At Thomas Northwood's Funeral

The Northwoods were one of the most established families in Valmont, known for their deep-rooted legacy and influence across the city. So naturally, Thomas Northwood's funeral was attended by powerful families and figures from all corners of the city.

In the midst of the dignified black-clad attendees, the arrival of a young woman in a simple, slightly frayed white linen shirt caused a stir among the guests.

Every person present was either wealthy, influential, or both. The young woman, though striking in appearance, wore a casual shirt that seemed out of place, drawing curious glances as she made her way to the front where the Northwoods were seated.

"Who is she? Why would she be sitting with the Northwoods?" someone whispered, eyeing her warily.

"Isn't that Emery?" another muttered. "Thomas's daughter from his first marriage. I heard he only reached out to her right before he passed away."

"Ah, so she's finally back," came another voice, louder now. "Word is, Thomas insisted his will be read in front of everyone. Must be the only reason she bothered to show."

Unfazed by the whispers, the young woman kept her focus ahead, her expression unreadable as her gaze settled on Thomas's portrait displayed at the front of the room.

Rayna Sinclair, one of the closest family friends and a familiar face at many Northwood events, watched the young woman from a distance, her curiosity piqued. She leaned toward her mother, murmuring in a low tone, "Mother, who is that? And why isn't she mourning? People will think she's heartless if she doesn't even pretend to grieve."

Rayna's mother gave a small, disapproving frown. "That's Emery Northwood, your father's late friend's daughter. She was raised away from the family, in some backwater town on the coast. We should tolerate her for now, at least while the proceedings are still going."

Rayna bit back her annoyance, her interest only sharpening. Her mother's words did little to sway her impression of the mysterious newcomer, whose calm expression seemed almost indifferent to the family drama unfolding around her.

Unbeknownst to them, Emery's attention was drawn to every word spoken, her senses unusually sharp. She had learned, over years of living alone, to tune in to even the slightest whispers—especially when they concerned her.

Turning her gaze back to Thomas's portrait, she felt a brief pang of sadness. His last request had been for her to return. But did they really expect her to put on a show?

Her inner reflections were interrupted by the arrival of her estranged uncle, who approached the front of the room. He cleared his throat before speaking, his tone heavy with emotion as he honored his late brother's memory. At last, he gestured to the lawyer standing by, ready to read Thomas's will to the gathered crowd.

Although Thomas had only one surviving son, everyone assumed the Northwood fortune would be evenly split. Few understood why Thomas insisted on such a public display for something so straightforward.

The lawyer opened the will, his voice steady as he read aloud.

"After careful consideration, I, Thomas Northwood, leave all of my shares in Northwood Holdings, as well as all family properties, and an additional trust of five hundred million to my daughter, Emery Northwood."

Gasps and hushed murmurs broke out among the attendees.

Emery Northwood?

She was the supposed black sheep, raised far from the family and barely known to them. How could Thomas leave everything to her?

In the center of the swirling shock, Emery stood unmoved, her expression unreadable as her gaze stayed on Thomas's portrait.

She murmured softly under her breath, so quietly that no one else could hear, "What were you thinking, old man?"