The True Heiress's Revenge: Exposing My Toxic Family on Live TV novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Two Million Dollars

Quinton signs her release for the last day of the show, with a two million dollar penalty if she quits, in front of the network heir, and Celia hands her a pack she packed herself.

"No way!"

Celia lunged up from the floor, her face wet and her voice cracking.

She grabbed Demi's sleeve with both hands.

"Demi, I know you can't stand me, but Mom and Dad and the boys really do care about you."

She sobbed and wiped her cheeks.

"Quinton told me last week that he wanted to mentor you. He signed you to his agency because he wanted to give you the life you should have had."

"He even found out you love to sing."

Demi looked down at the hands on her sleeve.

They were small and soft and shaking, and they were gripping very hard.

In the last life, those same hands had patted her shoulder on the way to the helicopter.

"If you hate me that much, I will quit the agency myself," Celia said. "I will go. Just don't leave them."

Demi peeled the fingers off one at a time.

"Stay," she said. "You have a lovely life here. I am the one who leaves."

Celia's mouth opened.

Her mother pulled her back and held her against her chest.

"Don't beg her, baby. She is not worth it."

Quinton straightened up, still gray in the face, and shoved his cuffs back into place.

He was thinking.

Demi could see it.

If she quit the agency now, Celia would cry for a week, and the show would run without its cast.

If she went on the show, she would fail on camera, and he would collect the damages.

"Fine," Quinton said. "You do the full fourteen days of the show. You finish. You do not walk off, you do not get yourself disqualified, you do not embarrass us."

"And?"

"And on the last day, I will sign you out of the agency."

"In writing," Demi said. "Today."

"If you quit early, you owe Pellham Talent two million dollars."

Her mother gasped.

Dean laughed through his teeth and rubbed his cheek.

"Two million. She makes forty thousand."

"I accept," Demi said.

Quinton looked at her for a long second.

He had expected her to flinch.

"The network is downstairs for the cast sign-off," he said. "You can put your name on it in front of them. Then there is no going back."

"There wasn't any going back anyway," Demi said.

She stepped over the splintered door and walked down the stairs ahead of all four of them.

The living room had been cleared for a crew meeting.

A young producer stood by the piano with a tablet, and next to her sat a man who did not look like anyone's employee.

He was tall, in an outdoor jacket over a plain dress shirt, with short dark hair and green eyes that took in the whole room before he stood.

"Ms. Pellham," the producer said. "This is Drake Rafferty. Rafferty Media owns the network. He approves every cast member himself."

"Heir to the network," Dean muttered, and rolled his eyes.

Drake did not smile.

"Cast approval is a formality," he said. "I read the files. I want to hear from the people."

He turned to Demi.

"Do you want to be on this show?"

"I want to be on it for fourteen days," Demi said. "Then I want to be gone."

Drake's eyes moved to Quinton, then back to her.

"That is not a common answer."

Quinton stepped forward with his phone out.

"We have a side arrangement. My sister completes the full show, and the agency releases her on the final day. I would like it on the record, with you as witness."

"Pleased to."

Drake read the line twice.

He read the two million clause once more.

"This is a punishment, not a release," he said.

"It is family business," Quinton said.

"It is a contract," Drake said. "And I am witnessing it."

He signed the tablet, and the producer turned it to Quinton, and Quinton signed under him.

Then it was Demi's turn.

She wrote her name in one clean line.

Celia stood in the doorway, her eyes red, and hummed four notes under her breath.

Nobody looked at her.

Demi handed the tablet back.

"Ms. Pellham," Drake said quietly, while the others argued over the schedule. "Walk me out."

She walked with him to the front door.

Outside, the afternoon was bright and a black car idled at the curb.

"The show's edit goes through Pellham Talent for the family cast," he said. "I do not like that."

"Neither do I," Demi said.

"I can give you a raw channel. Every camera on you, unedited, streaming live to a private feed that only my office can see."

"Why?"

"Because your answer in there was the first thing anyone has said to me in a month that I believed."

Demi studied his face.

"What is the price?"

"Exclusive footage when it matters. And I stay off the mountain."

"Then we have a deal, Mr. Rafferty."

He nodded once and opened the car door.

"Stay alive for fourteen days, Ms. Pellham."

The next morning, the helicopter waited on the helipad behind the Pellham Talent building.

The crew was loading gear, and the camera operator had already started filming.

Demi stood alone at the edge of the pad.

Celia ran across the tarmac in a white coat, her eyes shining, and pushed a heavy green pack into her arms.

"I packed it myself," she said softly. "I wanted you to be safe."

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