The Nation's President Picked Me Up From Prison-Chapter 32: Elyn: A Thirty-Minute Break

Death of billionaire husband. Accused as a murderer. Marriage with the President.

And now this?

You’ve got to be kidding me.

How is any sane person supposed to organize a life like this when every day feels like a fresh episode of Let’s Traumatize Elyn?

Sure, I did consider that Logan might include me in his inheritance. After all, he died thinking we were legally married.

But I didn’t think it would be this... astronomical. All his properties in the city? His company shares?

Cora never liked me, and I can’t say I’m heartbroken over the feeling being mutual. She was his stepmother, though, and their relationship, strained as it was, still made far more sense than him giving everything to me. And Candice... well, Candice wasn’t close to him, but she saw him more often than I did. More often than his supposed wife. How does that add up?

And then there’s his brother who is completely absent from the will. Yes, they weren’t on good terms, but still...

I pace back and forth across the stone path in the Brandt residence garden, the late afternoon sun pressing warm light on my shoulders while my thoughts spiral.

I can already hear the headlines.

"Woman Who Wasn’t Legally a Wife Inherits Everything."

Another scandal, fresh and shiny.

Exactly what I need.

Even with Cora and Candice jailed for Logan’s murder, people will doubt me. They’ll whisper that I manipulated him, that I plotted for his wealth. That I’m a gold digger who got lucky.

And none of this, absolutely none of this, will help the image Greg is trying to build for me.

Which is perfect timing, considering he plans to announce our marriage this weekend. Wonderful. I’ll just stand beside the President, smiling like the country’s sweetheart, while half the nation screams that I stole a billionaire’s fortune.

My train of thoughts is interrupted when my phone vibrates. It’s a message from Dahlia.

[Mr. Hansley’s secretary contacted me. She was too persistent, so I had no choice but to give your number. I’m sorry.]

Before I can respond, my phone rings.

"Hello, Ms. Elyn?"

It’s Naomi. Of course I know Logan’s secretary. She was the bridge between us whenever Logan wanted something delivered, arranged, or communicated. She was never hostile, just professional.

"Nice to hear from you again, Naomi," I say, though it’s very clear this is not a social call.

"Ma’am," she continues gently, "I believe you might need to come to the office. Everyone has found out you are now the owner of forty-five percent of the company shares, and the board and shareholders want to meet you. There will be a shareholder meeting tomorrow, and you are expected to attend. I hope you can make it."

I swallow. My pulse kicks up. "Naomi, I... I don’t even know what to say in a meeting like that. I don’t understand the technical side of the company. How can my presence help anything?"

There’s a soft exhale on the other end, but it isn’t impatience, it’s something closer to pleading.

"Ma’am, the company is on the brink of collapse," she says quietly. "Some of the board members are already panicking. Mr. Hansley held everything together. And now that he’s gone, the board must decide who will fill his place as the chairman and CEO. They need to vote for the position, but without the major shareholder, voting won’t be possible. Even if you don’t speak much, even if you only listen, your presence alone matters."

"I’m not sure I’ll be able to say anything useful," I murmur, lowering myself onto the garden bench. My fingers tremble slightly, and I press them together to keep them still. "I don’t even know where to begin. What if they ask questions I can’t answer?"

"Then I’ll help you," Naomi replies without hesitation. "If you come early, I can explain everything you need to know. The basics, the current crisis, what to expect in the room. You won’t be alone, Ms. Elyn. I’ll guide you through it."

Naomi was loyal to Logan. She loved her job. She respected him. And now she’s asking me, almost begging me, not to let his work crumble.

"Please," she adds softly, "if you don’t show up, all of Mr. Hansley’s hard work... everything he built... it might be lost. I’m not asking you to take over the company. But we need the major shareholder to be present."

I close my eyes for a moment. The wind brushes against my cheek, warm and faintly scented with roses.

"All right," I whisper. "I’ll come."

There’s a tiny sound, like her breath catching in relief.

"Thank you, Ms. Elyn. I’ll send you the details right away."

After ending the call with Naomi, I stand there in the garden, fidgeting with my fingers like they’re suddenly detachable accessories. My nerves won’t settle. The air feels too warm, the silence too loud.

I decide I need to talk to Greg about this mess. So I call him.

He doesn’t pick up. I try again, but still nothing. By the third attempt, I give up.

Okay. Message received. The president of the country is too busy.

I turn toward the mansion doors, already preparing to call Dahlia and ask her to contact my lawyer, when my phone rings.

It’s Greg.

I quickly answer. "Hello?"

"What is it? I’m in the middle of a conference," he says, voice low, clipped, and very much in presidential mode.

My lips part in embarrassment. Heat crawls up my neck.

"Oh. I’m sorry, I should just call again—"

"No." His tone softens by a hair, but only barely. "Tell me what you need now."

I swallow, clearing my throat. "We need to talk. Will you be able to get home earlier?"

There’s silence, except for faint shuffling on his end. Then his voice, directed away from the phone.

"Rowan, what’s the schedule for the rest of the day?"

Rowan murmurs something back, too muffled for me to understand.

A few seconds pass before Greg returns to me. "No. I might return late, or tomorrow."

My shoulders slump.

"That’s fine—"

"Actually," his voice cuts in. "I think I can squeeze a thirty-minute break in my schedule."

I blink. "You can?"

"I’ll be attending an inauguration ceremony at Eastbrook Hotel at three. You can meet me there at three-thirty." His tone leaves no room for uncertainty. "Don’t make me wait. I need to leave by four."

My heart lifts, just a little, but enough to brighten my voice. "Sure, I won’t! Thanks!"