Chapter 75
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 75
Benjamin Dawson returned carrying two pints of dark beer and pulled a thick stack of documents from his bag. He piled the heavy bundles of paper onto the table, which was sticky with the residue of some long-forgotten meal.
Vanessa looked back and forth between Mr. Dawson and the documents, her face tense. She knew at a glance they were her father's wills. They were bound in the exact same format as the one submitted to the court.
"To get straight to the point, the will was indeed forged, just as you suspected," Mr. Dawson said. "From beginning to end—all of it."
Vanessa snatched the top document and flipped through the pages. She then grabbed the next bundle, and the next after that.
Incredibly, they were all original, discarded wills. It seemed her father had updated his will every single year since inheriting the Somerset title.
"How on earth did you..."
"Mr. Wiltshire here has been keeping them safe all this time."
"What I brought today is only from the last few years," Mr. Wiltshire chimed in, his expression anxious. "The Count updated his will regularly for nearly fifteen years."
"Every time he drafted a new will, the previous version was voided and sent to me," he continued. "I kept them in the company safe, just as the Count wished."
"Of course, since these wills have already been voided, they won't hold any legal weight," Mr. Dawson added. "Every page is stamped as canceled. However..."
"We can at least verify what was omitted or altered in the current will," Vanessa finished.
The moment the words left her mouth, a chill touched her tongue. A strange premonition washed over her—a feeling that once she read these documents, there would be no turning back.
Steeling herself, Vanessa sat up straight and turned the page. She hadn't gone far before she encountered a passage she had never seen before.
She quickly put on her glasses and began reading from the very first line. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the tavern, broken only by the steady tick, tock of the clock on the wall.
"...shall not exceed..."
Her fingertips trembled against the final sentence. Benjamin Dawson quickly slid a glass of water across the table toward her.
"So, if what is written here is true, then this..."
Glancing suspiciously at a man dozing by the bar, Mr. Wiltshire leaned forward, rested an arm on the table, and lowered his voice.
"Simply put, my lady, it means you were meant to inherit a limited liability company."
"Is that legally possible?"
"It's closer to a loophole. Extremely rare, but not without precedent."
Taking a sip of his dark beer, Benjamin Dawson tapped his finger on the table.
"As you know, a noble title is tied to the fief granted to each family by the King. Inheriting a title is synonymous with inheriting the land. Therefore, Ingram law strictly prohibits women from inheriting this land."
She already knew this much. The Ingram Parliamentary Code was based on the old Imperial Law—an archaic law resurrected about a hundred and fifty years ago by Malua of Derobeus during the war of succession, for the sole purpose of stripping his own sister of her legitimate claim.
"But there are no such restrictions on inheriting a limited company," Mr. Dawson said. "It is a relatively modern concept, after all."
"Ever since you were born, my lady, the late Count sought out new possibilities," Mr. Wiltshire added. "Considering it was an era when most nobles had their entire fortunes tied up in land, he was truly a visionary."
"The fruit of that foresight is the Moretz Investment Company, which you were meant to inherit. It invested capital into five different enterprises when they were first established—including Grint Shipping, the May Textile Mill, and the Dirk Coal Factory—and operates on a share of their profits."
"...Why did I never know about this?"
"Because the one currently running the Moretz Investment Company behind the scenes is Mr. Towns."
"Mr. Towns...?"
Mr. Wiltshire pressed his index finger to his lips, terrified someone might overhear.
"He controls the largest gang in the South. He even has connections reaching all the way to members of the House of Commons."
"Do you recognize this?" Mr. Dawson asked, placing a yellowed sheet of paper on the table.
It looked vaguely familiar. Vanessa looked from him to the paper, her expression frozen.
It was a waiver of inheritance. And the signature at the bottom belonged to...
"Vanessa Siren Somerset. It is your signature. Though you must have written it when you were very young."
Her heart sank at the sight of the document, dense with legal jargon. She didn't even need to search her memory; she knew exactly when this had happened. It was the lawyer who had come to take her to her uncle immediately after her parents' funeral.
She had a hazy memory of signing it while burning with a high fever, completely ignorant of what it meant. She remembered the sweet, coaxing words whenever she hesitated—that it was all for her uncle, all for her family. Back then, she had truly believed her uncle would look after her, a newly orphaned girl, with love and care.
To think it had been this all along...
"The original is held by the court," Mr. Dawson explained. "This copy was submitted to the company."
"The language is so convoluted that even I had trouble parsing it at first," he continued, "but simply put, it's an agreement stating that if you fail to initiate the proper legal proceedings within one year of coming of age, ownership of the company transfers entirely to your uncle, Wyatt."
"My God..."
Vanessa buried her face in her trembling hands. It was a trap, meticulously laid from the very beginning. A web spun in secret, layer upon layer, starting from a time so long ago she couldn't have possibly suspected. And now, finally, her uncle's behavior made sense—his spending more than half the year in gambling dens while constantly complaining that the family was drowning in debt.
Even his obsessive, suffocating control over her made sense. He had made a desperate effort to keep her isolated from the world so she would never learn the truth.
"Since you signed it as a minor, it can be voided," Mr. Dawson assured her. "Even if you had signed it a week before coming of age, it could be contested—let alone seven years ago. But first, we must prove that the current will is a forgery."
"You must find the original will," Mr. Wiltshire urged. "They likely haven't destroyed it. According to the corporate bylaws, ownership can only be transferred after you've legally inherited the company. Your uncle needs that will to be valid for his scheme to work. The late Count planned ahead, even for that contingency."
Father. As she pictured his face, now faded with time, a single tear that had been pooling in her eyes finally spilled over, tracing a path down her pale cheek. Watching her with a heavy heart, Mr. Wiltshire spoke softly.
"They say writing a will is a lifelong task, but under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have been so obsessive about it... not to the point of keeping copies of every single revision."
"..."
"I believe he knew. He knew that an early death would find him."
* * *
The sky, heavy with dark clouds, threatened to unleash another downpour at any moment. Her aimless wandering eventually brought her to the entrance of a familiar garden. Stumbling forward a few more steps, she collapsed onto the ground, her mind blank as a dry heave rose in her tight throat.
She knew she couldn't let anyone in the mansion see her in this state, but she couldn't bring herself to move.
Her mind was a blur as she replayed the conversation over and over, as hazy as Gloucester Castle shrouded in thick fog.
"Actually, someone approached me before you did," Mr. Wiltshire had said. "A man named Norman... Is that a name you recognize?"
"No. I've never heard of him."
"I showed him the wills first. Afterward, he paid me a hefty sum of money, demanding that I never speak of this to anyone. At first, I thought it was a strange request, but now I suspect... perhaps he was trying to prevent you from ever finding out, my lady."
"..."
"To be frank, the profits the company generates right now aren't very large. Though I advised you to find the original will... going to war with Mr. Towns over these assets is not a wise choice, my lady."
A shuddering breath escaped her lips, dissolving into tears. The sheer weight of the deception cut her to the quick. What kind of monster had she been calling 'uncle' all her life?
She had failed to recognize the enemy who destroyed her parents, foolishly begging for his affection, holding her breath through every injustice just to avoid upsetting him. Looking back, the years she had spent being utterly crushed were horrifying. Now, it felt as though the entire world were conspiring to deceive her. If the universe hadn't set out to break her, how could it be this cruel?
Right then, a torrential downpour began to pelt her slender shoulders. She slowly tilted her head back toward the sky. Raindrops beaded on her smooth forehead and trembling eyelashes before streaming down her face. It was freezing. She was so desperately, utterly alone.
She craved warmth. It didn't matter who it came from—a maid, the friends who hadn't answered her letters for days, or even a complete stranger on the street.
If only someone would stand with her in this unbearable, driving rain. Someone who wouldn't betray her, wouldn't deceive her. Anyone, please...
"Vanessa."
As if in answer to her desperate prayer, a man burst through the downpour, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to her feet.