My Husband Called Me a Scullery Maid at His Sect Promotion Banquet — Then I Walked In as the Secret Owner of the Entire $12 Million Religious Compound
Silas took his place at the podium, his face still pale. The Elders looked at him with polite anticipation. Eli, seated at the head table, beamed, his glass already raised in expectation of Silas’s praise.
The Magistrate cleared his throat. He spoke for a moment about my father, Elder Josiah, a few perfunctory words about his service. Then, he faltered.
He cast a quick, furtive glance at me, standing near the doorway.
Eli shifted in his seat. He narrowed his eyes, sensing a wavering in Silas’s usual unwavering loyalty. He leaned forward, an impatient hand waving in the air.
“Magistrate, if you please, let us commend our new Overseer!” Eli called out, his voice booming across the hall, a thinly veiled command. “Speak of the future! Speak of New Gilead’s prosperity!”
Silas swallowed. He launched into a brief, vague statement about “prudent stewardship” and “community well-being,” conspicuously omitting any mention of new initiatives, land sales, or Eli’s specific financial genius. He did not mention the eastern timber reserve at all.
His usual grandiloquent endorsement of Eli’s vision was entirely absent.
Eli’s smile tightened. He thumped his glass down, a sharp sound in the otherwise jovial atmosphere. The Elders exchanged confused glances.
I, however, slipped away from the banquet hall, the partial triumph of Silas’s silence still warm. I had more to do, more to uncover.
I made my way to my father’s study. The air inside was still heavy with the scent of old books and his pipe tobacco.
The timber contracts Eli had drawn up lay on the desk where Tobias had discreetly placed them. They were thick, official-looking documents with bold letterheads from an external development company, “Appalachian Land Holdings.”
I sat in my father’s worn leather chair, the lamplight falling on the precise language of the agreement. My fingers traced the detailed maps of the enclave’s boundaries.
And there it was. A dashed red line snaking through the eastern edge of our property, right through the ancient forest we called the “Sacred Sentinel Woods.” This was the very boundary my father had meticulously preserved for decades, considering it a natural barrier, a symbol of New Gilead’s independence from the outside world.
The contract detailed the sale of harvesting rights for these old-growth pines. It promised an immediate lump sum payment of 1.5 million New Gilead Dollars upon signing, with another 500,000 NGD upon completion of the clear-cutting.
Eli had been planning to strip the land bare, turning a sacred boundary into a raw cash cow. The sheer scale of his greed hit me with a fresh wave of disgust.
But then, my gaze drifted to an appended sheet, written in my father’s distinct, spidery hand. It was a formal amendment to the community’s master property trust.
It stated that the “Sacred Sentinel Woods, extending from the Whispering Falls to the Widow’s Creek,” were specifically designated as “unalienable communal heritage.” Furthermore, any contract regarding this specific land required the unanimous, witnessed consent of all five Elder Council members *and* the direct approval of the Founder’s designated Trustee.
My father had known. He had seen this coming. He had sensed Eli’s avarice.
He hadn’t just transferred the master deed to me. He had specifically laid a legal trap within the property titles, anticipating Eli’s move to exploit the timber. He had named the Founder’s Trustee as the final arbiter for these woods.
And that trustee, as of four days ago, was me.
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