The elevator chimed.
Liam stepped in, looking unsure. He was dressed modestly—black slacks, a gray shirt—but something about him had shifted since the will reading. A heavier presence. Or maybe just a heavier burden.
"Matteo," Liam said calmly. "I know you're upset—"
"Don't." Matteo raised a hand. "Don't stand there and pretend this wasn't a setup. You knew, didn't you? That you'd inherit more?"
"I didn't," Liam replied. "I swear I didn't know he'd name me acting CEO."
Elisa turned, finally facing both of them. "Whether you knew or not doesn't matter now. What matters is what you'll do with it."
Liam glanced at her, wary. "Do you... resent it?"
"No," she said, voice level. "But I'll be watching. Closely. You were given the name. It's up to you to prove you deserve it."
Silence again.
Then Matteo leaned on the counter and let out a bitter laugh.
"You two really think this is about the company? He lied to all of us."
Elisa's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
Matteo pulled a small flash drive from his jacket pocket. He tossed it on the table with a dramatic flick.
"He's been hiding something. This came from his safe in Milan. One of the assistants forwarded it to me after his death. You'll want to watch it."
Liam's fingers hovered over the drive.
"Go ahead," Matteo said. "Find out who Papa really was when no one was looking."
The screen glowed against the dim light.
A video file opened. Arnulfo appeared, older, frailer, but composed. He sat behind his Paris studio desk, a sketchbook beside him.
"If you're watching this, then I'm dead," he began. "And you're angry. Probably divided. But I need you to understand the truth."
He paused, then looked straight at the camera.
"Liam was not a mistake. Nor was he a secret. Your mother—Teresa—and I, we were already falling apart when he was born. But I didn't hide him out of shame. I did it because the industry... our world... isn't kind to things that don't fit their timeline of perfection."
Elisa exhaled sharply.
Arnulfo continued:
"There is also another thing. A project—an account—registered under Rivera Creative Holdings. You won't find it in our official books. It holds my last collaboration: a fashion archive—something far beyond what any of you have seen. I wanted to leave it for Liam... and for you to build it together. As equals."
The screen faded to black.
Back in the penthouse, tension thickened like blood.
Elisa stared at Liam. "He hid a project from us?"
Matteo paced. "And gave you the key? This isn't just a power grab—it's a provocation."
Liam, stunned, looked between them. "Then let's go through it. Together."
Elisa hesitated. "If you're serious... we start by finding out exactly what this Rivera Creative Holdings is holding."
Matteo scoffed but didn't protest.
They didn't notice it, but something had changed—an uneasy alliance, born not of trust, but necessity.
Because somewhere in that digital vault, under layers of sketches, secrets and suppressed legacies, lay the truth about the man they all loved and the empire they all stood to lose.
Thursday morning. The Rivera Building, Makati.
Outside, reporters swarmed like bees around spilled champagne. Camera flashes lit up the glass façade, microphones stretched toward anyone in designer suits walking through the entrance.
"Is it true the illegitimate son is now running the empire?"
"Is this a scandal or a succession?"
"Will the board oust Liam Rivera?"
Security held back the chaos. Inside, tension pulsed like a fashion show gone wrong.
At the Rivera boardroom, the atmosphere was just as volatile.
"He's too young."
"He's too inexperienced."
"He's not even fully legitimate!"
These were just a few of the statements slung like daggers across the polished table.
Chairwoman Beatrice Sanglay, Arnulfo's oldest confidante and investor since the 1990s, cleared her throat.
"He was designated Officer-in-Charge months ago—with full board consent."
"Yes, but that was under Arnulfo's shadow," barked Mr. Caluya, an old shareholder. "Now that the founder is dead, the board must reassess."
Elisa entered silently. Liam trailed behind, looking steady despite the whispers.
"Let's make one thing clear," Elisa began, her voice as smooth and sharp as silk shears. "Liam didn't seize power. Father entrusted him the role after months of training—he sat in every board meeting, made every financial report, pitched every quarterly campaign."
"Aren't you concerned this affects our valuation?" another investor interjected. "The press calls him a 'secret heir.' That's not good branding."
"You mean it's not good for your stocks," Matteo said, suddenly appearing at the doorway, arms crossed. "Let's not pretend this is about legacy. This is about money. The company's stable. Sales are up. You just don't like how the story sounds."
"That story matters," Caluya insisted. "Perception drives luxury. And no one buys from a brand shrouded in scandal."
Liam finally spoke.
"Then let's change the narrative," he said. "Not with PR. With vision. Show them we're not a broken family fighting over threads—we're evolving. Like fashion should."
Beatrice nodded slowly. "You'll still need a vote of confidence tomorrow. Officially. You'll need to show something no one expects."
That night. The Rivera Archives, Basement Level 2.
Dim lights flickered as Liam, Elisa and Matteo descended down the secret room. With them was Atty. Ma. Rosario de Guia, Arnulfo's longtime lawyer, dressed in a deep navy pantsuit, expression unreadable.
She held a biometric key—a slim silver card only Arnulfo could authorize.
"Rivera Creative Holdings wasn't on any official record," Elisa said. "Why hide it?"
"Because it wasn't just a business," Atty. de Guia replied. "It was Arnulfo's secret Researcg and Development—design labs, technology-aided projects, data-driven couture concepts. It was his attempt to outlive himself."
They reached the vault door. De Guia placed the card into the scanner, followed by Liam's thumbprint.
With a mechanical sigh, the doors slid open.
Inside was a sleek space—part archive, part laboratory. Holograms flickered on startup. Digital mannequins rotated in mid-air. A large monitor displayed one phrase:
R•EVOLUTION – Rivera Eternal Vision
Files auto-loaded. A virtual assistant—designed in Arnulfo's voice—began:
"Welcome. If you are accessing this, then the company's future is no longer in my hands. Rivera Creative Holdings was my last stitch—an enhanced fashion line, adaptable garments, dynamic fabric simulations and a virtual design studio accessible to global talent. I designed this for Liam to lead—but only if his siblings would build it with him."
The siblings stood frozen.
"He wanted us to work together," Liam said softly.
Matteo laughed under his breath. "And still left you the keys."
"No," de Guia interrupted. "He left me the final access. And I only unlock it if all three of you sign a memorandum of cooperation. No legal war. No corporate sabotage."
She looked at them all.
"Do you want to inherit a legacy—or destroy it for pride?"
The silence lingered like the scent of an unopened atelier.
Then Elisa stepped forward.
"I'll sign," she said. "But only if Matteo does too."
Matteo paused… then gave a slow nod.
"I'll sign. For now."
Liam looked at the two of them—his blood, his rivals, his hope—and for the first time since Arnulfo's death, he allowed himself to believe.
Maybe they could carry the Rivera empire forward.
But tomorrow was Friday—and in the boardroom, no one wore loyalty on their sleeve.