I didn’t speak a single word until I was eight years old. Everyone in the Sterling family called me a retard. My mother would wipe her tears in secret, convinced she had given birth to an autistic daughter. My father’s eyes were always filled with disappointment when he looked at me. Yet, out of sheer pride and concern for his image, he never sent me to a special needs school. Then came the day a Wall Street shark marched into our headquarters to force a hostile takeover. He was so arrogant that he verbally slaughtered the entire boardroom, leaving a room full of elite executives shivering in silence. No one dared to breathe. I stood in the corner, bored to tears. I was annoyed. So, I took a step forward. And spoke the very first words of my life. Chapter 1 My name is Eleanor Sterling. The eldest granddaughter of the Sterling family, and the sole direct heir to Sterling Enterprises. By all accounts, this was a life born with a diamond-encrusted silver spoon. But I was eight years old, and I still hadn’t said a word. Everyone in the Sterling empire knew the truth: the eldest heiress was a dimwit. My mother, Grace, came from an old-money Boston academic family. She was gentle, cultured, and poured every ounce of her love into me. She would hold me, teaching me with endless patience. “Eleanor, say it with Mommy. Mom… my…” I would just look at her, silent. The light in her eyes would slowly dim. Then she would turn her back, secretly dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a tissue. She thought I couldn't see. But I knew everything. It wasn't that I couldn’t speak; I just didn’t want to. I had been reincarnated with my memories intact. In my previous life, I was an exhausted, fast-talking financial analyst. I had spent thirty years talking until my throat bled, and I was utterly burnt out. In this life, I just wanted to be a quiet, useless rich kid and enjoy the ride. But I underestimated the weight of the title “Sterling Heiress.” It wasn't just a symbol of wealth; it was a shackle. My father, Arthur Sterling, the CEO of Sterling Enterprises, was a cutthroat businessman. Every time he looked at me, there was a glimmer of hope. “Eleanor, do you know what this is?” He’d point to the numbers on a quarterly financial report. I would nod. “Can you tell Daddy what our net profit is for this quarter?” I would reach out my little hand and accurately tap the exact figure. The hope in his eyes would flare brighter. And then, he would ask the question he wanted the answer to most. “Eleanor, call me Daddy. Just once. Let me hear it.” I would look at him, remaining completely mute. The light in his eyes would extinguish instantly, like a bucket of ice water over an open flame. All that was left was disappointment. A thick, suffocating disappointment. He would sit in silence for a long time, then stand up and storm out. Sigh. That heavy sigh felt like it could shatter the glass walls of the entire executive floor. I knew that if I wasn't the only direct granddaughter, and if my mother’s family wasn't so influential, my position as the heir would have been stripped away years ago. The looks my cousins gave me had also morphed from initial intimidation to undisguised mockery. “Eleanor, did you understand a single thing the French tutor said today?” The one speaking was my Uncle Robert’s daughter, Chloe. She was only a year younger than me, but she was sharp-tongued, articulate, and deeply favored by my father. I glanced at her, too lazy to engage. That only made her smile wider. “Oh, my bad. I forgot Eleanor is a natural-born genius. She knows everything without having to speak, unlike us ordinary mortals who actually have to study.” “Chloe, don’t be mean,” chimed in Harper, my other cousin, putting on a sickeningly sweet display of fake sympathy. “Eleanor just thinks we’re beneath her. It’s called being a late bloomer. Understand?” They played off each other flawlessly. The nannies and maids standing nearby kept their heads bowed, but their shoulders were shaking slightly. They were laughing. Laughing at the mute idiot. I walked past them, my face expressionless. It was like watching two grasshoppers jumping around in front of me. Boring. And childish. My mother saw all of this, and her heart broke for me. That night, she held me again, her tears soaking the shoulder of my pajamas. “My sweet Eleanor, why won’t you speak?” “Even if it’s just one word. Just one word, and Mommy could die happy.” I could feel her body trembling. It was the raw despair of a mother. My heart wasn’t made of stone. In that moment, my resolve wavered. Maybe… maybe it was time to open my mouth. Just as I parted my lips, trying to force out a rusty syllable. Rapid footsteps echoed outside the study. Mr. Carson, our veteran butler, practically stumbled into the room. “Mrs. Sterling! It’s bad!” “The team from New York is here!” “That Wall Street shark, Marcus Thorne—he’s already in the building!” My mother’s face went pale. Marcus Thorne. That name was a dark cloud hanging over Sterling Enterprises. He was Wall Street’s most vicious vulture, specializing in aggressively shorting and acquiring legacy family corporations. In the past few years, he had already swallowed up three companies the size of ours. “What is he doing here?” my mother asked. Mr. Carson’s voice was trembling. “He… he says he’s here to negotiate a buyout. He was incredibly disrespectful. He said he’s here to give the Sterling family a ‘dignified exit from the stage of history’!” My mother staggered back, gripping the edge of the mahogany desk for support. A “negotiated buyout” was just corporate speak for a hostile takeover. A massive storm was about to hit. I looked up at the gray sky outside the window. Well then. It looked like my dream of being a quiet, useless rich kid was officially over. Fine. There are always some blind flies that insist on forcing a sleeping lion—no, a lioness—to open her eyes. My father called an emergency meeting of all family members and core executives in the top-floor boardroom. I was dragged along and placed in the corner. It was tradition; the eldest heir was required to audit major family decisions. Normally, I would just find a corner, stand there all morning, and zone out. But today, the atmosphere was toxic. You could hear a pin drop in the boardroom. The faces of the executives were ashen with humiliation. My father sat at the head of the table, his face dark as thunder. Standing opposite him was a tall man in a bespoke suit. Behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses were eyes as sharp as a falcon’s. This was Marcus Thorne. A ruthless predator raised in the concrete jungle of Wall Street. “Mr. Sterling, is this your company’s idea of hospitality?” Marcus spoke, his voice dripping with condescension. “I flew in from New York on a private jet for this, and this is what you show me?” He pointed a long, manicured finger at the terrified executives shrinking in their seats. “A room full of glorified bean-counters!” “I talk capital, and you talk about sentiment.” “I talk market trends, and you talk about your century-old legacy.” “Pathetic!” “Utterly pathetic!” He let out a brazen, arrogant laugh. The sound echoed painfully through the solemn boardroom. “Mr. Thorne!” The Chief Financial Officer, Mr. Henderson, stood up, shaking with rage. “This is the board of Sterling Enterprises! You will not speak to us this way!” Marcus shot him a sideways glance, sneering. “Henderson. I remember you.” “You’re the one who kept rambling yesterday about how ‘family businesses have a soul.’” “Let me tell you how Wall Street works. A soul without profit is just a corpse!” “Only the weak use sentiment to mask their incompetence!” Mr. Henderson’s face turned purple. He pointed a trembling finger at Marcus. “You… you…” He couldn’t catch his breath, and suddenly, he collapsed backward. “Mr. Henderson!” The people next to him scrambled to catch him. The boardroom erupted into chaos. My father slammed his hand on the table and roared, “Enough!” Marcus dialed it back slightly, but the contempt on his face remained. He gave my father a mock salute, totally dismissive. “Mr. Sterling, I won’t waste your time.” “The investment committee at my hedge fund has made its decision. Your stock won’t survive the next fiscal year.” “Sell it now, and we’ll give you three billion.” “If you wait for us to start shorting you, you’ll be lucky to walk away with a billion.” “Also, that prime real estate you own on the Southside? We’re taking it for luxury condo development.” “Oh, and I hear your R&D team is decent. We plan to poach the entire department…” Before he could even finish. The boardroom exploded. A lowball buyout, stealing their prime real estate, and gutting their core tech team! Was this a negotiation? This was a butchering! “This is extortion!” “Get the hell out of our building!” “Arthur, we have to fight him!” On Uncle Robert’s side of the table, several hot-tempered shareholders couldn’t hold back anymore. Marcus sneered. “Fight?” “Be my guest.” He looked directly at Uncle Robert. “I know you. You’re Robert, the second brother, right? Three years ago, how much did you lose on that commercial real estate venture you spearheaded? Two hundred million? Three hundred million?”內 Uncle Robert’s face flushed crimson, like he had just been slapped. The veins in his neck popped, but he couldn't form a single word of defense. Marcus turned his gaze to another executive. “And you, the CMO? How much did you burn on ad spend during Cyber Monday last year? What was your conversion rate? Did that pathetic bump in sales even cover the marketing budget?” The CMO lowered his head in utter shame. Marcus’s eyes swept the room, and every single person who had been shouting just seconds ago fell dead silent. The boardroom descended into silence once more. A humiliating, powerless silence. I stood in the corner, watching it all. These were the so-called elites of Sterling Enterprises. The CFO couldn't handle the heat, and the CMO had his worst failures weaponized against him. A room full of powerful executives was being verbally slaughtered by a Wall Street vulture, and not one of them had the backbone to fight back. I was getting sleepy. Honestly. This scene was even more pathetic than I had anticipated. It was like watching a group of grown men getting cornered in an alley by a street thug, getting slapped one by one, and none of them even daring to squeak. My father’s chest was heaving. I knew he was on the verge of exploding. But he couldn’t. Because everything Marcus had said was true. Sterling Enterprises' profits were dropping. This was the tragedy of the weak. Marcus was highly satisfied with the effect he’d created. He cleared his throat, ready to lay out even more outrageous demands. “Since no one has any objections, I’ll assume we’re all in agreement.” “Our fund also requires…” His incessant talking sounded like a fly buzzing endlessly in my ear. I really had intended to just be a quiet spectator. But this fly was just too loud. I was annoyed. I was genuinely annoyed. In this deathly quiet room, where everyone had their heads bowed, no one noticed me in the corner. I moved. I took a step forward. Just one step. Out of the shadows of the corner, and into the harsh overhead light. Chapter 2 That step was light. But in the dead silence of the boardroom, it landed like a thunderclap. Everyone’s eyes instinctively snapped toward me. They saw me. An eight-year-old girl in a custom-tailored dress, looking like a porcelain doll. Their eyes were blank at first, then filled with shock. Eleanor Sterling? The mute? What was she doing? My mother, sitting beside my father, saw me too. Her eyes widened with panic and worry. She reached out a hand, as if trying to call me back, but didn't dare make a sound. My father frowned deeply, his eyes flashing with confusion and a hint of displeasure. My cousins, Chloe and Harper, exchanged a look of pure anticipation. Their expressions practically screamed: Is the idiot about to humiliate herself in front of everyone? Marcus noticed me too. He looked down at me from his towering height, a cruel, mocking smile spreading across his face. “Oh? Whose kid is this?” “Is Sterling Enterprises out of capable men? You’re sending a child to the front lines?” He intentionally raised his voice. “Little girl, are you here to talk to me about sentiment, too?” “Or is your daddy offering you up as my goddaughter to sweeten the deal?” He threw his head back and laughed loudly. The shareholders let out collective, suppressed gasps, their faces burning with humiliation and rage. Insulting a child was insulting the entire bloodline. Yet, they still didn't dare speak up. I ignored every single one of them. My eyes were locked solely on Marcus, who was yapping away like a circus clown. I looked at him, and then, I opened my mouth. And spoke the very first words of my life in this world. “Are you done?” My voice was youthful, but my enunciation was razor-sharp, the tone absolutely freezing, devoid of a single drop of emotion. The entire boardroom instantly plunged into a bizarre silence, even more profound than before. Everyone froze. Because they understood. Every single person in that room understood. The mute heiress had spoken. And her English was flawless, carrying the crisp, aggressive cadence of the East Coast elite. The smile on Marcus’s face instantly crystallized. His sharp eyes blew wide open with sheer, unadulterated shock. It was as if he had just seen a ghost in broad daylight. He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing. A strangled, choking sound came from his throat, like an invisible hand was crushing his windpipe. “You…” He barely managed to force out a single word. I stared at him, my expression blank. And I continued. “If you're finished, get out.” Those six words slammed into Marcus’s chest like a sledgehammer. His body violently swayed. The color drained from his face entirely, leaving him a sickening shade of gray. If my first sentence caused shock. This sentence caused terror. A bone-chilling, soul-crushing terror. Because in the inner circles of Wall Street, "If you're finished, get out," wasn’t just a casual insult. It was legendary. It was the exact phrase George Soros had supposedly delivered to his rivals decades ago after breaking the Bank of England. It was lore. It was a myth. It was a historic quote that only the most cutthroat, top-tier financial predators knew about! He looked at me, this eight-year-old girl, and his eyes completely changed. He wasn’t looking at a mute child anymore. He was looking at a monster wearing human skin. “Who… who the hell are you?” He asked, his voice shaking uncontrollably. The other people in the boardroom were completely dumbfounded. They understood the words, but they couldn't comprehend the scene unfolding before them. The Wall Street Wolf who, just seconds ago, had been arrogantly trampling a room full of corporate elites, was now trembling like a frightened rabbit in front of an eight-year-old girl. What… what on earth was happening? My father shot up from his leather chair. His eyes were wide, staring at me with a terrifying intensity. His face was a mix of shock, ecstasy, and endless confusion. My mother slapped both hands over her mouth, tears flooding her eyes as she desperately held back her sobs. I didn't answer Marcus’s question. I just kept speaking, my voice eerily calm. “That hedge fund you claim to represent? It’s just a marginalized spin-off from Goldman Sachs. The real whales pulled their capital years ago. All you’re managing now is a pool of stale pension funds.” “Three years ago, when you shorted that Silicon Valley tech startup, you didn’t rely on brilliant market analysis. You bribed their CFO to get your hands on their unreleased earnings reports.” “Last year, when you acquired that software company, your so-called proprietary valuation model was ripped straight from a five-year-old McKinsey template. You got taken for a three-hundred-million-dollar ride, and you actually thought you won. Right?” “And now.” I offered a small smile. In Marcus’s eyes, that smile was more terrifying than the devil himself. “You came here to acquire Sterling Enterprises with a hard bottom line of two billion. If my father played hardball, you were authorized to go up to two point five billion.” “Because your cash flow is dangerously tight. If you don't close a major deal right now, you won't even be able to pay out year-end bonuses.” “You don't even have the capital stomach to swallow Sterling Enterprises. You just want to close a flashy deal before Q4 earnings to appease your panicked investors.” “Tell me. Am I right, or am I right?” I finished speaking and looked at him quietly. Thud! Marcus couldn't hold himself up any longer. His knees buckled, and right in front of the entire executive board, he collapsed onto the floor. He stared at me, pressing his hands against the carpet, cold sweat pouring down his forehead. His voice was laced with a whimper. “My God… My God…” The room was dead silent. Everyone was utterly paralyzed by the surreal, magical scene playing out. I didn't look at him anymore. I turned around, facing my father, who was standing at the head of the table, equally shell-shocked. I switched from my aggressive Wall Street tone to perfectly calm English. My voice was youthful, but impossibly clear. “Dad.” “I have something to say.” My single “Dad” was like a boulder dropped into a stagnant pond. It triggered a tidal wave. The boardroom transitioned from deathly silence into an uncontrollable, erupting uproar. “Eleanor spoke!” “Thank God! She isn't a mute!” “She can talk! She can actually talk!” One of the older shareholders was so emotional he was weeping. He stood up, pointing a trembling finger at Marcus. “Do you see this?! This is the eldest granddaughter of the Sterling family! The future heir!” The rest of the room looked at me like they were witnessing a divine miracle. Shock. Awe. Unbelievable disbelief. A child who hadn’t uttered a sound in eight years. The moment she opened her mouth, she spoke flawless, ruthless English. In a few short sentences, she had brought the arrogant Wall Street elite to his knees, shivering in fear. This couldn't be explained away as "being a late bloomer." This was a miracle. A living, breathing miracle! My mother couldn't support her own weight anymore and slumped softly into her chair. The nanny next to her quickly caught her. I could hear her muffled, suppressed sobs of pure joy. The expressions on my cousins’ faces were absolutely priceless. The mockery and schadenfreude were completely wiped away. Replaced by the same terrified, ghost-seeing shock as everyone else. And a deep, poorly concealed layer of… fear. They were no longer looking at an idiot. They were looking at a terrifying, incomprehensible entity. My father. He stood at the head of the conference table, his towering frame trembling slightly. Not from anger. But from extreme, overwhelming excitement. His eyes, hardened by decades of corporate warfare, were shining brighter than they ever had before. Inside them was ecstasy, awe, and the thrill of recovering a lost treasure. But also, just like my cousins… confusion. He walked around the heavy conference table, step by step, until he stopped right in front of me. This corporate titan who controlled a multi-billion-dollar empire, the man who was my father by blood. He looked down at me with a complex, intense gaze I had never seen before. His lips moved, as if he wanted to ask a million questions, but didn't know where to start. Finally, he slowly reached out a trembling hand and gently rested it on the top of my head. His palm was warm. And large. It carried the weight of a powerful CEO, and the rare, tender warmth of a father. “Eleanor…” His voice was incredibly hoarse. “What you… what you just said. Is it true?” He was, of course, asking about the internal secrets I had exposed about Marcus’s fund. I looked up, met his gaze, and nodded calmly. “Every single word.” My voice wasn't loud, but it echoed clearly across the room. The shouting and murmurs died down instantly. Everyone held their breath, straining their ears. My father took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. “How… how do you know all this?” That was the million-dollar question. The biggest mystery in everyone's mind. How could an eight-year-old possibly know the highly classified internal struggles of a New York hedge fund? I looked into my father's eyes. I knew that my answer right now would dictate the rest of my life. If I told him I had the memories of a past life? He would think I was a demon and lock me in a psychiatric ward to be studied. I had to give him an answer he could comprehend, accept, and be willing to believe. So, I spoke. “I don't know.” “Ever since I can remember, strange numbers and images have constantly flashed through my mind.” “It’s like a dream. There’s a voice that constantly teaches me about finance, economics, and corporate case studies.” “I thought they were just dreams, so I never told anyone.” “The English… the voice taught me that in my dreams, too.” “As for Marcus’s secrets…” I paused for a second, allowing a perfectly calculated look of childlike confusion to cross my face. “Just now, while he was talking, all that information just naturally appeared in my head.” “It’s almost like… I was just born knowing it.” I finished speaking and looked at him quietly. A divine dream. Born with innate knowledge. Those concepts struck everyone like lightning bolts. It was incredibly mystical, yet… somehow entirely convincing! There was literally no other explanation for what had just happened to an eight-year-old girl! My father’s body jolted again. He looked at me, the confusion in his eyes fading, replaced by a fervent, burning light. He threw his head back and laughed loudly. It was a booming, triumphant laugh, filled with years of repressed frustration finally breaking free. “Hahahaha!” “Good! A divine dream! Born a genius!” “My daughter is no idiot!” “Arthur Sterling’s daughter is a natural-born business prodigy!” He reached down and scooped me up into his arms. I was small, and he easily hoisted me high into the air. He turned to face the room full of executives, his voice ringing like a bell, radiating unprecedented pride and authority. “Listen to me, all of you!” “As of today, Eleanor Sterling officially joins the core executive committee of Sterling Enterprises!” “Every major decision must have her approval!” The room gasped in collective shock. An eight-year-old on the core executive committee? Every major decision needing her approval? That was an astronomical level of importance and trust! He was practically handing over half of the Sterling empire to me on the spot! Uncle Robert’s face instantly drained of color. He knew his chances of ever taking over were officially dead. I looked down from my father's arms at the faces below—some ecstatic, some reverent, some jealous, some terrified. But my heart remained perfectly calm. I knew. From today on. My dream of being a useless rich kid was permanently, irreversibly dead. And my very first executive decision involved the Wall Street wolf still shivering on the carpet. I looked down at him from my father's arms and spoke casually. “Dad, regarding this buyout.” “I think we reject the three billion.” “We keep the Southside real estate.” “And there is absolutely no way they are touching our tech team.” “Instead.” I paused, my voice turning icy. “We should send an aggressive legal team, armed with our terms, to fly back to New York with this man.” My father looked at me, highly amused. “Oh? Our terms? What terms?” I smiled. “Simple.” “Their fund will issue a formal, public apology to Sterling Enterprises.” “They will pay fifty million dollars in damages for the brand injury caused by their malicious shorting rumors.” “And they will license the proprietary tech from that software company they acquired to us at a heavily discounted rate.” “Otherwise.” “When their cash flow officially breaks, we’ll be the ones acquiring them.”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "395340", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel