The Real Choice

The injunction arrived on Julian’s desk like a death warrant printed on heavy, cream-colored stock. Elena didn't need to read the headers to know what it was; the silence in the penthouse had shifted from the quiet of a sanctuary to the stillness of a tomb. Forty-three hours. The bank’s liquidation deadline was no longer a distant threat—it was a countdown to total erasure.

Julian didn't offer a platitude. He picked up the document, his movements surgical, his jaw set in a hard, unforgiving line. “They’re challenging the will,” he said, his voice devoid of its usual polished warmth. “Grounds of undue influence and questionable capacity. They’re arguing your aunt was mentally compromised in her final months.”

Elen

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