Chapter 5 - The New Master of the House
The interior of the Bellamy mansion smelled exactly as I remembered: polished mahogany, expensive French vanilla wax, and the quiet, sterile scent of old money.
Nothing had changed.
The grand spiral staircase, the crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling, and the massive oil painting of my father dominating the foyer wall—all of it remained frozen in time, a shrine to the untouchable status of the Bellamy dynasty.
Except now, the dynasty belonged to me.
"Shall I have the master suite prepared for you, Mr. Bellamy?" Victor Vance asked, walking quietly behind me as our footsteps echoed across the marble floor.
"No," I replied, running my hand along the polished banister where Marcus used to push me down the stairs when we were children.
"Prepare the small guest room on the third floor. The one with the broken window latch."
Victor paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his sharp features.
"Sir? That room is little more than a servant's quarter. The master suite has a private study, a king-sized bed, and—"
"That's where I slept for three years after I turned sixteen, Victor," I interrupted, my voice devoid of emotion.
"Whenever my father wanted to punish me for questioning his business ethics, that's where he locked me. It’s important to remember where you started, even when you're standing at the top."
Victor nodded respectfully.
"Understood, sir. I'll have your suitcase brought up."
As Victor walked away to coordinate the estate staff, the heavy front doors creaked open behind me.
My parents and Marcus shuffled into the grand foyer, flanked by security.
They looked small, defeated, and completely out of place in their own home.
Marcus was glaring at the floor, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched violently in his cheek.
My mother looked ready to collapse, leaning heavily on my father's arm for support.
Richard Bellamy walked up to me, standing tall despite his years, refusing to let his posture break entirely.
"You've taken the company. You've taken the estate's operational control," Richard said, his voice raspy.
"What happens to us now? Do you plan to throw us out on the street tonight?"
I turned around slowly, looking down from the landing of the grand staircase at the man who had once told me I would amount to nothing.
"No, Dad. I'm not like you," I said calmly.
"You can stay in the east wing guest rooms for the next week while you figure out your next move. But your corporate credit cards are deactivated, your personal accounts are capped at a weekly living allowance of five hundred dollars, and Marcus is officially fired from Bellamy Holdings with immediate effect."
Marcus snapped his head up, his eyes wide with blind panic and rage.
"Fired? You can't fire me! I'm the executive vice president! I built half those client relationships!"
"You embezzled from them, Marcus," I countered coldly.
"And tomorrow morning, when the board convenes, I’ll be presenting the complete forensic audit detailing every dollar you skimmed off the top of our overseas logistics contracts. You have twenty-four hours to decide whether you want to pack your bags quietly or spend the next ten years wearing an orange jumpsuit."
Marcus staggered backward, the color entirely draining from his face as the terrifying weight of his financial crimes finally crashed down upon him.
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My mother let out a muffled sob, burying her face in her hands.
Richard Bellamy closed his eyes, accepting his defeat with the grim silence of a fallen king.
