"There is still more," the lawyer repeated.
His voice didn't rise. Didn't dramatize. Which somehow made the moment worse.
My fingers curled tightly into my dress. The fabric was still damp with wine, clinging to my skin, cold and uncomfortable. A reminder. Of humiliation. Of what this family truly thought of me.
Helen Walton stopped muttering under her breath.
Robert leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes sharpening, the lazy amusement fading into something more focused. Dangerous.
Watson Walton finally lifted his head.
The lawyer turned another page, the paper whispering softly in the heavy silence.
"This section pertains to posthumous authority and access rights," he said.
Authority.
Access.
The words alone sent a ripple of unease through the room.
"Effective immediately upon my death," the lawyer continued, "all executive access codes, legal permissions, and control rights under the Walton name shall be transferred solely to my wife, Alexa Walton."
Helen inhaled sharply, the sound loud and ragged.
Robert's jaw tightened.
The lawyer didn't pause.
"Access to Walton Global Holdings Vault Accounts—including offshore reserves, emergency capital, and protected liquid assets—shall be granted exclusively to Alexa Walton."
Robert straightened in his seat.
Helen's fingers dug into the tablecloth, knuckles whitening.
"Access to The Black Ledger," the lawyer continued calmly, "maintained under Walton Energy Consortium, shall remain sealed unless opened by Alexa Walton alone."
That did it.
Robert's hand dropped from his chin.
The Black Ledger.
I didn't know what it was.
But everyone else did.
Helen let out a sound—half gasp, half snarl—like an animal being cornered.
"That ledger was never meant for her," she hissed. "That is family business."
The lawyer didn't even look at her.
"Access to private security operations, internal investigations, and discretionary intelligence files maintained under Walton Private Security Division shall be transferred fully to Alexa Walton."
My pulse roared in my ears.
Security.
Intelligence.
Investigations.
Mark hadn't just protected me.
He had armed me.
Robert finally spoke.
"That's excessive," he said smoothly, his voice controlled but tight. "My brother would never sign off on something like that."
The lawyer looked up, eyes cold behind his glasses.
"He did."
Silence slammed back into the room like a gunshot.
"Additionally," the lawyer continued, unfazed, "all family trusts—excluding individual personal trusts—shall require written approval from Alexa Walton for any disbursement."
Helen surged forward, slamming both palms onto the table.
"You're stripping us of everything!" she screamed. "Everything we worked for!"
"No," the lawyer replied coolly. "Your son already did."
Her face twisted with pure hatred.
I felt every eye in the room burn into me.
But I didn't shrink.
I lifted my chin.
Mark chose this.
He chose me.
The lawyer turned another page.
"There is an addendum," he said.
That word alone set Helen off again.
"What now?" she snapped. "What else has she stolen?"
"This addendum concerns personal family provisions," the lawyer continued evenly.
Helen scoffed loudly.
"Provisions?" she laughed bitterly. "For who? The whore?"
Robert didn't interrupt her.
Watson shifted in his chair, unease flickering across his tired face.
The lawyer read on.
"I hereby bequeath Rosewood Villa, the private estate in Surrey, registered under Walton Family Holdings, to my mother, Helen Walton, for her exclusive lifetime use."
The words landed.
For half a second, Helen froze.
Then—
"What?" she breathed.
The room stilled.
"Rosewood Villa," the lawyer repeated. "Full residential rights, maintenance covered, no contest clause applied."
Her breath hitched.
That villa.
Everyone in this room knew what it meant.
Generations of Walton women had lived there. Dinners. Holidays. Legacy carved into brick and marble.
But Helen didn't look relieved.
She looked insulted.
"That's it?" she demanded sharply. "That's all?"
Robert's eyes flicked toward her.
Watson stiffened.
"You leave me a house," Helen continued, rising slowly to her feet, "while you hand everything else to her?"
Her finger stabbed the air in my direction.
"This cheap whore?"
I didn't react.
Didn't blink.
The lawyer raised his hand slightly. "Mrs. Walton—"
"We didn't work this hard for years to lose everything to this woman!" Helen screamed. "Years! Generations! And you expect me to be grateful for a villa?"
"It is a valuable estate," the lawyer said carefully.
"I don't care about value!" she shrieked. "I care about power!"
Watson finally stood.
"Helen," he said firmly, placing a hand on her arm. "Calm down."
She whirled on him.
"Calm down?" she repeated, incredulous. "How could anyone stay calm in the face of this stupidity?"
She gestured wildly at the table, the papers, the room.
"She comes into this family, spreads her legs, cries a few tears, and suddenly she owns everything?"
Watson's jaw clenched. "That's enough."
"No, it isn't!" Helen shouted. "This is madness!"
Her chest heaved as she turned toward me again, eyes blazing.
"Rejoice while it lasts," she said venomously. "Because this will not end this way."
A chill crawled up my spine.
She grabbed her handbag with shaking hands.
"I refuse to sit here and watch my son's legacy handed over like charity," she spat.
"Helen," Watson tried again.
She yanked her arm free.
"Don't," she snapped. "Don't defend this."
She turned toward the door, heels striking the marble sharply.
"This isn't over," she said over her shoulder. "Not by a long shot."
Then she stormed out.
The door slammed behind her, the sound echoing through the room.
Silence followed.
Thick. Suffocating.
Robert watched the door for a long moment.
Then he stood slowly.
"So," he said softly, turning back to me, eyes dark and unreadable, "you're the queen now."
I met his gaze.
"No," I said quietly.
"I'm the gate."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Interest.
Calculation.
Danger.
The lawyer cleared his throat again.
"This concludes the reading of the will."
No one moved.
The air felt poisoned.
I sat there, spine straight, hands steady in my lap, wine-stained dress drying against my skin.
This wasn't victory.
It was a declaration of war.
And I knew—