Chapter 7 - The Marriage That Was Never About LoveNathan laughed.
It was loud.
Forced.
Almost desperate.
"This is absurd," he said, looking from Henry to Victoria. "You're asking everyone here to believe a dead man's diary over the living CEO of a multibillion-dollar company?"
"No," Henry replied evenly.
"I'm asking them to believe your own handwriting."
The words struck harder than any accusation.
Daniel unlocked another compartment in the evidence case and removed a weathered leather journal. Its pages had yellowed with age, but dozens of colored tabs marked specific entries.
"This is one of six journals kept by Charles Ashford during the final decade of his life," Daniel explained. "Each entry has been authenticated by handwriting experts."
Nathan's attorney immediately objected.
"Private journals are opinions, not evidence."
Henry nodded.
"Ordinarily, yes."
He opened the journal to a bookmarked page.
"But my brother never wrote about meetings without attaching supporting documents."
A folded sheet of paper slipped from between the pages.
Daniel unfolded it carefully.
It was a photocopy of a handwritten note.
Nathan's handwriting.
The date at the top froze Victoria's breath.
It had been written six months before Nathan proposed.
Daniel read aloud.
"If I marry Victoria, the Ashford name opens every door. Charles is aging, and once I'm inside the family, control will only be a matter of time."
The terrace fell silent.
No one moved.
No one even seemed to breathe.
Victoria felt as though the ground beneath her had disappeared.
She had believed their early years together were real.
The late-night conversations.
The dreams they shared.
The proposal beneath the Christmas lights.
Every cherished memory suddenly felt rehearsed.
Nathan's face twisted with panic.
"I never wrote that!"
Henry calmly raised another document.
"You did."
It was an original hotel stationery pad bearing Nathan's initials.
"My brother hired a private investigator after finding this note in your hotel suite following a charity conference."
Victoria stared at Nathan.
"You were planning our marriage before you ever loved me."
Nathan finally snapped.
"I did love you!"
His voice echoed across the estate.
"I just... loved what your name could give me more."
The confession hung in the air.
Madison closed her eyes.
Even she hadn't expected that.
Eleanor whispered, "Nathan..."
But her son ignored her.
Years of carefully maintained lies had unraveled in minutes.
The investigators exchanged quiet glances.
One of them pressed a button on his radio.
"Bring in the next witness."
Nathan looked toward the driveway.
"What witness?"
The answer arrived seconds later.
A silver sedan rolled through the gates.
When the driver stepped out, Victoria's heart skipped a beat.
She recognized him immediately.
So did Nathan.
It was Michael Reeves—Nathan's former private investigator.
The same man who had mysteriously disappeared eleven years earlier, just weeks after Charles Ashford's death.
Nathan had always claimed Michael fled the country with stolen money.
But judging by the expression on Michael's face...
He hadn't disappeared.
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He had been waiting.
And whatever he was about to reveal threatened to bury the last remaining pieces of Nathan Whitmore's carefully constructed empire.
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