Romans & histoires Inheritance Book

I kept going. The section on inheritance took up four pages. It covered Blackwood assets, family holdings, provisions connected to Damien’s position as CEO, succession planning tied to the marriage. I read it carefully and most of it washed over me the way legal language does when you are not a lawyer and the sentences are structured to be technically clear but practically impenetrable. And then I found the heir clause. It was not hidden. It was right there in plain language in a way that suggested whoever wrote this contract had decided that clarity on this particular point was more important than softening the language.

They were all sitting in the living room, looking like they owned the place. “I want all of my mother's properties,” I demanded, trying to sound confident. My father sneered at me. “You have no right to request anything,” she spat. “You are just a disgraced daughter who's been in prison for three years. You are not even worthy of being called a member of this family.” I felt a surge of anger, but I tried to keep my cool. “I'm my mother's daughter,” I said, my voice firm. “And I deserve to inherit her properties. Including this house,”

After an hour of fruitless searching, I decided to call my brother. “You can't find Dad's book, can you?” He said the moment he picked my call. My brows lowered in confusion. “You knew?” “Of course, I know.” He replied. “Father is not stupid. If he is basing the inheritance of his entire estate on a book, he's not going to leave it lying around.” I released a strained breath. “I would have appreciated a heads up.” “How else would you have paid for not letting me have a go at Julian?”

The second half of the journal still hadn’t answered my question: How do I get my inheritance? I shook the book in frustration and a small piece of paper fell loose. I leaned over to pick it up, its color brighter white than the rest of the journal’s pages. I hadn’t noticed this while I was sifting through the pages. I unfolded the paper and my mouth dropped open. It was dated last year. Dudley must have thrown this clue in at the last minute, for my eyes only. Here it was, my instructions to receive his inheritance. That tree in the backyard will make you millions. All you need is TruFruit’s cross-breeding process and you’ll be set for life. Upend their share of the market. Make them regret

"Hailey's child is going to inherit billions, giving them a part of your inheritance wouldn't even be up to a percentage of what they'll have. Wouldn't you invest your money instead in those who need it?" "Her child is also my blood. It deserves my inheritance as much as you do." "They already have a lot!" "I don't need you to remind me of that." Hailey walked away from the door and sighed. It would be a bad idea to walk in on them in the heat of their argument. The inheritance her father wanted had definitely gone wrong. Her grandfather wasn't willing to give it out yet. And it appeared she was the reason why— no, to speak accurately, her baby was the reason. Her grandfather wanted her baby

I questioned. “Neither you nor Cas are in this book. I was the last entry 40 years ago and then we misplaced it. There’s been no one to print or scribe it, and we haven’t had the book. But no, it’s not the youngest child, it’s the children who inherit the Wyntor genes. Sometimes it’s more than one and sometimes not, but it’s shown by the golden eyes, like yours.” He explained. My mind exploded with questions.

--- The waves crash. The stars shine. And somewhere inside the house, a child dreams, and two women watch over her. Not because they're afraid. Because they've learned that the inheritance of light — of love, of listening, of staying — is the only inheritance that matters. And they're finally ready to pass it on. End of Chapter 175

He now knew that I was doing this on purpose. All his liquid assets barely totaled two billion dollars. He looked at me with pleading eyes. But I ignored him. "Three billion dollars." The gavel came down with a bang. The estate was mine. Luca collapsed back into his chair, as if all the strength had been drained from his body.

Valentina slid into the last stall, locked it, and set the briefcase on the narrow shelf above the toilet. Her hands moved fast, efficient. The key turned with a faint click, and the lid lifted. There it was. The ledger. Black leather, worn at the edges, its pages thick with ink. She flipped it open, her breath catching as names and numbers spilled across the paper: shipments, ports, bribes, politicians bought and paid for—routes carved in blood. It wasn’t just a ledger—it was an empire written in code and ink. Her chest tightened. If Dante wanted this, it wasn’t for leverage—it was for war.

"The reading. Through listening." "Most inheritance works that way. Indirectly. Through watching and absorbing without knowing you're absorbing." I opened my journal. Wrote it down. She watched me write without commenting. She'd long since stopped being surprised by the journal. "What did Grandma Catherine read?" I asked. "Everything. But she had a particular love for books about people who rebuilt things." Mrs. Kane paused. "After difficulty. Stories about reconstruction. I think she found them useful. Professionally and personally."