Chapter 6: The Heavy Crown
The silence in the VIP suite was deafening, save for the ragged, wet breathing of Julian on the leather sofa. Arthur Sterling, the undisputed king of New York’s corporate underworld, remained on his knees. His head was bowed, the silver strands of his hair catching the dim light of the security monitors.
Maya stood frozen. The tablet in her hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. The video of her mother—a woman she barely remembered, whose face had only existed in faded, torn photographs—was paused on the screen.
100% of the voting shares.
"Get up," Maya whispered, her voice trembling. When Arthur didn’t move, the sheer absurdity of the situation snapped something inside her. "I said, get up!"
Arthur rose slowly, brushing a speck of dust from his impeccably tailored trousers. The terrifying aura that usually surrounded him was gone, replaced by a calculating, cold pragmatism. He was assessing her.
"You knew," Maya said, taking a step toward him. "You knew she was the founder. You stole it from her. You killed her."
"I did not kill Evelyn," Arthur stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "Your mother was brilliant, Maya. But she was naive. Project Genesis was too powerful. If she had gone public with it, the government would have seized it, weaponized it, and silenced her permanently. I didn't steal her company. I built a fortress around it. I became the monster so she wouldn't have to."
"Liar," Julian wheezed from the couch. He tried to sit up, but a fresh wave of blood soaked through his bandages. "He pushed her... he pushed her off that bridge..."
Arthur didn't even look at Julian. He kept his piercing blue eyes fixed on Maya. "If I wanted you dead, Maya, you would have died the day your mother jumped. But I let you stay hidden. I let you live."
Maya’s mind raced. Her entire life had been a struggle. Evictions, cheap noodles, late-night shifts at the catering company. All while this man sat in a penthouse built on her mother's genius.
"Prove it," Maya demanded.
"How?"
"By taking orders." Maya stood up straight, squaring her shoulders. The frightened waitress was dead. "First, get a real trauma team in here for Julian. If he dies, my only witness against Eleanor dies. Second, you are going to call your legal team. Every single document required to transfer the board's voting rights to my name needs to be ready by Monday morning."
Arthur’s eyebrow twitched. A ghost of a smile—pride, perhaps?—flitted across his face.
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"And third?" Arthur asked.
Maya looked down at her torn, blood-stained catering uniform. "Third, you're going to get me a new outfit. I have a company to run."
