Chapter Forty-Eight: The Sharks

Jules was off the windowsill immediately, her hand moving to the weapon concealed beneath her jacket. "Did they show identification? Credentials?"

"Yes ma'am. Everything checks out. But..." The guard hesitated. "They seem pretty determined to speak with Mrs. Victoria immediately."

"They can wait," Jules said firmly. "Mrs. Victoria literally isn’t awake right now and they can’t meet Scarlett just yet.”

"Actually," I said slowly, my mind racing, "maybe I should hear what they have to say."

"Absolutely not. You're exhausted, you've been through hell, and you're in no condition to deal with corporate lawyers who probably smell blood in the water."

She was right. I was running on fumes, adrenaline, and stubborn determination. The last thing I needed was to face down a team of legal sharks while I was at my weakest.

But something Victoria had said kept echoing in my mind: The real threat... it's not Delilah. It's not even Blake.

If there were other people who knew about my connection to the Van Alston fortune, people who might see me as a threat to be eliminated, then I needed to know about them. I needed to understand exactly what I was walking into.

"What if they're not here to help me or Victoria?" I asked. "What if they're here to make sure I never claim the inheritance?"

Jules's expression darkened. "Then they're going to have a very bad day."

"I can't keep running from this, Jules. I can't keep letting other people make decisions about my life. If I'm really the Van Alston heir, if this fortune is really mine, then I need to start acting like it."

"Scarlett—"

"I'm not saying I'll sign anything or make any major decisions. But I need to hear what they have to say, how they’ll react when they see me here. I need to understand what I'm dealing with."

The guard was still waiting patiently by the door, his expression carefully neutral. But I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand rested casually near his weapon. Even he sensed that these lawyers might be more dangerous than they appeared.

"Tell them they can have fifteen minutes," I said finally. "Here. In this room. With full security present."

"Ma'am, I'm not sure that's—"

"Fifteen minutes," I repeated. "And Jules doesn't leave my side."

The guard nodded and stepped back into the hallway to relay my message.

Jules moved closer to my chair, her expression grim. "You sure about this?"

"No," I admitted. "But I'm tired of being afraid. Tired of letting other people control my story."

"Fair enough. But if any of them so much as look at you wrong, I'm putting them on the floor."

"Deal."

I squeezed Victoria's hand one more time, wishing desperately that she was awake to guide me through whatever was about to happen. But she wasn't. It was just me, facing down another challenge in a life that had become an endless series of them.

I was about to find out exactly what being the Van Alston heir really meant.

And I had a sinking feeling I wasn't going to like the answer.

The lawyers entered Victoria's ICU room like they owned the place.

Six figures in designer suits that probably cost more than most people's cars, briefcases that gleamed like weapons, and expressions that could freeze hell. They moved with the predatory confidence of people who'd spent their careers destroying lives with paperwork.

The woman leading the group was tall, sharp-featured, with silver hair pulled back so tightly it looked painful. Her gaze swept the room dismissively before landing on me with obvious disdain.

"Which one of you is the nurse?" she asked, her voice carrying the kind of authority that expected immediate obedience.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"The nurse," she repeated impatiently. "We need to speak with the patient's family immediately. This is urgent legal business, not a social visit."

Jules stepped forward, her hand moving instinctively toward her concealed weapon. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."

One of the male lawyers, a thin man with cold eyes and a mouth that looked like it had never smiled, snorted with amusement. "Of course there has. Hospital staff always think they know better than the legal professionals."

"Sir," the guard by the door said carefully, "these ladies aren't—"

"We don't have time for this," the silver-haired woman snapped. "It’s obvious Mrs. Van Alston is in critical condition, and we can’t speak with her, so we have to speak with the next important person. We have time-sensitive documents that require the immediate attention of her heir. Where is this so-called heir?"

The way she said it made it sound like something distasteful she'd found on the bottom of her shoe.

"That would be me," I said quietly.

The entire room went silent.

The woman's gaze swung back to me, taking in my hospital gown, my unwashed hair, the exhaustion written across my face. Her expression shifted from dismissive to openly hostile.

"You?" She looked me up and down like I was something scraped off the sidewalk. "You're the supposed Van Alston heir?"

"Supposed?" Jules's voice had gone dangerously quiet.

The thin lawyer laughed—a sound like breaking glass. "Look at her. Sitting in a hospital in a patient gown, looking like she hasn't slept in days. This is the woman who's supposed to inherit one of the most powerful business empires in the world?"

"Maybe there's been a mistake," another lawyer chimed in, his voice dripping with false concern. "Perhaps the real heir is still being located."

The silver-haired woman—who I was starting to actively hate—pulled out a tablet and began typing rapidly. "We'll need to verify her identity, of course. Run psychological evaluations, fitness assessments. Someone in her condition couldn't possibly be mentally or physically capable of handling such responsibilities."

"Her condition?" Jules asked, her voice getting more dangerous by the second.

"Obviously unstable," the woman replied without looking up from her tablet. "Look at her—disheveled, emotional, clearly traumatized. The Van Alston board would never accept someone so... compromised."