The cold yellow parchment paper swayed gently in Marcus's hand as he let out another cruel, arrogant laugh. The red wax seal at the bottom of the document looked old and thick, gleaming under the bright lights of the underground vault.

"Look at this, Clara," Marcus sneered, stepping closer to the heavy steel table. "Your mother signed away every single right to this fortune twenty years ago. She took her tiny little life and ran away, giving up every penny of the Charles Vane estate. This paper carries the official signature of the bank's late founder. You have no money here. You have no name here. You are nothing but...