Ellie's Forgotten Fortune

Chapter 3: The Spark of Defiance

The study felt like a tomb, the air heavy with the weight of the lawyer's words. Ellie sat frozen in her chair, her mind racing but her body numb. The sound of Vivian's voice, cool and dismissive, cut through the haze like a knife.

“Thank you, gentlemen," Vivian said, rising from her seat with the grace of a queen. “I trust everything is in order?"

The lawyers nodded, their expressions carefully neutral as they gathered their documents. “Yes, Mrs. Whitmore. We'll file the necessary paperwork and ensure the transition is seamless."

Ellie barely registered their words. Her eyes were fixed on the polished surface of the table, her reflection staring back at her—pale, hollow, broken. "One dollar." The words echoed in her mind, a cruel joke, a final betrayal. How could her father have done this to her? How could he have left her with nothing?

“Eleanor," Vivian's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and commanding. “I suggest you take some time to… process this. The staff will pack your things and have them sent to your new accommodations."

Ellie's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. “My new accommodations?"

Vivian's smile was thin, almost pitying. “Yes, dear. The estate is mine now, and I'm afraid there's no place for you here. But don't worry—I've arranged for a modest apartment in the city. It's more than adequate for someone in your… position."

Ellie's hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. “You're kicking me out?"

Vivian's expression didn't waver. “I'm simply following your father's wishes. He wanted me to take care of everything, and that's exactly what I'm doing."

Ellie shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You're lying. My father would never do this. He would never leave me with nothing."

Vivian's eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “Your father was a practical man, Eleanor. He knew what needed to be done. And he knew you weren't ready to handle it."

The words hit Ellie like a slap, but she refused to back down. “You don't know anything about my father. Or me."

Vivian's smile turned cold. “Don't I? You're just a child, Eleanor. A spoiled, naive little girl who's never had to face the real world. But don't worry—you'll learn. And when you do, you'll thank me."

Ellie's chest heaved with anger, but before she could respond, Vivian turned on her heel and walked out of the room, the lawyers trailing behind her like obedient shadows. The door clicked shut, leaving Ellie alone in the suffocating silence.

She sank back into her chair, her legs trembling beneath her. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing down, the air thick and heavy. She felt like she was drowning, like the weight of everything—her father's death, Vivian's betrayal, the loss of her home—was crushing her.

But beneath the grief and anger, a spark of defiance flickered to life. She couldn't let Vivian win. She wouldn't. Her father's legacy was all she had left, and she would fight for it—no matter the cost.

Ellie took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. She needed a plan. She needed to find out the truth about her father's will, about the debts, about everything Vivian had been hiding. And she needed to do it fast.

Her eyes fell on the stack of financial reports Vivian had left on the table. She reached for them, her hands trembling as she flipped through the pages. The numbers were overwhelming, the debts staggering. But there had to be something—some clue, some piece of the puzzle that didn't add up.

And then she saw it. A name, buried in the fine print of one of the contracts: *Julian Blackwood.* She frowned, her mind racing. She had heard that name before, but she couldn't place it. Who was Julian Blackwood? And what did he have to do with her father's empire?

Ellie's heart pounded as she grabbed a pen and scribbled the name on the edge of the document. This was it. This was her first lead. If she could find Julian Blackwood, maybe she could uncover the truth about her father's will—and about Vivian.

But first, she needed to get out of the estate. She couldn't stay here, not with Vivian watching her every move. She needed to disappear, to regroup, to plan her next steps.

Ellie stood, her legs still shaky but her resolve firm. She glanced around the study, her eyes lingering on the portrait of her father that hung above the fireplace. His kind eyes seemed to meet hers, and for a moment, she felt a flicker of warmth, of hope.

“I won't let you down, Dad," she whispered. “I promise."

With that, she turned and walked out of the study, her head held high. She didn't know what lay ahead, but she knew one thing for certain: this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

***

Ellie moved quickly through the halls of the Whitmore estate, her footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rugs. She didn't have much time. Vivian would expect her to be gone soon, and she couldn't risk being caught before she had what she needed.

She slipped into her father's private study, a room she hadn't entered since his disappearance. The air was thick with the scent of old books and polished wood, and for a moment, she was overwhelmed by memories—her father sitting at his desk, his glasses perched on his nose as he worked late into the night; the two of them laughing over a game of chess; the way he would smile at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

But there was no time for nostalgia. Ellie crossed the room to the large mahogany desk, its surface cluttered with papers and books. She began rifling through the drawers, her hands trembling as she searched for anything that might help her—documents, ledgers, notes, anything.

And then she found it. Tucked away in the bottom drawer, beneath a stack of old letters, was a small, leather-bound journal. Her father's initials were embossed on the cover in gold, and her heart skipped a beat as she flipped it open. The pages were filled with his familiar handwriting, notes and sketches and ideas jotted down in his precise, methodical way.

Ellie's eyes scanned the pages, her pulse quickening as she realized what she was holding. This wasn't just a journal—it was a record of her father's thoughts, his plans, his secrets. And there, on the last page, was a single sentence that made her breath catch:

*“If anything happens to me, find Julian Blackwood. He will know the truth."*

Ellie's mind raced. Julian Blackwood. The name from the financial reports. Her father had known him. Trusted him. And now, he was her only hope.

She tucked the journal into her bag and turned to leave, but a sound from the hallway stopped her in her tracks. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, coming closer.

Ellie's heart pounded as she glanced around the room, searching for a way out. The study had only one door, and it led straight into the hallway. If she tried to leave now, she would be caught.

The footsteps grew louder, and Ellie's mind raced. She couldn't let Vivian—or anyone else—find her with the journal. It was the only clue she had, the only thing that could help her uncover the truth.

Her eyes fell on the window behind the desk. It was a long drop to the ground, but she didn't have a choice. She crossed the room in three quick strides and pushed the window open, the cool night air rushing in.

The footsteps were right outside the door now. Ellie swung her legs over the windowsill and hesitated for a moment, her stomach churning as she looked down at the ground below. It was a two-story drop, but there was a trellis just to the side of the window, covered in ivy. If she could reach it…

The door creaked open, and Ellie didn't wait to see who was there. She pushed herself off the windowsill and grabbed for the trellis, her fingers closing around the rough wood. The ivy scratched at her hands as she climbed down, her heart pounding in her ears.

She hit the ground with a soft thud and crouched in the shadows, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Above her, she heard a voice—deep, unfamiliar—calling out, “She's not here!"

Ellie's blood ran cold. That wasn't Vivian's voice. It wasn't anyone she recognized. Who was in the house? And what did they want with her?

She didn't wait to find out. She turned and ran, her bag clutched tightly to her chest, the journal inside feeling like a lifeline. The grounds of the estate stretched out before her, dark and unfamiliar, but she didn't stop. She couldn't.

As she reached the edge of the property, she glanced back at the house one last time. The windows of the study were lit, shadows moving behind the curtains. Someone was still in there, searching for her.

Ellie turned and disappeared into the night, her mind racing with questions. Who was Julian Blackwood? What truth had her father been trying to protect? And who was in the house, looking for her?

One thing was certain: she was no longer safe. And the only way forward was to find Julian Blackwood—before whoever was after her found her first.