My Half-Brother Smashed My Late Mother's Picture at Our Elite Drama School — Until an Unknown Trust Provision Gave Me His Studio
The aroma of stale coffee and desperation hung heavy in the air of the campus café. I watched Chloe Albright across the small, chipped table. She wasn’t wearing the sharp suit I’d expected from an investigative reporter. Instead, she had on a worn denim jacket and an expression that held too much knowledge for casual school gossip.
“You think I’m here for a puff piece about conservatory drama, don’t you, Julian?” she said, pushing a half-empty mug aside.
Her eyes, a piercing shade of hazel, fixed on mine. “That stunt Brandon pulled? The one with the stunt ball and your mother’s photo? It’s not about rivalry.”
My jaw tightened. “Then what is it about?”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “I’ve been tracking Brooks Media for months. Specifically, their outgoing transfers.”
A server walked past, wiping down the counter with a practiced, rhythmic swipe. Chloe didn’t even flinch.
“There’s $4.2 million missing,” she continued, her gaze unwavering. “Diverted from corporate accounts, routed through shell companies, then landing right in Brandon’s personal accounts.”
My breath hitched. Brandon’s private jets. The endless designer clothes. The sprawling Malibu estate I’d only ever seen from a distance. It suddenly clicked into place.
“Private jet rentals, luxury cars, those ridiculous ‘artist development’ retreats in Monaco,” Chloe listed, a dry laugh escaping her. “It all adds up. Victoria’s been bleeding the company dry to fund Brandon’s lifestyle, and it’s caught up to them.”
I thought of the scholarship, the sudden, impossible deadline.
“This expulsion notice,” I said, a cold certainty settling in my gut. “It’s not a coincidence.”
Chloe nodded slowly. “Victoria knows her finances are under scrutiny. The studio’s annual showcase is coming up fast. If you’re still a student, if you’re still *here* when the auditors dig deep, then that inheritance clause in your mother’s trust could surface.”
She paused, taking a slow sip of her lukewarm coffee.
“She needs you gone, Julian,” Chloe finished, her voice barely a whisper. “Out of the school, out of the picture, before anyone realizes you own a piece of their gilded cage.”
The cafe buzzed with other students laughing, oblivious, scrolling through their phones. But for me, the noise faded, replaced by the chilling clarity of her words. This wasn’t just about Brandon’s cruelty; it was about a desperate, calculated move to keep a multi-million dollar secret buried.
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