Chapter 3 - The Sterling Bloodline
The boardroom of Sterling Industries was a battlefield.
By 2:00 PM, the twelve members of the executive board were seated around the massive mahogany table. Richard sat at the head, his hands clasped tightly, a smug, superior expression on his face. He had called an emergency meeting to vote on my immediate suspension, citing "emotional instability and public scandal."
Lucas and Noah were downstairs in my private quarters, watched over by Margaret and four of the highest-rated private security guards in the state. I wouldn't let Richard’s poison anywhere near them.
"This is an absurdity, Alexander," Richard said, tapping his gold pen against the table. "You expect this board to believe that after seven years of absolute medical certainty regarding your infertility, two perfect identical twins suddenly appear from the clouds? It is a textbook corporate shake-up engineered by our competitors. I move for an immediate vote to place Alexander on medical leave."
"I second the motion," one of Richard’s loyal board members added smoothly.
I sat at the opposite end of the table, entirely relaxed, my hands folded over my knee. I didn't look like a man fighting for his career. I looked like a judge waiting to hand down a sentence.
"Before you take that vote, Richard," I said, signaling the technician at the back of the room. "Perhaps the board would like to look at the updated discovery files that were just uploaded to the secure server."
The massive digital screen on the wall flickered to life.
Instead of financial reports, a series of encrypted medical logs filled the screen. They were dated seven years ago, originating from the very hospital where I had recovered from my accident.
"What is this nonsense?" Richard scoffed, though a bead of sweat suddenly formed near his temple.
"These are the original, unedited lab results from my post-crash recovery, Richard," I stated, my voice echoing with absolute authority. "The ones you paid Dr. Charles Vance two hundred thousand dollars to alter. The doctor’s original notes state that my fertility was completely intact. The trauma was temporary. But you needed me to believe I had no future, because according to my father’s original bylaws, if I died without an heir, control of the entire Sterling trust automatically reverted to you."
The board members gasped, whispering frantically among themselves. Richard’s face turned a sickly, pale shade of green.
"This is a forgery! A fabricated lie!" Richard yelled, slamming his hands on the table. "You have no proof of these transactions!"
"I have the offshore routing numbers, Richard," a deep, clinical voice spoke from the back of the room.
The heavy doors opened, and a tall, sharply dressed woman carrying a leather briefcase walked in. It was Dr. Sarah Jenkins—the chief of forensic medicine at New York Presbyterian, and the woman I had quietly hired three hours ago to run an expedited, high-priority DNA panel using a cheek swab from the twins and my own blood.
Dr. Jenkins placed a legally sealed document on the center of the table.
"The results are conclusive, members of the board," Dr. Jenkins announced, looking at Richard with deep professional contempt. "The probability of paternity is 99.99%. Lucas and Noah Sterling are the biological sons of Alexander Sterling. And the medical records provided by Richard Vance were intentionally, criminally falsified."
Richard fell back into his leather chair, his jaw hanging loose, his chest heaving as he stared at the document as if it were a death warrant.
"You stole seven years of my life, Richard," I said, standing up from my chair. The motion was slow, deliberate, and terrifying. "You threatened the woman I loved while she was pregnant with my children. You left her to fight cancer alone in hiding while you spent my father's dividends."
I looked at the two uniformed federal marshals who stepped into the boardroom right behind Dr. Jenkins.
"Take him away," I commanded. "And file the immediate seizure warrant for every asset, every account, and every property currently registered under the name Richard Vance. He leaves this building with nothing but the clothes on his back."
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As the steel handcuffs clicked around Richard’s wrists, his arrogant composure completely shattered. He screamed, begging the board members to help him, weeping as he was dragged past the investors he had spent a lifetime manipulating.
But nobody looked at him. The king was dead. And the true emperor had just taken the throne.
