The Will That Backfired

The Will That Backfired

At my father’s funeral, my stepmother cried like her heart was breaking.
The lawyer announced that the entire hundred-billion-peso empire now belonged to her.
I stood up, wiped my tears, and said one sentence that made the whole hall fall silent.
She forgot one small detail — my father had already transferred everything to me five years ago.

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At my father’s funeral, my stepmother cried until she was almost breathless.

The lawyer stood in the middle of the grand hall, in front of hundreds of people, and publicly read the will: the entire hundred-billion-peso conglomerate now belonged to her.

I sat in the front row, quietly wiping my tears.

Then I stood up and spoke one sentence.

The entire hall fell deathly silent.

She had forgotten one important thing.

Before sending me abroad to study, my father had me sign a document.

It wasn’t a waiver of inheritance.

It was a transfer of the entire conglomerate… into my name.

The largest farewell hall at the city funeral home was filled with white chrysanthemums stretching from the entrance all the way to the coffin.

The air-conditioning was turned very low, making the air freezing cold.

Everyone was dressed in black, their faces solemn.

I sat in the front row.

I wore a fitted black dress, my hands clutching a crumpled tissue.

But it was still dry — because I couldn’t cry.

It wasn’t that I didn’t feel pain.

I just… still couldn’t believe it.

Three days ago, I was still in my dorm in London, buried in writing my thesis. At 3 a.m., my phone rang. The moment I saw “Uncle Wang the Butler,” I already knew something was wrong.

“Miss… the Chairman… he’s gone. Sudden heart attack.”

I immediately booked the earliest flight and endured twelve hours in the air. By the time I landed, my father was already lying in the cold room.

The coffin was made of sandalwood — one he had chosen himself long ago.

He once said, “Your mother left too suddenly. She didn’t prepare anything. I have to prepare for myself so I won’t trouble you kids later.”

He said “you kids.”

He thought he still had time.

The only sound in the hall was the low, repeating funeral music.

Sitting beside me was a woman in her early forties. Her skin was well-maintained and glowing. She wore an elegant and expensive black dress.

Her eyes were red and swollen. She kept wiping her tears with a handkerchief, looking like she was in complete devastation.

Her name was Elaine Lim.

My stepmother.

Five years ago, just three months after my mother passed away, my father brought her home. I had just turned eighteen and was preparing for college entrance exams.

I still remember that night clearly. My father sat on the edge of my bed and said:

“Trisha, I’m sorry. But I also need someone by my side.”

I didn’t say anything.

The next day, I received my acceptance letter from a university in London. I was the one who suggested studying abroad.

My father paused for a moment.

“Have you thought it through?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll see you off.”

I didn’t let him.

I dragged two heavy suitcases alone and boarded the plane to London by myself.

That day, Elaine stood at the villa entrance, waving at me with a perfectly gentle smile.

“Trisha, take care of yourself.”

I smiled back.

From that day on, I never returned home.

For five years.

I lived on the monthly allowance my father sent, but I never once called him first. It wasn’t because I hated him.

I just… didn’t know what to say.

Every call was short.

“Is the money enough?”

“Yes.”

“Is studying too hard?”

“It’s okay.”

“Good then.”

Then the call would end.

I always thought he still had a lot of time.

I thought once I graduated and came home, we could finally sit down and have a proper meal together, like when Mom was still alive.

But there was no more chance.

The memorial service began.

The emcee read a long list of important guests. I couldn’t focus on a single word.

Many powerful people from the business world came. Almost every big name in the city was there.

My father, Victor Chua, built the Vista Group from nothing. From a small materials workshop, he turned it into a giant empire spanning real estate, finance, and technology.

In this city, no one didn’t respect the name “Victor Chua.”

And yet he was gone.

Sixty-two years old. Sudden heart attack. He collapsed in his office while still holding a pen.

After the emcee finished, the lawyer stepped onto the stage.

It was Attorney Zhao, the legal director who had followed my father for twenty years.

“Ladies and gentlemen, before his passing, Mr. Victor Chua made a will. As per his wishes, I will read it publicly today.”

The entire hall became completely silent.

I noticed Elaine’s hand, which was holding her handkerchief, tightened slightly.

The middle-aged man beside her leaned forward a little.

I recognized him — Lito Dela Cruz, the Vice President of Vista Group, my father’s “sworn brother.” Everyone in the company called him “Director Lito.”

Attorney Zhao opened the folder and cleared his throat:

“I, Victor Chua, being of sound mind, hereby declare…”

“One, the lakeside villa shall belong to my wife, Elaine Lim.”

“Two, my personal savings, investments, and art collection — after taxes — fifty percent to my wife Elaine Lim, and fifty percent to my daughter Trisha Chua.”

“Three, all shares of Vista Group, including the sixty-seven percent under my name and thirteen percent held through offshore companies, totaling eighty percent controlling stake…”

He paused.

“…shall belong to my wife, Elaine Lim.”

Silence.

Not just quiet — everyone was holding their breath.

Eighty percent.

Eighty percent of an entire empire… given to a woman who had only been in the family for five years.

Behind me, someone gasped softly.

Elaine burst into loud sobs, covering her face with her handkerchief, her shoulders shaking.

“Victor… why did you leave me…”

Director Lito stood up, walked over, and gently patted her shoulder.

“Sister-in-law, you must endure your grief.”

His voice was calm and steady — almost too calm.

As if everything had already been planned.

I remained seated, my mind in chaos.

Eighty percent to Elaine.

And I only got some money and properties?

My father wasn’t that kind of man.

He built the company with his own hands. Vista Group was his life’s work.

How could he give everything to a woman who had only been around for five years?

Unless—

“Attorney Zhao,” I stood up.

All eyes turned to me.

He adjusted his glasses. “Miss Chua?”

“When was this will made?”

“One month before the Chairman passed away.”

“Where?”

“At the company’s legal department, with three witnesses.”

“Who were the witnesses?”

Attorney Zhao paused for a split second.

“Myself, Director Lito, and… Attorney Lim’s lawyer.”

I glanced at Director Lito.

His face remained calm.

But I understood now.

My father made a will… using my stepmother’s own lawyer.

This wasn’t a will.

This was a carefully staged contract.

“Attorney Zhao,” I cut in, “before this will was made, did my father ever ask you to prepare another document?”

His expression changed — very slightly.

“Miss Chua, I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Then let me remind you.”

I opened my bag and took out an old brown envelope.

The edges were worn from time.

“Five years ago, before sending me to London, my father had me sign a document.”

“He said it was in case anything happened to the company while I was abroad, so I would still have security.”

I raised the envelope.

Everyone’s eyes were glued to it.

“He told me the content of this document was—”

“Eighty percent of Vista Group’s shares transferred under my name.”

“He… was only the manager.”

The hall fell into silence again.

This time, it was the silence before a storm.

The handkerchief slipped from Elaine’s face.

Her eyes were red.

But in that moment, I saw it clearly.

What was in her eyes wasn’t grief.

It was fear…