When her famous show-runner brother forces quiet groom Maya to euthanize a $10M celebrity racehorse under legal threats, a barn accident exposes a secret $25M will and mob texts, triggering an unex...
Julian was still standing by his car, his phone a silent brick in his hand, when I emerged from the tack room office. His face was a thundercloud.
“You witch!” he hissed, his eyes narrowed to slits. “What did you do?”
I walked past him, heading straight for the main estate house. “I upheld Grandfather Arthur’s final wishes,” I said, my voice steady, though my stomach was a knot of nerves. “And I’m securing his property.”
I strode to the keypad by the main entrance. With swift, decisive movements, I typed in a new security code, the one Grandfather had always used, but which Julian had changed. The solid oak door clicked open.
“You can’t do this!” Julian yelled, scrambling after me. “I’m the showrunner! I have contracts! You’ll be in breach of a dozen network agreements!”
I turned to face him, blocking the entrance. “The show is over, Julian. As is your power of attorney. The county clerk’s office confirmed it minutes ago. This property, and everything on it, is legally mine now.”
He stared at me, his mouth agape, processing the news. Then his phone started to vibrate again, a furious buzz. He pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID. His eyes widened, and a flicker of genuine fear crossed his face, replacing the usual bluster.
He ignored the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “Maya, listen to me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper. “You don’t understand what you’re doing. There are… creditors. Important people. You can’t just shut them out.”
“You mean Frank Moretti?” I asked, watching his face drain of color. “And his syndicate? The $15 million in gambling debts you collateralized with Albright Stables?”
His jaw dropped. He actually stumbled back a step. “How—how do you know that?”
“It was in the binder you dropped,” I said, a dry note in my voice. “Right there with Grandfather’s holographic will, which I’ve now filed with the state.”
Julian started pacing, agitated, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. His phone buzzed again, relentlessly. He pulled it out, staring at it, then cursed under his breath.
“Maya, you have to undo this,” he pleaded, desperation coloring his voice. “If they can’t get to the property through me, they’ll come for *you*. You’re the owner now.”
“That’s your problem, Julian,” I said, my voice flat. “It stopped being mine the moment you tried to force me to euthanize Kingmaker. The property is legally mine. You are no longer authorized to be on these premises.”
I held out a hand, gesturing towards the driveway. “Your personal belongings will be packed and left at the front security gate by morning. Now, leave.”
He stood there, frozen, his phone vibrating in his hand, a look of abject panic growing in his eyes. He knew. He knew what kind of phone calls those were. The kind that didn’t take no for an answer.
The kind that made “showrunner” and “reality TV” seem like child’s play.
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