Inheritance ✔

Chapter 23 - Aftershock

Laurier Ashford's POV

I hadn't slept.

Not really.

The safehouse in Tagaytay was quiet—too quiet. Renzo was still in the guest bedroom, under mild sedatives. He hadn't stirred since I stitched his side hours ago. Every time I closed my eyes, I'd see him strapped to that stage. Shackled. Bleeding. Branded as property.

The rage hadn't left my system.

Neither had the guilt.

He had almost died because of me.

Because of this name.
Because of what my family built and abandoned.
Because I wasn't fast enough to stop it.

I paced the hallway barefoot, gripping a cup of untouched coffee. Outside, the fog had started to lift, revealing the edge of the mountains. It should've been peaceful. Safe.

But I could feel it.

The ground shifting beneath my feet.

Iris called at 8:27 a.m.

"He's made another move," she said without greeting.

I rubbed at my temple. "Dagon?"

"He leaked something to Intercorp's board. An anonymous package showed up this morning, with a drive labeled 'Ashford Succession Protocol.'"

My blood went cold. "That file was sealed. It was only accessible through my father's private archive. No one was supposed to—"

"Well, someone did. And now the board's in full panic mode."

"Did you see what was inside?"

"We're decrypting it now, but it's bad, Laurier. It's not just about your father."

I waited.

"It's about you."

By midday, I was back in Manila, dressed sharp in black slacks and a cream blazer, Renzo still resting under Mateo's watch at the safehouse. I arrived at Intercorp Tower under full security escort.

The moment I stepped into the boardroom, I could feel the tension snap into place like a loaded gun.

Eleven men and women sat around the oval glass table. Half had been with the company since my father's reign. The rest were new blood—young, ambitious, and easily rattled.

Chairwoman Liza Romualdez didn't wait.

"You knew about this," she snapped, sliding the printed file across the table.

My eyes scanned the top page.

PROJECT LYCAON – EMERGENCY SUCCESSION MECHANISM

I froze.

I remembered this.

A theoretical document. A contingency plan, drafted in secret years ago in case the Ashford heir was ever deemed compromised—mentally, emotionally, or politically.

It outlined the legal procedure to override my title as CEO.

A coup, written in ink.

"I had no idea it still existed," I said truthfully.

"You signed the protocol six years ago," Liza countered. "Under your father's direction. Do you deny that?"

"I signed dozens of contingency drafts when I stepped in. None of them were meant to go public. This was buried."

"And now it isn't," said a man from Finance. "So either you leaked it, or someone who wants you out did."

I exhaled slowly.

"Do any of you seriously believe I'd orchestrate a plot to remove myself from power?"

No one spoke.

But their silence said enough.

The meeting ended without a formal resolution.

But the damage had been done.

Even if I still had the title, the board had been infected—with doubt. With fear. Dagon didn't need to strike me with a bullet. All he had to do was shake the foundation I was standing on.

He was smarter than I'd thought.

He was dismantling my empire piece by piece—from the shadows.

That night, I sat at the edge of Renzo's bed, watching him breathe.

He stirred, groaned softly, then opened his eyes.

"You're back," he murmured, voice hoarse.

"I should've stayed."

"No," he said, forcing a faint smile. "You did what needed to be done. Again."

I hesitated.

Then said quietly, "They're trying to push me out."

He blinked. "Who?"

"The board. They received a file—succession clause my father wrote years ago. One that allows them to replace me if I'm declared emotionally compromised."

Renzo's jaw clenched. "That's bullshit."

"It doesn't matter. It's there. Legally viable. And someone wants it used."

He pushed himself upright, wincing.

"Dagon."

"Who else?"

He leaned against the headboard, rubbing his forehead. "He's playing a longer game than we realized."

I looked at him, really looked. Even bruised and stitched, he was still the only thing in the world that felt solid.

"I'm scared," I admitted.

Renzo looked at me sharply.

I almost laughed.

"Not of him," I clarified. "Of... of what this is turning me into. I thought I could control it. Handle it. Keep it clean."

"You don't have to stay clean," he said. "You just have to stay you."

I swallowed hard.

"I don't know who that is anymore."

Renzo reached for my hand.

Gripped it, warm and certain.

"Then let's find her again," he said. "Together."

The next morning, while Renzo was asleep, I received a message from an encrypted sender.

No name.

Just one sentence:

"Blood is the final currency. If you want the truth, ask Clara what your father buried."

I stared at it for a long time.

Then whispered to myself:

"What the hell did you do, Dad?"