Chapter 3 - The Gathering at the Firm
The sleek glass-and-steel offices of Harrison, Vance & Miller stood proudly in downtown Columbus, overlooking the bustling city center. Brooke stepped through the revolving doors wearing her civilian attire—a sharp charcoal blazer over a silk blouse, her long blonde hair pulled back into a sophisticated knot. She didn't look like a woman who had been thrown out of her home twenty-four hours earlier; she carried herself with the composed, unshakable authority of an aircraft commander preparing for a complex instrument approach.
As she walked down the carpeted corridor toward Conference Room B, she heard the loud, confident laughter of her brother echoing through the half-open door. Derek was leaning back in a leather executive chair, wearing an expensive tailored suit that cost more than Brooke's monthly flight hours combined. Aunt Eleanor sat beside him, sipping bottled water and nodding approvingly as Derek regaled her with plans for liquidating some of their father's northern properties to fund a lavish expansion of Sullivan Woodland Retreats.
"Once the probate court finalizes the transfer, the entire enterprise is under my sole control," Derek was saying loudly, ensuring anyone in the hallway could hear his dominance. "Brooke made her bed when she abandoned the family name for a pilot's logbook. She gets zero. Not a single acre of timber, not a single cabin."
Brooke pushed the door open completely, stepping into the room with quiet, deliberate grace.
Derek stopped mid-sentence, his smirk instantly returning as his eyes landed on her. "Well, look who decided to show up. Did you drive that beat-up sedan all the way from Indianapolis just to watch me inherit a nine-million-dollar empire, little sister? Hope you brought bus fare for the trip back."
Eleanor let out a sharp, cackling laugh, tossing her designer handbag onto the mahogany table. "Some people simply don't know when they're unwanted, Derek. Let her stay. It builds character to witness success she could never achieve."
Brooke didn't flinch. She pulled out a chair at the far end of the long table, seated herself gracefully, and rested her hands calmly on the polished wood. "Save your breath, Derek. We haven't even heard from Mr. Harrison yet."
Just then, the heavy side door opened, and Arthur Harrison walked in, carrying a thick leather-bound binder under one arm. His silver hair was neatly combed, and his sharp eyes surveyed the room with professional detachment. He took his seat at the head of the table, adjusted his reading glasses, and looked around at the three Sullivans.
"Good morning," Mr. Harrison began, his voice commanding absolute silence. "We are gathered here today for the formal reading of the Last Will and Testament of Walter Sullivan, executed on March 14th of last year, with subsequent codiciIs added three months prior to his passing."
Derek immediately leaned forward, rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation. "Let's get straight to the numbers, Arthur. We're busy people. We all know Dad left the primary assets to me, given my two decades of dedicated service to Sullivan Woodland Retreats."
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Mr. Harrison slowly opened the leather binder, turned a heavy cream-colored page, and looked directly over his glasses at Derek. "Actually, Derek, your father’s final arrangements contain a few provisions that might surprise you."
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