My Half-Brother Smashed My Late Mother's Picture at Our Elite Drama School — Until an Unknown Trust Provision Gave Me His Studio
Two weeks later, the sky above Malibu stretched endlessly, a vast, peaceful canvas of blue blending into the Pacific Ocean. I stood on a quiet coastal bluff, the salty air ruffling my hair, the sound of waves a soothing rhythm. The world hummed with a different kind of peace now.
A shadow fell beside me.
Brandon. He looked like a ghost of his former self. His designer clothes were replaced by plain, rumpled jeans and a faded t-shirt. His hair, usually perfectly styled, was unkempt. His eyes, once arrogant and cruel, were hollowed, defeated. The remnants of his luxury lifestyle, his stardom, everything he had defined himself by, had been shattered.
He didn’t speak for a long moment, just stared out at the shimmering expanse of the ocean.
“It’s all gone, Julian,” he finally said, his voice trembling, broken. “Everything. The house, the cars, the accounts. Even my agency dropped me. I have nothing.”
He turned to me, his gaze pleading. “What are you going to do?”
“Do about what?” I asked, my voice flat, giving nothing away.
“The studio,” he clarified, a flicker of something — hope, desperation — in his eyes. “Brooks Media. They’re liquidating everything. Are you going to revive it under Evelyn’s name? Rebuild it? Or are you just going to sell off the remaining assets, leaving me completely out in the cold forever?”
The wind whipped around us, carrying the scent of salt and eucalyptus. The sun glinted off the ocean, dazzling and indifferent.
I looked out at the vast, unpredictable expanse of the Pacific, my face unreadable. My ultimate plans for the studio empire, for the legacy my mother had built, remained my own.
“They spent years treating me like dirt beneath their shoes, never realizing that the ground they stood on belonged to my mother all along.”
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