Chapter 11 - The Architect of Treason
The name displayed across the cathedral’s eighty-foot digital screens sent a shockwave through the Montecillo family so catastrophic that several elderly board members in the front rows rose from their seats in sheer horror.
*Biological Father: Marcus Montecillo.*
Christian stared at the screen, his mind completely shattering.
Marcus Montecillo. His first cousin. His chief operating officer. The man who had stood beside him at his bachelor party three nights ago, clapping him on the back, telling him that the legacy of the Montecillo name was finally secure.
"Marcus...?" Christian whispered, turning his head in slow motion toward the back of the altar, where the groomsmen were standing.
Marcus, tall, sharp-featured, and impeccably groomed, had already begun backing away toward the side vestry door. But the moment his hand touched the brass handle, two massive Swiss security officers blocked his exit, their arms folded across their broad chests like iron bars.
"You..." Christian breathed, the veins in his neck bulging violently. "You and... Vanessa?"
"He didn't just sleep with your mistress, Christian," Althea announced, walking slowly toward the quivering bride. "He orchestrated the entire affair. Marcus knew Don Roman would never hand the chairman's seat to an illegitimate branch of the family as long as you were married to a loyal wife. So they manufactured my infertility diagnosis with your private physician. They fed your ego with Vanessa. And when she conceived Marcus's triplets via intrauterine insemination, they convinced your father to pay me twelve million dollars to clear the way."
Althea paused, looking down at Vanessa, who was now weeping uncontrollably on the steps, her veil ruined, her dignity obliterated.
"The plan was brilliant," Althea continued, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. "In five years, Christian’s shipping empire would be diluted by debt. Marcus would step in as the guardian of the 'true heirs,' push Christian out of the executive board, and assume full control of the Montecillo global fortune. Isn't that right, Marcus?"
May you like
Marcus sneered, realizing the game was utterly lost. He stopped retreating, straightening his bow tie with trembling fingers. "And what if it is? The shipping empire is bankrupt anyway! Christian couldn't run a fruit stand, let alone a multi-billion-dollar maritime fleet! Don Roman, you built an empire, but your son is an incompetent fool! I did what was necessary to save the family!"
"Save the family?" Don Roman choked out, his face turning an alarming shade of deep crimson. "You... you parasitic dog!"
