone. It’s about your mother.”I stared at it for a long moment sitting on the couch with my laptop still open to a board report I’d stopped reading twenty minutes ago. My thumb hovered over the delete option. This was exactly the kind of message that could be a trap, could be Iris fishing for something, could be nothing at all.I almost deleted it. Then I read it again. About your mother. Nobody outside my immediate circle knew Mira existed. We’d kept it contained deliberately, Felix and Theodore and the small legal team handling the facility paperwork. If Iris knew, it meant either she’d had access to something we didn’t know about or Xavier had told her before everything collapsed. Either way I needed to know which.I showed Tristan the phone. He read it once, jaw setting in that particular way and reached for his own phone before he’d even set mine back down.“I’ll have Reid pull a t
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Morana’s POV“This is my husband, Tristan Rothschild” I said and watched the color literally drain from their faces.Tristan didn’t stand up. He just turned his head slightly and looked at each of them in turn with the kind of expression that suggested he was calculating exactly how much they were
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Tristan’s POVI was waiting outside City Hall when the Rolls-Royce pulled up. I didn’t recognize the car at first. I just knew it was the kind of vehicle that made people stop and stare because it screamed money in a way that was impossible to ignore. The engine shut off and I watched the door ope
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Tristan’s POVReid was waiting when I got to the office. He didn’t have the usual morning briefing energy. He had the energy of someone who’d been awake for thirty-six hours straight staring at data that didn’t add up in a way anyone wanted it to.“Xavier met with Vance Mortaine yesterday,” he said
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Tristan’s POV The deal closed at 6:47 on a Saturday morning. I know the exact time because my assistant sent the confirmation while I was still in the car heading to the office and I read it once then put my phone face down on the seat. Four billion dollars for Veltane Pharmaceuticals. We have h
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