Chapter 111

Victoria had spent most of her life before college in the United States, and because of the circles she had grown up around, she knew more than a few people on Wall Street.

Some specialized in private wealth, complex financial structures, and discreet cross-border transactions. Others worked with private teams whose clients valued discretion above almost everything else.

People like that understood offshore structures, layered corporate ownership, and the maze of entities wealthy clients sometimes used to make assets difficult to trace.

Victoria knew enough about that world to understand the temptation.

A large position didn't necessarily have to appear under one person's name. Money could move through layers of entities and intermediaries until the person who ultimately benefited from it was buried beneath jurisdictions and paperwork.

At least, that was how people liked to imagine it worked.

If someone could quietly accumulate Rynex Technologies shares before the acquisition became public, then sell after the market reacted...

The profit could be enormous.

And if the money eventually found its way back to her without an obvious connection—

Victoria stared into her wine.

One successful trade wouldn't be enough to make Richard acknowledge her.

But it could be a beginning.

A first result.

A way back in.

The plan began taking shape in her mind with dangerous ease.

She could almost see the future she wanted: her place in the Sterling family formally recognized, a stake in the family holdings, and eventually a legitimate position as Richard's successor.

Her grandfather's estate plan had made one thing painfully clear.

The core Sterling family holdings had been concentrated in Richard.

Even her grandfather's siblings had no claim to those assets after his death.

Other branches of the Sterling family still held smaller investments and minority interests dating back to earlier divisions of family wealth, but none of them came close to controlling the center of the empire.

Power had been consolidated deliberately.

And ruthlessly.

Which meant that even if Victoria believed herself to be Richard Sterling's only daughter and her grandfather's only granddaughter, blood alone did not guarantee her control of anything.

Richard would have to choose to give her that power.

If he excluded her from his succession plans entirely, there was very little she could do about it.

But Victoria still believed this was a test.

Richard had allowed her to return to the center of the Sterling family's world, attend Westbridge, and begin building connections in the same circles that surrounded the Consortium.

To Victoria, that could only mean he had always intended to prepare her for something larger.

Thinking about it that way made the situation easier to bear.

Her anxiety gradually settled.

Victoria raised her head and rejoined the conversation.

By then, several bottles had been opened and the mood in the suite had grown considerably livelier.

The conversation drifted from the latest supercars to private yachts, then inevitably circled back to the handful of families everyone in the room knew.

After trading gossip about several of them, someone brought up the Fosters.

"Old Mr. Foster died last night."

The room quieted slightly.

"His eldest daughter moved fast. She already has the board members loyal to her lined up, and the family's major holdings are being locked down while the estate is sorted out."

Someone gave a low whistle.

"Ryan's sister? She's chair now?"

"That's what I heard."

"Damn. She's been waiting for this for years, hasn't she? I'd hate to be one of those relatives who's been living off the Foster name."

Victoria listened in silence.

The feeling that rose in her chest was difficult to describe.

Ryan's older sister was also a daughter born into one of these families.

And now she was chair of the Foster family business.

Of course, the comparison wasn't exactly fair.

The woman was nearly twice Victoria's age. When she had been Victoria's age, she had barely started university herself—and not even at a particularly prestigious one.

Victoria normally wouldn't compare herself to someone much closer to Richard's generation than her own.

Still, given her current situation, it was difficult not to think about it.

Her thoughts wandered to Adrian.

She liked him.

And judging by what had happened at the vacation house, Richard clearly didn't think much of him.

Perhaps it was because the Cole family wasn't one of the major dynasties in their circle. Adrian's parents weren't people Richard would consider especially important, so Richard had never bothered to look closely enough to appreciate Adrian's talent.

But...

Ryan's older sister had married a man from an even less prominent background than Adrian's.

They had two children now.

Why should Victoria's situation be different?

The answer came to her almost immediately.

Because Richard expected more from her.

That had to be it.

The Foster family simply couldn't be compared with the Sterlings.

Naturally, Richard would have higher standards for the person he intended to inherit what he had built.

"Speaking of the Fosters..."

Someone leaned forward with an unmistakably entertained expression.

"Have you heard what happened to Ryan?"

"Ryan Foster? Her younger brother?"

"That's the one."

The speaker lowered his voice.

"Apparently he crossed the wrong people a while back. One night, somebody beat him so badly he ended up in the hospital."

Someone winced.

"Who the hell did he piss off?"

"I heard he wouldn't go to the police because he had too much to hide himself."

The group immediately began trading theories.

Victoria had just picked up her phone to answer a message when a news notification appeared on the screen.

She tapped it.

On the top floor of a private hospital elsewhere in the city, the intensive-care wing was almost silent.

The door to one of the rooms opened.

Two caregivers stepped inside.

The sharp sterile smell of disinfectant hung in the air, and the steady rhythm of medical equipment was the only sound in the room.

Ryan Foster lay in bed.

Tubes and monitoring lines surrounded him. Both legs were immobilized in orthopedic supports, while heavy bracing kept his neck and upper body almost completely still.

The father and male relatives of the person Ryan had wronged had been brutal.

They had nearly beaten him to death.

And even now, Ryan felt no remorse.

If he had known six years ago that they would one day come back for him, he would have had them killed then.

"Young Mr. Foster."

One of the caregivers approached his bed.

She looked almost bored.

"We thought you might want some family news."

Ryan's eyes shifted toward her.

"Your grandfather died."

His eyes widened.

The woman smiled.

"Your sister has already taken control of the family business. I suppose we shouldn't call her the eldest daughter anymore."

The two caregivers exchanged a glance.

"She runs the Foster family now."

Ryan made a rough sound deep in his throat.

"Your grandfather didn't have a peaceful end, either," the woman added.

She moved toward the foot of the bed and adjusted the edge of the support around his injured leg.

Her hand pressed a little harder than necessary.

Pain shot through him.

Ryan's face twisted.

"Oh."

She looked down at him without the slightest concern.

"Sorry. Did that hurt?"

The taller man beside her continued as though nothing had happened.

"Your sister says your injuries are serious. You need a long recovery."

He glanced at Ryan's immobilized body.

"How long?"

A thin smile appeared.

"Hard to say."

The woman lightly tapped the rigid support around his leg.

"Don't worry about the bill. The Foster family can afford excellent care for as long as necessary."

Ryan's eyes widened until the whites showed.

A broken, breathy sound escaped his throat, but he couldn't even shake his head.

Then the man leaned closer.

His voice dropped.

"Do you remember us?"

Ryan's stare changed.

The man watched him carefully.

"Six years ago, my wife and I worked at the Foster estate. Our daughter was twelve."

Ryan went still.

"She came to visit us one weekend."

The man's jaw tightened.

"You had been drinking. You cornered her in the garden."

The woman beside him clenched her hand against the edge of the bed.

"Our daughter came back to us crying. She had nightmares for months."

Neither caregiver smiled now.

They stood beside the bed, looking down at the man who could no longer move.

"The next day," the father continued, "you said it was her fault. That she was dressed to get your attention."

Ryan's breathing grew harsher.

"We were fired the following night."

The woman's fingers tightened around the sheet.

"We had four elderly parents depending on us. Our daughter needed therapy. We had no idea how we were going to survive."

Her expression hardened.

"If your sister hadn't secretly given us money back then..."

She looked directly into Ryan's eyes.

"We wouldn't have made it."