Harlan was already at the door when William called his name. He didn't stop. Instead, he stormed out angrily, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled.
Mark leaned toward his wife. "It's better to do the right thing now, while it can still be done easily, than to live in fear of the trouble it might bring later, isn't it?"
"Exactly the point. Robert made the right call," his wife said quietly. "He had to. What did anyone expect?"
Margaret, Elena's grandmother, finally broke her long silence.
"Let him go. Harlan has always been too much of everything that a company like Carter Group cannot afford."
Elena sat motionless, reflecting on the conversation her father had forced upon her three days earlier—the second time he had raised the issue.
The words had been difficult for him to say to her, just as they were agonizing for her to hear.
"Listen, Elena, Harlan is not my biological son
Her eyes were wide open. Dad, excuse me, I don't understand what you mean ".
" Before I ever met Veronica, she was violated by a group of men. Harlan was born from that."
"What!" She couldn't believe what she was hearing.
Her father continued heavily. "Sophia is the only one who truly shares your bloodline. She is your half-sister. His mom didn't even know who his father was, because they all had her. Four of them."
Her voice came out in a broken whisper "Dad, please... what did you just say? That Harlan is not my brother?"
"Yes, Elena. But he's still your brother. No matter what."
Shock and confusion crashed over her. "Dad! No! I don't believe this," she whispered, her mind reeling. The truth refused to make sense.
"I was drunk that night," he admitted. "We spent one night together by mistake. Then she was pregnant... and she told me about Harlan."
Her dad kept talking but she had lost focus. Her eyes remained locked on her father's face, but her mind had drifted far away. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She turned away from him.
She was already weeping.
"Your mother—may her gentle soul rest in peace—was furious when she heard I was bringing Veronica into the house as my second wife. She packed her things and left with you. She didn't want to raise you in a family with two wives. But because she loved you, and didn't want you to grow up without a father, she eventually came back after four months."
Even now, the thought of her mother filled her with fresh sorrow. The tears flowed harder.
Elena was yanked back to the present by her father's loud shout:
"You'd better talk to your son before I change my mind! I adopted him to protect the family name—and that of the company!"
"Why are you attacking me as if I had nothing to do with this matter?" Veronica shot back.
Elena stood up abruptly. Not again. Not now. Shouting wouldn't solve anything.
She walked to the window and stood with her back to them, staring out into the night.
"So everything I grew up believing..." she said quietly, almost to herself, "the only brother I had... wasn't really my brother."
Even though Harlan had often been cruel to her, she had still loved him. She had found happiness simply in having someone to call her brother. Now, she had no brother at all.
A sharp pain pierced her chest. Fresh tears welled up.
She turned to face her father.
"Why now, Dad?" Her voice was quieter than she intended. "Why are you telling me this after all this time—especially now, when his place in this family is being decided? What are we going to do about it?
William didn't answer.
You'd better tell him yourself. now. Otherwise, it will look like you've been cruel to him all along."
"Not now," Robert said, striking his walking stick hard against the floor. "He can't bear both things at once—losing his supposed position and learning the truth. That might cause even more damage."
Meanwhile, Harlan had driven straight to a bar on the far side of town. His grandfather's voice still rang in his head. It seemed the decision had been made long ago, and tonight was merely the formal announcement of it.
He started drinking.
After his sixth drink, the edges of the pain began to blur.
After the seventh, the words started spilling out on their own.
"I am the only son," he muttered, turning the glass slowly between his hands. "The only son... and it meant nothing to them."
He said it bitterly, as if the words left a foul taste in his mouth.
Two women sauntered to him, their perfume cutting through the haze of smoke and spilled liquor.
"Hello, darling," one of them purred, leaning close with a practiced smile. "Do you need some company tonight? We're here for you. Won't cost much."
Harlan looked up slowly, his eyes bloodshot and heavy with alcohol. For a moment he stared at them without blinking.
"Mad women," he barked at them, his voice sharp and dangerous. "Get out of my sight before I do something I'll regret."
The two women froze, visibly shaken—insulted and embarrassed. Their smiles vanished instantly.
The crowd turned to watch, heads swiveling like spectators at a live drama. A few people chuckled, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
"Nonsense!" one of the women snapped, her voice sharp with humiliation. "Who do you think you're shouting at? Am I your problem?"
"Can you imagine?" the other muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.
Laughter rippled through the bar.
"Please, leave this man with his frustrated life," the second woman said, grabbing her friend's arm and pulling her away. "Come on."
Still muttering under their breath, the two women retreated to their original seats,
Harlan grabbed the glass from the table and emptied it in one swallow.
Before the burn could settle, he reached for the bottle, tipped it straight to his lips, and drank again—longer this time. Liquid spilled down the corner of his mouth, but he didn't care.
He slammed the glass back onto the table.
The sound cracked.
"Over my dead body," he muttered, breathing hard. "I won't allow this. Never.". I can't just sit back and watch."
"That old man had better let the board decide, or it will be war. Nobody will have peace in that house if I don't get what I want. Not after all the money I spent to make this happen."
He picked up the glass, tilting it toward the bottle to pour another drink—
Then he stopped.
His hand hung in the air for a second.
Suddenly, he slammed the glass back onto the table.
"Why shouldn't I be the one in that position?" he said, his voice thick with bitterness. "Am I not the son in the house?"