The Truth About His Empire
The next morning, three attorneys arrived at the house shortly after eight.
My father came with them.
Malcolm Wexler was sixty-eight, silver-haired, and usually gentle. But when he stepped into the living room and saw the marks Gavin had left behind, his face became unreadable.
Gavin hurried toward him.
“Malcolm, this has been exaggerated. Paige was emotional, and Brielle misunderstood what happened.”
My father did not take his hand.
“My daughter did not call me because of a misunderstanding.”
Brielle appeared at the top of the stairs wearing one of my silk robes.
My father looked at her once.
“You have thirty minutes to gather your belongings.”
She glanced at Gavin.
“Tell him this is your house.”
Gavin squared his shoulders.
“It is my house.”
One of the attorneys opened a folder.
“The property is owned by the Hollow Creek Residential Trust. Mrs. Rourke is the sole beneficiary, and Mr. Wexler is the acting trustee.”
The color drained from Gavin’s face.
“That is a technical arrangement. I have lived here for seven years.”
“Residence does not establish ownership,” the attorney replied.
Another lawyer placed several documents on the table.
The majority shares in Rourke Continental Logistics were held by my family trust. The company’s primary warehouse was owned by a Wexler real estate subsidiary. Its largest credit line had been guaranteed by my father’s firm. Even the private office Gavin used downtown was leased through a property company connected to my trust.
Gavin had built an impressive public image.
But much of the structure supporting it had never belonged to him.
“You cannot take my company,” he whispered.
My father finally answered him.
“No one is taking what belongs to you. We are simply withdrawing what never did.”
