Chapter 4 - The Puppet Master's Greed
Under the ancestral bylaws established by my great-grandfather, the bulk of the DeLuca fortune—controlling shares in DeLuca Transatlantic, the coastal estates, and forty percent of the voting equity—was tied to primogeniture. As the firstborn son, Lorenzo had been the primary beneficiary. If Lorenzo died with a living descendant of his blood, that child automatically inherited his majority stake upon reaching the age of majority.
If Lorenzo died childless, the fortune was divided equally between me and my sister, Paola.
For four years, Carmen, Antonio, and Paola had conspired to hide Renata’s true parentage. By allowing me to adopt her as an anonymous orphan, they ensured that Renata had no legal claim to Lorenzo’s primary estate. That left Paola’s two daughters, Sofia and Emma, as the primary darlings of the family trust, destined to inherit tens of millions of dollars that rightfully belonged to my brother's flesh and blood.
They had kept Lorenzo's daughter in their home as a second-class citizen, forcing her to scrub dirty dishes on Christmas Day, all to ensure that my sister’s branch could pillage the empire.
I folded the papers with deliberate precision and slipped them into the inner breast pocket of my wool jacket.
"Renata, sweetheart," I said, my voice completely steady as I walked over to the chair.
She looked up from the blanket, her cheeks pink from the warmth of the fire. "Daddy? Are you okay? You look like you're going to fight somebody."
"I am going to fix something that was broken a long time ago," I told her, lifting her gently into my arms, wrapping the warm wool throw around her completely so not a single draft could touch her. "Put your head on my shoulder. We are going to have a very important family meeting."
She nestled her cheek into my neck, breathing in my familiar cedar cologne. "Can I open my presents later?"
"Renata," I whispered, kissing her forehead, "you will never have to ask for anything in this house again."
I unlocked the study door and pulled it open.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway were Carmen, Antonio, and my sister Paola, who had just stepped away from the glittering Christmas tree in the grand parlor, her designer silk dress rustling against the marble. Behind them, Sofia and Emma were squealing with delight over motorized mini-sports cars.
The three adults stared at me with varying degrees of guilt, defiance, and panic.
May you like
"Mauricio," my father said, stepping forward, his voice strained. "Give the girl to the nanny. We need to speak in private."
"We speak right here," I said, walking past them into the grand parlor, directly beneath the twenty-foot Christmas tree.
