CHAPTER 5
A chill ran down my spine as the full picture of the Prescott family's deception came into absolute focus.
The charity foundation I had built with my own sweat, my sleepless nights, and my obsessive organization over the last eleven years hadn't been funded by Harold's business genius at all.
It had been quietly fueled by the stolen dividends of my late father’s maritime estate, laundered through offshore shell companies controlled by the Prescott board.
"Harold doesn't just owe me an apology for last night," I whispered, the realization settling into my bones like molten steel. "He owes me everything he has ever owned."
"Every asset, every property, every investment under the Prescott umbrella was purchased with capital derived from your father's trust," Owen confirmed, handing me a heavy gold fountain pen. "Including the house you slept in last night and the company Harold boasts about at his golf clubs."
"What happens if I sign the claim papers?" I asked, looking into Owen's steady grey eyes.
"If you sign," Owen stated calmly, "we initiate an immediate federal freeze on all Prescott accounts by noon today."
"He will lose the foundation," I said. "He will lose his reputation, his car fleet, his penthouse, and his seat on every board in the state of Florida."
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Owen leaned forward, his hands resting flat on the table, his gaze fixed on mine with unyielding support.
"He offered twenty dollars for you on a public stage in front of three hundred people, Anastasia," Owen reminded me gently. "It is time to show him what you are actually worth."
