Chapter 2 - The Trojan Horse
I didn't sleep that night. I didn't need to. I had already packed my most valuable possessions weeks ago.
What Julian and Eleanor didn't know—what nobody in my toxic family knew—was that the viral Instagram video hadn't just attracted wedding planners. It had attracted the CEO of Verdant Groupe, a massive multinational cosmetics conglomerate based in Paris. They wanted a monopoly on my specific, highly potent strain of lavender for their new luxury skincare line.
Two months ago, I quietly sold Purple Horizon Botanicals to Verdant Groupe for $14.5 million in cash, plus a 10% royalty on the product line. As part of the contract, Verdant allowed me a three-month transition period to live in the farmhouse while their corporate transition team prepared to take over.
I was already a multi-millionaire. The money was sitting safely in offshore and high-yield trust accounts completely insulated from the Vance family name.
When the sun rose, painting the Oregon sky in streaks of pink and gold, I walked out to my front porch with a single duffel bag.
At exactly 8:00 AM, a fleet of luxury cars arrived. Eleanor, Arthur, and Julian stepped out, accompanied by two smug-looking corporate lawyers in cheap suits.
"Good to see you packed," Arthur sneered, looking at my duffel bag. My father hadn't spoken to me in four years. Not a birthday text. Not a Christmas card. Now, he was here to steal my life's work. "Here are the quitclaim deeds, Clara. Sign them, and you can walk away with $5,000. Refuse, and we tie you up in litigation until you're bankrupt."
I took the pen from the lawyer. I looked at the document. It was a standard transfer of deed, listing Julian Vance as the new primary owner of the parcel.
"Just sign it, Clara," Julian hissed, bouncing on his heels.
I put the pen to the paper and signed my name with a flourish.
Arthur snatched the paper back, his chest puffing out with absolute victory. "Good. Now get off my son's property."
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I picked up my duffel bag, slung it over my shoulder, and smiled. It was a wide, genuine, chilling smile. "Enjoy the dirt, Julian," I said softly.
I walked past them, climbed into my beat-up Subaru, and drove away without looking back in the rearview mirror. Let them celebrate. The countdown had officially begun.
