The Nation's President Picked Me Up From Prison-Chapter 41: Elyn: A Seat Claimed, A War Declared

The stares of the shareholders, board members, and executives crucify me the moment I step into the conference room.

It’s impressive, really, how many ways grown adults can look at a person like she’s both a spectacle and a threat.

I walk to the front anyway, stopping beside the empty chairman’s seat. I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin, reminding myself that nerves are not visible unless I invite them to be.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," I say, my smile polite, measured. The kind you wear to meetings where people would love to see you bleed but settle for watching you flinch. "For those who don’t know me, I’m Elyn Merrit. I was Chairman Hansley’s partner."

I choose the word carefully. Not wife because the law would eat that alive. Not lover because that would turn this room into a feeding frenzy. Partner is safe. Neutral. Professional.

Besides, it will be more complicated if I say I wasn’t in any way involved with Logan. At least, I should say we were romantically involved. That’s the safest.

"It’s a pleasure to see you here, Ms. Merrit," Director Bennet says.

If pleasure were measurable, his would register somewhere below frostbite.

Bennet was my father’s rival back when my father was alive, one of those men who never forgave competence when it didn’t belong to him. The years haven’t softened him, if anything, the disdain carved into his face looks well-practiced, like a favorite suit he enjoys wearing.

"I really hope you are pleased, Director Bennet," I reply smoothly.

A flicker passes through his eyes. Satisfaction? Annoyance? Possibly indigestion. I’ll take any of the above.

I move to the seat beside the chairman’s empty chair and sit.

Director Bennet remains standing, taking his place at the head of the table. Without the chairman, he holds the highest authority in the room—Logan’s former right hand, a man competent enough to keep a company running and opaque enough that I can’t tell whether he’s loyal to the institution or merely to power.

"We acknowledge the passing of our chairman and major shareholder," Bennet begins.

The room stills. A few heads bow slightly. Others don’t bother pretending.

"I understand the company is currently facing instability," he continues. "However, with cooperation, I believe we can navigate this crisis."

Crisis. Such a polite word for what’s really happening: everyone here is calculating who gets to eat first.

"We have received confirmation that Chairman Hansley’s will states his company shares, amounting to forty-five percent, are to be transferred to Ms. Elyn Merrit," Bennet says, turning his gaze toward me. "That makes her the major shareholder, and the reason she is present today. Can you confirm this, Ms. Merrit?"

"Yes," I say, meeting his cruel eyes. "I’ve confirmed it with Hansley Group’s legal team."

A murmur ripples across the table.

Of course, forty-five percent is a dangerous number.

"There is a question we have been meaning to raise," Bennet says after the noise settles. His tone shifts subtly, but I catch it. This is the blade, not the preamble. "You have long been known as the chairman’s wife. However, we have since verified that you were never legally married. Would you care to clarify this for the board?"

Ah. There it is.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dale tense, his fingers curling slightly against the folder he holds. He looks ready to jump in, to shield me, to explain. I give him a small glance, just enough to tell him not to. This is my ground to hold.

I inhale once, slow and controlled, then smile.

"Director Bennet," I say evenly, "I believe my personal relationship with Chairman Hansley isn’t a matter that needs to be dissected in this meeting."

A few brows knit together. Good. Let them be uncomfortable.

"Whether I was married to him or not," I continue, "has no bearing on the legitimacy of his will. Nor does it affect the company’s operations, governance, or obligations."

"So I’ll ask in return," I add, tilting my head slightly, "why would that matter to the company at all?"

Silence answers me.

And for the first time since I walked in, I realize something important: they weren’t crucifying me anymore.

They were reassessing me.

A female shareholder finally speaks, her voice crisp, but I don’t miss the sharpness. "Because if you were never married and the chairman didn’t know it before his passing, then the inheritance becomes questionable."

"Is that the main agenda of this shareholders’ meeting?" I ask, my smile gentle enough to be mistaken for kindness. My eyes, however, don’t bother pretending. "My inheritance?"

A few people shift in their seats.

"Why would you assume the chairman didn’t know any better. My inheritance is not within this company’s jurisdiction. And whether there is an anomaly, hypothetical or otherwise, it is not your concern."

"Not my concern?" The woman’s eyes narrow, lips thinning. "You clearly don’t understand how this works. Inheriting company shares ties your name to this corporation. You will be making decisions as a shareholder. That is precisely why the legality of the will matters."

I tilt my head slightly, as if considering her point, though my patience is already wearing thin.

"The will has been confirmed by Hansley Group’s legal team," Dale interjects, his tone firm.

Color rushes to the woman’s cheeks, not embarrassment, but irritation. The kind that comes from being contradicted in public.

"With the will’s validity confirmed," I say smoothly, reclaiming the floor, "there is no need to scrutinize my relationship with Logan. That was a private matter. When he made the will, he was of sound mind. And last I checked, there isn’t a law that prohibits someone from leaving an inheritance to a person they weren’t married to. Is there?"

Silence stretches.

Then—

The doors of the conference room swing open.

"But what if the will is disputed?"

My breath catches.

I turn my head.

A middle-aged woman steps inside with unhurried confidence, as if she owns the space simply by existing in it. Her short, light-blonde hair is impeccably styled, soft waves framing sharp cheekbones.

She’s dressed in understated luxury: a tailored ivory blazer, silk blouse, jewelry minimal but unmistakably expensive. Nothing about her is loud, yet everything about her demands attention.

She looks... familiar.

Memory stirs at the back of my mind.

"I’m Meryl Hansley," she says coolly, eyes locking onto mine with confidence that can’t be faked. "Logan’s paternal aunt."

The room erupts in murmurs.

My chest tightens.

"And I will contest the will."