Trapped in a Recording Studio by Her Late Superstar Husband's Adult Stepdaughter and Family to Surrender $120M Catalog Rights, a Caretaking Manager Discovers Fate and Secrets Change Everything
The metallic click of the deadbolt still hung in the air, a cold, hard promise of confinement. Uncle Marcus tucked the small panel back into his pocket, a smirk playing on his lips.
“You really think this is okay?” I asked, looking at Chloe. My voice was low, laced with a disbelief that warred with a rising panic. “To lock me in here? To accuse me of things you can’t possibly prove?”
Chloe crossed her arms. “I think it’s necessary. And when the signed papers are handed over, this will all be over.”
“No,” I countered, shaking my head. “It won’t be over. Not if you do this the wrong way.”
My eyes swept across the faces of the other relatives. They were still avoiding my gaze, shifting uncomfortably. They were caught between Chloe’s aggression and their own lingering sense of decency, whatever that might be.
“If you want to protect the Montgomery legacy,” I said, my voice gaining strength, “then let’s do it right. Let’s bring in someone who knows what Julian truly wanted. Someone who saw it all from the beginning.”
Chloe frowned. “Who are you talking about?”
“Nana Maeve,” I stated, my gaze fixed on hers. “Bring Nana Maeve in here. Let her witness this. Let her hear your accusations. She was here when Julian started. She knows this studio’s secrets. She knows our family’s truths.”
A flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps even a sliver of fear—crossed Chloe’s face. Nana Maeve, Julian’s 88-year-old grandmother, was the undisputed matriarch, sharp as a tack despite her age. Her word carried weight, even with Chloe.
“Nana Maeve doesn’t need to be involved in this,” Chloe began, but Uncle Marcus put a hand on her arm.
“It might be wise, Chloe,” Marcus murmured, his tone unexpectedly cautious. “She always had a way of cutting through the noise. Besides, her presence lends legitimacy.”
He clearly saw it as a way to further pressure me, using Nana Maeve’s authority against me. But I had a different hope.
Chloe hesitated, then gave a curt nod. “Fine. Get Nana Maeve. And Attorney Ellsworth. Make sure they both come.”
A few minutes later, the deadbolt retracted with a heavy thud. The soundproof door swung open, and the vibrant hum of the studio’s main hall spilled in, a stark contrast to the stifling silence we’d been in.
Nana Maeve Montgomery stood in the doorway, supported by Attorney Raymond Ellsworth. Her silver hair was meticulously pinned, and she wore a soft, elegant kaftan that Julian had bought her years ago. She moved slowly but with a quiet dignity that commanded attention.
Beside her, Attorney Ellsworth, Julian’s loyal personal counsel, looked weary. He carried a worn leather briefcase in one hand, and in the other, a small, ornate brass key. It gleamed under the studio lights.
Nana Maeve’s eyes, clear and sharp, swept over the room, settling on Chloe, then me. A slight frown creased her brow when she saw the tension, the accusing faces.
“What is all this fuss, child?” Nana Maeve’s voice, though aged, still held its matriarchal command. She looked directly at Chloe. “And why is Maya locked up in here?”
Chloe bristled, but before she could speak, Attorney Ellsworth stepped forward, holding up the brass key.
“Nana Maeve specifically requested this meeting, Chloe,” he said, his voice even. “And she brought something she believes is pertinent to the Montgomery estate.”
He held up the key for everyone to see. It was old, tarnished in places, but unmistakably a key to something significant. Nana Maeve offered a small, knowing smile.
“This old key,” Nana Maeve said, her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor. “Belongs to the studio’s oldest secret.”
My eyes followed her gaze. There, beneath a faded patch of carpet near the sound booth, was a faint outline, barely visible, of a square metal plate set into the floor. A floor vault.
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