The Contract With The Condescending Heir

Chapter 3: Explanations and Invitations

NOVA

The bus takes forever.

I watch the city change through the window. Brooklyn fades into Manhattan. Small buildings become tall ones. The streets get cleaner. The people get richer.

By the time I get off, the sky is dark. Streetlights glow orange against the glass and steel.

It is 7:23PM when I find the address.

I stop walking. My mouth falls open.

This is not a small office. This is a firm. A masterpiece of glass and sharp edges. The name is carved into the stone above the entrance: Webb Judgings. I have never heard of it before, but it looks like the kind of place where lawyers cost more than I will ever make.

Marcus Webb. Not just some lawyer. The owner of this whole building.

I push through the glass revolving door. The lobby is well lit and empty. Marble floors. A tall ceiling. It feels like a church for rich people.

And there he is.

A man sits on a lobby chair, one leg crossed over the other. He has wire-rimmed glasses and a tailored suit that fits him perfectly. His hair is black mixed with white, thin lines of age running through it. His frame is thin, almost fragile, but his eyes are sharp.

He is on a phone call.

I walk toward him. My footsteps echo on the marble.

"Excuse me," I say.

He holds up one finger. Hold on.

I stop. I wait.

"Yes," he says into the phone. "She called. She is here now to meet." A pause. He nods to himself. "How is your schedule like tomorrow?"

My stomach flips. He is talking about me. Who is on the other end? The Sterlings?

Another pause. Then: "Good. Make nine in the morning work. I will see you then."

He hangs up and slides the phone into his jacket pocket. Then he looks at me.

His eyes travel from my face to my gray sweater to my worn black pants. A once-over. Just like Evelyn's. But different. Evelyn's look was mean. This one is just... curious.

He smiles. It is a small smile, but it reaches his eyes.

"You are the spitting image of your mother," he says.

My throat tightens. "You knew her."

"I did. Sit, please."

I sit in the chair across from him. The leather is soft. Too soft for someone like me.

"I am Nova Bennett," I say. "My mother's letter said — "

"I know what the letter said," he cuts in gently. "I helped her write it."

I blink. "You did?"

He nods. "I was just on the phone with the Sterlings. They are eager to meet you."

The Sterlings. Clara Sterling. Her son Julian. The deal.

My hands are cold.

"Can you explain it to me?" I ask. "The deal. Why it is in place. My mother wrote some of it, but I need to hear it from you."

Marcus leans back in his chair. He folds his hands over his knee.

"Your mother and Clara Sterling were best friends in college," he says. "They trusted each other completely. When your father got sick, Lily knew Evelyn would try to take everything. She asked Clara for help. Clara agreed. The deal was simple: if anything happened to Lily, the Sterling family would protect you. In return, you would marry Clara's son, Julian. That way, the Sterlings had a legal reason to step in and fight for your inheritance."

"Marry him," I say. The words feel strange in my mouth.

"Yes. It sounds extreme, but it was the only way to guarantee their power against Evelyn. Family law in New York favors blood relatives. A marriage makes you family. It gives them standing."

I am quiet for a moment.

"What happened with Evelyn?" Marcus asks. His voice is soft. "The letter said she might throw you out."

"She did," I say. "Today. On my birthday. She gave me one million dollars and told me to leave."

Marcus's jaw tightens. "I am sorry, Nova. You deserved none of that."

I shrug, but my chest hurts. "I have no romantic relationships," I say. "I never had the chance. Living in that house... there was no room for that. So if this marriage is a means for me to get what is mine, I am not opposed."

Marcus studies me for a long moment. Then he nods.

"That is good to hear. Because we are meeting them tomorrow. Nine in the morning."

"The Sterlings?"

"Yes. Julian and his parents. They want to see you in person."

My heart pounds. "Where?"

"Here. My office." He pauses. "Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?"

I nod. "I found a hotel nearby. I dropped my suitcase there before coming here."

"Good." Marcus stands up. I stand too. He is taller than I expected. "Meet me here tomorrow at eight. We will go over everything before they arrive."

"Eight," I repeat.

He walks me to the door. His steps are slow, careful. When I reach the revolving glass, he calls out.

"Nova."

I turn.

"Happy birthday," he says.

For a moment, I do not know what to say. No one has said that to me all day except Rosalind. My eyes sting.

"Thank you," I manage.

Then I push through the door and walk into the cold New York night.

The hotel is three blocks away. A small place with a flickering sign and a key that sticks in the lock. My room is on the fourth floor. The bed is narrow. The walls are thin.

I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the window.

Tomorrow, I meet the Sterlings.

Tomorrow, I meet the man I might have to marry.

I do not know if I am ready.

But I do not have a choice.

---

JULIAN

The city is a sea of lights below me.

I stand by the window of my penthouse, looking down at Manhattan. The streets are rivers of gold and red. Cars move like tiny beetles. From up here, everything looks small. Manageable.

My phone buzzes on the glass table behind me.

I walk over and pick it up. Mother.

I answer. "Julian."

"Julian, I need you to meet us tomorrow at the family lawyer's office." Her voice is calm but firm. No hello. No how are you. Straight to business.

I frown. "Mother, I am a busy man. What is the reason?"

She pauses. Just for a second. But I hear it.

"Julian, I am your mother. When I tell you to meet us at the lawyer's office, it means something serious. Do not argue with me."

I run a frustrated hand over my face. My jaw tightens. I want to push back. I want to ask ten more questions. But I know that tone. She will not give me more until I agree.

"Fine," I say. "What time?"

"Nine in the morning. Marcus's office. Do not be late."

"Fine."

"Thank you." She hangs up.

The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone in my hand. What could possibly be so important that they need me in person? At a lawyer's office? I am the CEO of Sterling Tech. I sign contracts over email. I close deals on the phone. In-person meetings are for things that cannot be trusted to screens.

Something is wrong.

I walk to the small bar in the corner of the living room. Crystal decanters sit on a silver tray. I pick up the whiskey and pour two fingers into a glass. No ice. I do not have the patience for ice.

I drink it in one long swallow. The burn spreads down my chest. Warm. Temporary.

I set the glass down and turn to my desk.

The computer screen glows in the dim light. Numbers move up and down. Stocks. Bonds. Profits and losses. Things that make sense. Things I can predict. Things I can control.

Unlike phone calls from my mother at night.

I sit in the leather chair and stare at the rising numbers. Green arrows. Percentages climbing. The market does what I tell it to do. Money obeys.

People do not.

I lean back and close my eyes.

Tomorrow. Nine in the morning. Marcus's office.

Whatever it is, I will handle it.

I always do.

---