They thought I would arrive broken.<\/p>\n
That was the entire reason the\u00a0Sterling<\/b>\u00a0family invited me to my ex-husband\u2019s wedding in the first place.<\/p>\n
The\u00a0Sterlings<\/b>\u00a0were old-money royalty in Chicago \u2014 powerful, ruthless, obsessed with appearances, and convinced that anyone without their last name was beneath them. Especially me.<\/p>\n
The invitation wasn\u2019t an act of kindness. It was bait.<\/p>\n
They wanted me sitting quietly in the back while my ex-husband,\u00a0Dominic Sterling<\/b>, married a younger woman from a \u201cbetter\u201d family. They wanted to watch me suffer while the entire elite social circle of Illinois whispered about how completely I\u2019d been replaced.<\/p>\n
And\u00a0Beatrice Sterling<\/b>\u00a0\u2014\u00a0Dominic<\/b>\u2019s cold, calculating mother \u2014 made sure every detail of my humiliation was carefully prepared. Including my seat.<\/p>\n
Table 27. Right beside the kitchen doors inside the massive lakefront estate in Lake Geneva. Close enough to hear the staff shouting orders. Far enough to remind me I no longer belonged.<\/p>\n
But\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>\u00a0made one catastrophic mistake. She had absolutely no idea I wouldn\u2019t be arriving alone.<\/p>\n
The invitation smelled like expensive perfume and imported paper. I stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse overlooking downtown Chicago, turning the envelope slowly between my fingers. Gold lettering announced the wedding of\u00a0Dominic Sterling<\/b>\u00a0and\u00a0Seraphina<\/b>\u00a0Hastings, daughter of a powerful U.S. senator.<\/p>\n
I laughed softly. Bitterly.<\/p>\n
Dominic<\/b>. The man who signed our divorce papers five years ago without even looking me in the eye. The same man who stood silently while his mother destroyed my life piece by piece.<\/p>\n \u201cMama, who\u2019s getting married?\u201d<\/p>\n I looked down. There was\u00a0Leo<\/b>, tugging gently on my sweater. Behind him,\u00a0Nathan<\/b>\u00a0and\u00a0Cole<\/b>\u00a0were building a pillow fortress in the living room while arguing loudly about dinosaurs.<\/p>\n My triplets. Five years old.<\/p>\n All three boys had inherited\u00a0Dominic<\/b>\u2019s sharp gray eyes and dark wavy hair. But the fire in them? That came from me.<\/p>\n I had fled the\u00a0Sterling<\/b>\u00a0mansion while pregnant and terrified, knowing\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>\u00a0would destroy me in court if she discovered the babies. She would\u2019ve taken my sons and raised them like perfect little heirs inside her frozen empire.<\/p>\n So I disappeared. And survived.<\/p>\n I worked eighteen-hour days while pregnant. I built a digital marketing company from nothing in a tiny rented apartment while my babies slept beside my desk. Now I owned one of the fastest-growing agencies in the country. And my net worth quietly exceeded the collapsing\u00a0Sterling<\/b>\u00a0fortune three times over.<\/p>\n \u201cClear my schedule Saturday,\u201d I told my assistant calmly. \u201cAnd call my tailor.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI need three custom tuxedos for my sons.\u201d<\/p>\n I glanced back at the wedding invitation.<\/p>\n \u201cIf\u00a0Beatrice Sterling<\/b>\u00a0wants a family reunion\u2026 it\u2019s time she meets her grandsons.\u201d<\/p>\n Saturday arrived cold and bright.<\/p>\n The\u00a0Sterling<\/b>\u00a0estate looked like something from a magazine cover. Thousands of white roses covered the gardens while string quartets played beside the fountain. Chicago\u2019s political and financial elite filled the grounds sipping champagne beneath crystal chandeliers.<\/p>\n From the upstairs balcony,\u00a0Beatrice Sterling<\/b>\u00a0waited confidently for my arrival. She expected heartbreak.<\/p>\n What she got instead was a convoy of black armored SUVs pulling through the front gates.<\/p>\n The first vehicle stopped directly in front of the wedding aisle. A hush spread across the estate. Hundreds of wealthy guests turned to stare.<\/p>\n The back door opened. And I stepped out.<\/p>\n I wore an emerald couture gown that shimmered beneath the afternoon sun. Gasps rippled instantly through the crowd.<\/p>\n But the real shock came one second later. I turned and extended my hand toward the vehicle.<\/p>\n One by one\u2026\u00a0Leo<\/b>,\u00a0Nathan<\/b>, and\u00a0Cole<\/b>\u00a0stepped out beside me wearing tailored velvet tuxedos.<\/p>\n The silence became suffocating. Because every single child looked exactly like\u00a0Dominic Sterling<\/b>.<\/p>\n Up on the balcony,\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>\u2019s champagne glass slipped from her fingers and shattered against the marble floor.<\/p>\n I slowly raised my eyes toward her. Then smiled.<\/p>\n And at that exact moment, everyone inside that estate realized the wedding of the year had just become the scandal of the decade<\/p>\n The silence that blanketed the Lake Geneva estate was thick, heavy, and absolute. The string quartet\u2019s violins drifted off into a discordant, ragged halt as the musicians themselves leaned over their sheet music stands to look.<\/p>\n Across the manicured emerald lawns, three hundred of the most powerful political and financial figures in the Midwest sat frozen in their white garden chairs, champagne flutes suspended halfway to their mouths.<\/p>\n I stood at the head of the stone aisle, the heavy silk of my emerald couture gown whispering against the crushed limestone path. On my left,\u00a0Leo<\/b>\u00a0stood with his chin tilted up, his tiny shoulders back in his custom velvet tuxedo, his small hand locked firmly in mine. On my right,\u00a0Nathan<\/b>\u00a0and\u00a0Cole<\/b>\u00a0flanked my skirts, their dark, wavy hair catching the bright afternoon sun, their unmistakable gray eyes scanning the massive crowd with a mixture of five-year-old curiosity and innate authority.<\/p>\n They didn\u2019t look like intruders. They looked like the rightful rulers of the estate, stepping onto a stage that had been built exclusively for them.<\/p>\n \u201cMy God,\u201d a prominent state senator whispered from the second row, his voice carrying clearly over the dead silence. \u201cThey\u2019re clones of\u00a0Dominic<\/b>. Look at their faces.\u201d<\/p>\n Up on the second-floor stone balcony,\u00a0Beatrice Sterling<\/b>\u00a0stood like a gargoyle carved from ice. The shattered shards of her crystal glass lay glinting around her designer heels, the spilled champagne soaking into the stone. Her perfectly manicured hands were clamped onto the wrought-iron railing so tightly her knuckles were white. The triumphant, cruel expression she had worn all morning had completely dissolved, replaced by a gray, hollow panic that aged her ten years in a single second.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t break eye contact with her. I let my lips curve into a cold, slow, crystalline smile.<\/p>\n Welcome to the family reunion,\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>.<\/i><\/p>\n \u201cMama,\u201d\u00a0Cole<\/b>\u00a0whispered, tugging gently on the fabric of my dress, his small voice echoing in the absolute quiet. \u201cWhy is everyone looking at us like they saw a ghost?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBecause they did, sweetheart,\u201d I murmured softly, keeping my eyes fixed on the house. \u201cJust keep walking with me. Hold your heads up high.\u201d<\/p>\n We began our march down the aisle. The wedding march hadn\u2019t started yet, but the three hundred elite guests watched us with the rapt attention usually reserved for a monarchy. As we passed the rows of society matrons, corporate executives, and hedge fund managers, a low, frantic wave of whispering erupted behind us like dry leaves catching fire in the wind.<\/p>\n \u201cDid Victoria have triplets?\u201d<\/i>\u00a0\u201cHow old are they? They look five\u2026 wait, didn\u2019t the divorce happen exactly five years ago?\u201d<\/i>\u00a0\u201cThe Sterling family completely covered this up.\u201d<\/i>\u00a0\u201cLook at\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>\u2019s face\u2026 she didn\u2019t know.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n I reached the back section of the seating arrangement, scanning the elaborate floral table displays. The catering staff stood paralyzed by the kitchen doors, their silver trays trembling. I located the furthest, most insulting corner of the tent.<\/p>\n Table 27.<\/p>\n It was tucked behind a heavy velvet drapery, right next to the service entrance where the waiters slammed the doors to carry out the dirty dishes. It was a table designed to keep an unwanted ghost in the shadows.<\/p>\n I pulled out a chair for\u00a0Leo<\/b>, then for\u00a0Nathan<\/b>\u00a0and\u00a0Cole<\/b>. I sat down in the center chair, arranging the emerald silk of my train with a calm, deliberate elegance, completely ignoring the fact that twenty separate guests had already pulled out their phones to take surreptitious photographs.<\/p>\n Within four minutes, the heavy oak doors of the main estate mansion burst open.<\/p>\n Dominic Sterling<\/b>\u00a0stepped onto the lawn. He wore a traditional white tuxedo, his dark hair perfectly styled, looking every bit the polished, old-money prince the public relations teams had spent a decade creating. But his face was completely bloodless. His chest was heaving under his starched white shirt, his sharp gray eyes darting frantically across the crowd until they locked onto Table 27.<\/p>\n He didn\u2019t look at his guests. He didn\u2019t look at the altar covered in thousands of white roses. He marched directly down the perimeter path, his long strides breaking the elegant decorum of his own wedding day.<\/p>\n He arrived at our table, his shadow falling over his three sons.<\/p>\n Dominic<\/b>\u00a0stared down at\u00a0Leo<\/b>,\u00a0Nathan<\/b>, and\u00a0Cole<\/b>. His mouth opened slightly, a low, choked breath escaping his throat. For five years, he had believed I left Chicago because I was broken, because I couldn\u2019t handle the crushing weight of his mother\u2019s disapproval or the cold, transaction-like reality of our marriage. He had believed his family\u2019s lawyers when they told him I had vanished into obscurity, penniless and defeated.<\/p>\n Now, he was looking at three pristine, perfect mirrors of his own childhood.<\/p>\n \u201cVictoria<\/b>,\u201d\u00a0Dominic<\/b>\u00a0gasped, his voice a jagged, raw whisper, completely ignoring the corporate partners watching from the adjacent tables. \u201cWhat\u2026 what is this? Who are they?\u201d<\/p>\n Leo<\/b>\u00a0looked up from his linen napkin, his gray eyes locking onto\u00a0Dominic<\/b>\u2019s with a fierce, independent gaze that was identical to the expression\u00a0Dominic<\/b>\u00a0wore in his old Ivy League portraits. \u201cI\u2019m\u00a0Leo<\/b>,\u201d the boy said clearly. \u201cAnd these are my brothers. Who are you?\u201d<\/p>\n Dominic<\/b>\u00a0flinched as if he had been struck. He turned his eyes to me, a chaotic mixture of shock, sudden realization, and bubbling rage flaring behind his features. \u201cYou were pregnant when you left. You hid them from me. You hid\u00a0my<\/i>\u00a0sons from the Sterling family for five years.\u201d<\/p>\n I picked up the crystal water glass on the table, taking a slow, elegant sip before setting it down with a soft\u00a0clink<\/i>.<\/p>\n \u201cCorrection,\u00a0Dominic<\/b>,\u201d I said, my voice smooth as glass, completely devoid of the fear I used to carry inside his mansion. \u201cI hid my children from\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>. I protected my sons from the frozen wasteland you call a family. You signed the divorce papers without even looking at me across the table, remember? You told me I was leaving with exactly what I brought into the marriage\u2014nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n I leaned forward, the emerald gown catching the light, my eyes narrowing to cold slits. \u201cBut I didn\u2019t leave with nothing. I left with the future of the Sterling line. And as you can see, they don\u2019t owe a single penny of their existence to your family\u2019s trust fund.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey are Sterlings!\u201d a sharp, venomed voice hissed from behind him.<\/p>\n Beatrice<\/b>\u00a0had descended from the balcony. She stood at the edge of Table 27, her breathing rapid, her expensive diamonds shaking against her collarbone. She looked at the three boys with a greedy, terrifying desperation. To\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>, children weren\u2019t family; they were assets. They were legacy preservation tools. And looking at three healthy, perfect male heirs, she realized the ultimate prize of the Sterling estate had been living outside her control for five years.<\/p>\n \u201cLegally, they are mine,\u00a0Victoria<\/b>,\u201d\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>\u00a0whispered, her voice a low, threatening promise. \u201cWe will tie you up in custody courts until you don\u2019t have a single dollar left to your name. We will take these boys, we will establish their rightful name, and you will be barred from ever stepping foot on our property again.\u201d<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t flinch. I didn\u2019t get angry. I simply reached into my emerald evening clutch and pulled out a sleek, titanium corporate tablet.<\/p>\n \u201cI was hoping you\u2019d say that,\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>,\u201d I murmured, sliding the screen open.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is that?\u201d\u00a0Dominic<\/b>\u00a0demanded, his corporate instincts suddenly overriding his personal shock as he noticed the secure administrative interface glowing on the tablet screen.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is the third-quarter financial audit for\u00a0Sterling Global Logistics<\/b>,\u201d I said, turning the screen so both\u00a0Dominic<\/b>\u00a0and\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>\u00a0could see the massive columns of red numbers flashing across the interface.<\/p>\n Dominic<\/b>\u2019s eyes scanned the data, and all the remaining color drained from his lips. \u201cHow did you get access to our internal treasury ledgers? This is classified proprietary information.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou forgot what I did before you married me,\u00a0Dominic<\/b>,\u201d I said, keeping my voice loud enough to carry to Table 26, where the managing directors of the state\u2019s largest pension fund were openly listening. \u201cYou thought I was just a quiet girl from a middle-class family who got lucky. You forgot I graduated top of my class in corporate finance at Chicago Booth. While I was building my marketing agency over the last five years, I was also quietly analyzing the commercial shipping sector. Specifically, the massive, systemic debt the Sterling family has been concealing through offshore shell companies in Panama.\u201d<\/p>\n Beatrice<\/b>\u00a0lunged forward, trying to grab the tablet, but the private security contractor who had stepped away from our SUV intercepted her smoothly, blocking her path with a rigid, immovable arm.<\/p>\n \u201cGet your hands off me!\u201d\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>\u00a0snarled. \u201cDominic<\/b>, call the police! Have this woman arrested for corporate espionage!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe police are already occupied,\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>,\u201d I said calmly. \u201cSpecifically, the federal financial crimes division. You see, three weeks ago, Sterling Global Logistics defaulted on its primary operational credit line with Mid-Continental Bank. To prevent a public collapse before this high-society wedding, you used the Sterling Family Foundation\u2014a charitable trust\u2014to illegally collateralize your company\u2019s commercial debts.\u201d<\/p>\n Dominic<\/b>\u00a0staggered back a step, his hand flying to the back of a garden chair to steady himself. \u201cHow\u2026 how do you know about the foundation transfer?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBecause my agency handles the digital compliance auditing for Mid-Continental Bank,\u201d I said, my voice carrying the weight of an executioner\u2019s blade. \u201cI didn\u2019t just find the irregularity,\u00a0Dominic<\/b>. I bought it.\u201d<\/p>\n I tapped the screen once. A legal acquisition document appeared, bearing the official stamp of the Illinois Financial Regulatory Authority.<\/p>\n \u201cAs of 9:00 AM yesterday morning, my firm\u2014Vanguard Media Holdings\u2014purchased forty-two percent of the distressed institutional debt of Sterling Global Logistics,\u201d I stated clearly. \u201cAnd because of the cross-collateralization clause\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>\u00a0so foolishly signed to hide your losses, that debt has just defaulted. I am now the primary secured creditor for the entire Sterling estate. Including this mansion.\u201d<\/p>\n The silence around Table 27 became suffocating.\u00a0Dominic<\/b>\u00a0looked at his mother, his expression a mixture of horror and profound betrayal. \u201cMother<\/b>\u2026 you collateralized the estate? You told me the foundation was secure!\u201d<\/p>\n Beatrice<\/b>\u00a0didn\u2019t answer. Her mouth was opening and closing silently, her eyes fixed on the acquisition document. The old-money throne she had used to terrorize me for years had just been bought out from under her by the very woman she tried to relegate to the kitchen doors.<\/p>\n \u201cSo,\u201d I said, standing up from my chair, the emerald gown cascading elegantly around my feet. \u201cIf you want to talk about custody courts,\u00a0Beatrice<\/b>, we can certainly do that. But you\u2019ll be doing it while representing a bankrupt estate, using public defenders, because by Monday morning, I am enforcing the receivership order on every single account bearing the Sterling name.\u201d<\/p>\n Right at that exact moment, the grand brass brass horns of the string quartet finally began to play the opening chords of the bridal processional.<\/p>\n At the far end of the lawn, the heavy oak doors opened once more.\u00a0Seraphina<\/b>\u00a0Hastings, dressed in a massive, multi-million dollar white lace designer gown, stepped onto the path, holding a bouquet of white orchids, a radiant, triumphant smile on her face as she prepared to walk down the aisle to become the new\u00a0Mrs. Sterling<\/b>.<\/p>\n She took three elegant steps forward, completely unaware that the empire she was marrying into had just been dismantled in the corner of the tent.<\/p>\n Dominic<\/b>\u00a0looked toward his bride, then back at me, then down at his three sons who were watching him with the cold, unyielding gray eyes they had inherited from his own lineage. He was a man caught between two worlds\u2014the pristine, fraudulent illusion of his future, and the living, breathing reality of the past he had thrown away.<\/p>\n \u201cVictoria<\/b>,\u201d\u00a0Dominic<\/b>\u00a0choked out, the tears finally welling in his eyes as the weight of his total ruin crashed over him. \u201cPlease. We can fix this. We can corporate-merge the assets. I can recognize the boys. We don\u2019t have to destroy the family name in public.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe family name was destroyed the moment you let your mother treat people like disposable property,\u00a0Dominic<\/b>,\u201d I said softly, reaching down to take\u00a0Leo<\/b>\u00a0and\u00a0Nathan<\/b>\u00a0by their hands while\u00a0Cole<\/b>\u00a0flanked my side. \u201cEnjoy your wedding. You\u2019ve earned exactly what you paid for.\u201d<\/p>\n Without another word, I turned away from Table 27.<\/p>\n We walked back down the grand stone aisle, moving directly against the flow of the wedding procession. The guests row by row stood up, completely ignoring the bride at the back as they watched the emerald queen and her three velvet-tuxedoed princes exit the grounds. As we passed\u00a0Seraphina<\/b>, her smile faltered, her eyes widening in confusion and horror as she saw the bloodless, ruined expression on\u00a0Dominic<\/b>\u2019s face at the altar and the shattered crystal glass surrounding his mother.<\/p>\n We stepped into the back of our black armored SUV. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing out the noise of the elite crowd, replacing it with the quiet, luxurious hum of the vehicle\u2019s climate control.<\/p>\n \u201cMama,\u201d\u00a0Nathan<\/b>\u00a0said, leaning his head against my arm as the convoy pulled through the grand iron gates of the Sterling estate. \u201cAre we going back to our penthouse now?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, my love,\u201d I said, kissing the top of his dark, wavy hair. \u201cWe\u2019re going home.\u201d<\/p>\n Six months later, the winter winds were whipping off Lake Michigan, rattling the reinforced glass of my downtown Chicago executive office.<\/p>\n The corporate world had settled its accounts. The\u00a0Sterling<\/b>\u00a0scandal had indeed been the execution of the decade. The public default of Sterling Global Logistics had filled the financial pages for three solid months. The merger with the senator\u2019s daughter had lasted exactly forty-two days before the Hastings family filed for an emergency annulment to protect their political capital from the radioactive crater of the Sterling bankruptcy.<\/p>\n Dominic Sterling<\/b>\u00a0had been removed from his position as CEO by the bankruptcy board. He now worked as a mid-level consultant for a secondary logistics firm in Ohio, his name stripped of its old-money currency, his tailored suits replaced by off-the-rack corporate wear.<\/p>\n Beatrice Sterling<\/b>\u00a0had been forced to vacate the Lake Geneva estate after the receivership sale closed. She now lived in a small, rented condo in a quiet suburb, entirely cut off from the high-society circles that had once bowed to her every whim.<\/p>\n I looked down at the documents resting on my desk.<\/p>\n Asset Management Statement: Vanguard Holdings. Net Asset Valuation: $240 Million. Principal Trustee: Victoria Sterling-Hayes.<\/i><\/p>\n The door to my office opened, and my assistant stepped in, a warm smile on her face. \u201cVictoria<\/b>, the boys are here from their private tutoring session. They brought you something.\u201d<\/p>\n Leo<\/b>,\u00a0Nathan<\/b>, and\u00a0Cole<\/b>\u00a0burst into the room, their cheeks flushed red from the winter air, their heavy wool coats flying behind them. They ran across the heated hardwood floors, throwing their arms around my waist in a chaotic, joyful heap.<\/p>\n In\u00a0Leo<\/b>\u2019s hand was a small, crude drawing of a massive skyscraper, with the word\u00a0MAMA<\/i>\u00a0written across the top in bold, uneven green crayon.<\/p>\n \u201cLook, Mama!\u201d\u00a0Leo<\/b>\u00a0beamed, his gray eyes bright with a pure, untainted fire. \u201cI drew your new corporate building. When I grow up, I\u2019m going to build one even bigger for you.\u201d<\/p>\n I held my three sons close, burying my face in their shoulders, feeling the deep, absolute warmth of the life I had built from nothing in that tiny rented apartment.<\/p>\n The Sterling family had wanted to humiliate me. They had wanted to watch me sit in the dark corner by the kitchen doors, broken and replaced, a forgotten footnote in their glorious old-money narrative.<\/p>\n But numbers never lie, and real strength can never be inherited through a last name. It has to be forged in the fire of survival.<\/p>\n I looked out the window at the brilliant, towering skyline of Chicago as the first snow began to fall. The old empire was gone, buried under the weight of its own corruption. And the new inheritance belonged entirely to the sons who had been raised in the light.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" PART 1 They thought I would arrive broken. That was the entire reason the\u00a0Sterling\u00a0family invited me to my ex-husband\u2019s wedding in the first place. The\u00a0Sterlings\u00a0were old-money royalty in Chicago \u2014 … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":26573,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,22,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-32219","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-family","category-inspiration","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32219","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=32219"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32219\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":32221,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32219\/revisions\/32221"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/26573"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=32219"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=32219"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=32219"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}Part 2: The Uninvited Heirs<\/h2>\n
Part 3: The Corporate Takeover<\/h2>\n
Final Chapter: The Final Balance Sheet<\/h2>\n