Page 11 of The Last Morgan

The car glided through the city. The closer they got, the heavier the air felt.

As they turned the final corner and the towering glass skyscraper came into view, something shifted in Lucy’s chest.

The sleek, silver lettering at the top gleamed in the morning sun: THE MORGAN GROUP.

It was a name she was born into. A name she had every right to reclaim.

But the second the car pulled up to the private entrance and the door opened, it hit her.

The smell of the stone, the scent of fresh polish, the low hum of the lobby beyond — it all hit her like a freight train.

She froze.

Her foot hovered above the curb.

She blinked, trying to steady her breath, but it was no use.

Memories came crashing down, uninvited.

Her father laughing with her as they walked in holding hands.

Her mother, scolding him for spoiling her with another new dress. Her brothers racing each other up the front steps.

Innocent, golden days that turned to ash.

Lucy stumbled back and without thinking, slid back into the car, slamming the door shut behind her.

She pressed her back into the seat, gripping the armrest.

Corey turned slowly. “You alright?” he asked.

She didn’t answer immediately. She was still seeing ghosts.

“Hey,” he said again, a little softer this time. His voice was low and unsure. Emotion was foreign territory for him.

That awkward sincerity made her laugh. A single, unexpected laugh that bubbled out of her chest.

Corey blinked, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to being the soft one.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “It just… hit me harder than I thought.”

Corey shifted in his seat.

“You’re allowed to feel it, you know.”

Lucy looked at him — really looked. Corey never spoke like that. He was rough edges and fight-first. But she knew his story.

He’d been raised with the Oxley’s after his parents gave him up. No murder, no bloodshed — just abandonment.

But that was enough to make him angry. Always angry.

And yet, here he was, showing up for her.

He reached over and gripped her hand, his touch rough but steady.

“I’m here,” he said. “Let’s go.”

That was all Lucy needed.

She stepped out of the car with Corey at her side, their shoes clicking against the marble pavement as they strode toward the glass doors. The building loomed above them, a monolith of power and steel.

She was ready.

Until the first taste of the game met her at the door.

Gerald, the concierge, was already standing behind his desk. He wore a well-pressed uniform and a tense expression. He clearly knew who she was — and who she was coming for.

“Miss Morgan,” he said, voice polite but clipped. “Please take a seat in the waiting area. Someone will be with you shortly.”

Corey narrowed his eyes. “What did you say?”

Gerald didn’t falter, but a hint of discomfort crept into his voice. “If you could take a seat, Miss Morgan. Your arrival was expected.”

“Expected by who?” Corey snapped.

“Your uncle,” Gerald replied. “He asked for you to take a seat in the waiting room.”

So, this was how he wanted to play it.

Corey took a step forward, fury already creeping into his posture. “You know who she is, right? She owns this building. This company. That man upstairs is borrowing a title that belongs to her.”

“I understand,” Gerald said carefully, measured. “But my instructions are to ask her to wait.”

Lucy tilted her head slightly, a wry smile playing at her lips. “He’s trying to assert dominance.”

Corey looked ready to lose it, but Lucy placed a hand on his arm.

“It’s fine,” she said, her voice calm. “This is a tactic. My uncle wants to rattle me before I even get through the elevator doors.”

She turned back to Gerald. “You’re not the enemy here. But do understand this — his days of giving orders are numbered.”

Without waiting for permission, she strode toward the lifts.

Security moved.

Hands twitched toward belts. A silent formation began to tighten.

But then — they were surrounded.

Her Doves.

The Dove of all Doves stepped forward — the grey-eyed one. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He stepped between Lucy and the guards with smooth, deadly efficiency, his stare alone forcing them to hesitate.

Another Dove moved to Gerald’s desk, calmly placing his gun on top of it. A silent message.

The tension in the air thickened.

“Move,” Lucy said coolly. “Or lose your job too.”

The security guards hesitated — then stepped back.

Corey followed at her side, shoulders squared, and behind them, the Dove — still unnamed — moved in silence. She would make a point of learning his name later.

“What floor is he on, Gerald?” Corey asked.

Gerald sighed, then spoke clearly. “Top floor. Executive suite.”

“Thanks,” Lucy said, pressing the button for the lift.

The elevator let out a soft chime, and the polished chrome doors slid open smoothly. Lucy stepped out first.

Every stride she took echoed with purpose, her heels clacking against the marble tiles like a war drum. Corey walked beside her, calm but alert, his eyes scanning the environment as if expecting a trap at every turn. Behind them, the grey-eyed enigma followed in silence, keeping a comfortable but commanding distance.

There were people watching from behind glass office walls—executives and assistants. Some pretending to type, others pretending not to stare. But all of them watched as the ghost of the Morgan family legacy walked back into their kingdom.

Lucy paused outside the tall, double oak doors of the main boardroom. There was a moment of quiet before she pushed them open.

The room was full. Twelve board members sat at the long, sleek black table. Some faces she recognized from photographs. Others were unfamiliar, but the stares and dirty looks from them all made it quite clear; they did not come in peace. At the head, Richard, her uncle stood with his arms crossed, flanked by two legal advisors.

"Ah," Richard said smoothly, "The prodigal niece returns."

Lucy took a breath. Not too deep. Just enough to steady her fire. She stepped fully into the room.

"Good morning," she said, voice cool. "You’re in my chair."

A ripple of laughter from the table made Lucy feel a little uneasy. Richard didn’t move.

"Things have changed, Lucy," he said. "This company has evolved in your absence. We thought you might appreciate easing back in."

Lucy walked slowly to the other end of the table, running her fingers along the edge.

"It's unnecessary, I will just take my rightful place"

Richard shifted, just a flicker. "But you lack Experience, this is theatrical, surely you can see this doesn't make sense."

Lucy turned to him, the faintest smile playing on her lips. "You think this is theatrical?"

Corey stepped forward and placed a file on the table in front of each board member. "This is the breakdown of Miss Morgan’s shares. A clear, legal majority."

One of the older board members picked up the folder, squinting. "This can’t be right."

"It is," Lucy said. "So let’s skip formalities. I’m not here for a ceremonial title. I'm here to take control."

Richard took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Lucy, this isn’t how things are done. You don't storm into the boardroom with soldiers and expect respect."

She turned toward him. "Did you show me that upon my arrival? I've learned very quickly from you that respect isn't given. It's taken."

The room went still.

Richard's jaw tightened. "You're emotional. This company needs stability”.

The grey-eyed Dove took a step forward, his presence a chilling reminder that Lucy was not alone.

She walked past Richard, pulled out the high-backed chair at the head of the table, and sat.

Silence.

Then Lucy spoke. “You’ve all done a spectacular job” She addressed the board. “And you” as she turned towards her uncle, “look like you’ve been having so much fun playing pretend CEO since my parents were killed. But playtime’s over. I’m here now — and starting today, every decision and deal crosses my desk first.”

She looked around the room. "If you have a problem with that, there's the door."

No one moved.

After Lucy's bold declaration, the boardroom was thick with tension. Eyes darted. Throats cleared. The silence was almost satisfying.

"Now," Lucy said smoothly, rising from her seat. "Show me to my office."

Richard stood frozen. "Lucy, your office is being prepared—"

"Wrong answer," she interrupted. "My office is the one my father used to work in; I take it you have been using it?"

A tight silence followed, knowing he had been defeated Richard nodded once to his assistant. Lucy didn’t wait. She turned and left the boardroom with Corey and the grey-eyed Dove close behind.

Richard’s office—now hers—was as grand as she remembered. High windows, sharp lines, walls of heavy books, and clean glass. She stepped inside and let the silence wrap around her. Then she turned to the assistant who followed behind.

"Bring me the directors. One by one. I want to meet the people who have helped run my company."