The Unwanted Heiress: Mr. Sterling's Obsession

The black Maybach tires crushed the empty beer cans scattered across the mud. Dirty water splashed against the pristine chrome as the heavy vehicle crawled through the Appalachian trailer park.

Inside the climate-controlled cabin, Ian Beaumont pressed a manicured hand over his nose. He stared out the tinted window at the rusted corrugated metal roofs.

"This place smells like wet dog and failure," Ian said.

Aidan Beaumont kept his eyes on the narrow dirt path ahead, his expression a mask of calculated patience. His hands lightly rested on the leather steering wheel. "Just find the number. We offer her a fraction of the trust, secure her signature, and we leave."

The Maybach rolled to a stop in front of the most dilapidated trailer in the row. A rusted iron gate stood between the mud path and the front door. Several residents in tattered flannel shirts stopped to stare at the vehicle, their faces pale and wary.

Aidan opened his door. His Italian leather shoes sank half an inch into the brown sludge. He ignored the mud, marching straight to the iron gate.

He raised his fist and pounded on the metal. The frame rattled. Rust flakes fell onto the wet ground.

No one answered.

Ian stepped out of the car, kicking the bottom of the gate with the toe of his boot.

"Chloe!" Ian shouted. "Open the door!"

A sharp screech of metal on metal cut through the damp air. The trailer door swung inward.

Chloe stood in the doorway. She wore a faded gray hoodie. Her hands rested in her pockets. She looked at the two men in custom suits, her expression completely blank.

Aidan stopped. He had prepared a speech to intimidate a crying, desperate orphan. The girl standing before him did not look desperate. She looked like she was observing two stray dogs in her yard.

Ian stepped forward, breaking the silence. "Pack whatever garbage you want to keep. You are coming back to New York with us."

Chloe's gaze drifted past Ian's shoulder. She watched the gray rain clouds rolling over the tree line, as if she were merely examining the texture of the distant storm. Her eyes were perfectly calm, devoid of a single ripple of emotion. Her presence was so detached that Ian's shouting seemed like nothing more than irrelevant background noise. She did not speak.

Aidan reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a leather-bound checkbook and a gold pen. He scribbled a number, ripped the paper out, and held it forward.

"Take this," Aidan said. "Buy some decent clothes before you get on the plane. Do not embarrass the family."

Chloe did not look at the check. "My grandmother died three days ago. The mourning period is not over. I am not going anywhere."

Ian's face flushed red. "You are a white trash nobody living in a tin can! Stop pretending you have standards."

Chloe lifted her right hand from her pocket. She pressed two fingers against her temple, pushing down hard on the skin. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes.

She lowered her hand and locked eyes with Ian.

Ian's breath hitched. The air in his lungs seemed to freeze. The look in her eyes was not anger. It was the dead, empty stare of a predator calculating the exact amount of force needed to snap his neck.

Aidan saw Ian step back. He stepped forward to cover his cousin's retreat.

"You will come to New York," Aidan said, his voice tight. "Or we will freeze your portion of the trust."

Chloe let out a single, short breath. It sounded like a laugh, but her face remained entirely still.

"Is the Beaumont family so close to filing for bankruptcy that you need my signature to liquidate the offshore accounts?" she asked.

Aidan's jaw dropped. The color drained from his face. Ian's head snapped toward her.

Ian raised his hand, curling it into a fist. He took a step toward the gate.

Chloe did not move. Her eyes tracked the movement of his shoulder. She waited.

Ian's hand froze in mid-air. Every survival instinct in his body screamed at him to stop. His muscles locked.

Aidan grabbed Ian's arm and pulled him back toward the car. His hands were shaking.

"We will wait for you in New York," Aidan said.

He shoved Ian into the passenger seat and practically ran to the driver's side. The Maybach engine roared. The tires spun in the mud, fishtailing wildly before gripping the road. The car sped away, nearly clipping a plastic garbage bin.

Chloe watched the red taillights disappear into the rain. She pressed her lips together into a thin line.

She turned around and pulled the heavy iron door shut. The latch clicked into place, sealing out the damp wind.

She leaned her back against the door. The trailer was small, but the floor was spotless.

She walked to the small wooden table in the center of the room. It was time to go to New York. It was time to find out exactly who murdered her mother.