Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,112

for Daddy’s fortune. Except why wouldn’t he? He’s always wanted money, and Daddy’s money is as good as any.

“Whatever happens, we’ll be okay,” I say, but I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince.

Mom gives a firm shake of her head. “He wouldn’t leave us empty-handed.”

Chapter Eleven

LIQUID AND OTHERWISE

The will reading takes place at my father’s lawyer’s office, which is on the thirty-eighth floor of a building that overlooks a park blooming with pink and white cherry blossoms. It’s strange to see the world so full of life when we’re wearing black and facing death.

Mr. Smith, that’s the name of the lawyer. A plain name for a rather plain man. He looks like he would follow the letter of the law down any path it would take him. Quite the rule follower, and it makes sense that Daddy would have used him for this purpose. Lord knows there are a large group of people who would love to contest even the smallest loophole. It’s standing room only, the wood door propped open to let wives seven and eight peek their heads in from the hallway.

It’s actually as much of a circus as I feared, with my mother and me being granted the dubious honor of the two chairs in front of the desk. It also means everyone can watch us.

Christopher is here, standing in the corner, looking as if he’d like to be anywhere but here—which must be a lie, because he didn’t have to come. Unless he wants the fortune.

Acid burns my throat. So, he’s as money hungry as everyone in this room. I wish I didn’t know that about him. It would have been better not to come, if only to avoid facing that fact.

That Christopher wants Daddy’s fortune.

“Thank you for gathering today,” Mr. Smith says in a voice dry as leaves in the fall. “While many wills are handled via mail, this is a rather unusual case. I have asked any interested parties to attend so that we may all have closure and put an end to the numerous inquiries to the firm.”

In other words the phone must be ringing off the hook with people wanting some of Daddy’s money. My stomach feels inside out. Did he know what kind of mess he would leave behind? He must have thought about it when he wrote whatever’s on that piece of paper the lawyer’s holding. Did he think of how it would feel to be surrounded by so many ex-wives and stepsiblings, all of whom are essentially strangers?

Did he know that Mom would be holding her head high, certain he would stand by her in the end? I sure as hell hope so. We’re about to find out in the most public way.

A violent, hacking clearing of the throat. And then Mr. Smith begins to read. “If you’re reading this, that means I’m finally at peace. And though I’ll miss a good many things on this earth, one of them won’t be the exorbitant amount of money I’ve paid lawyers over the years.”

There’s a nervous laugh from the side that’s abruptly silenced.

In the same monotone Mr. Smith continues, “To the son that I never had, Christopher Bardot, I bequeath Liquid Asset as well as a small trust with which to care for her. I wish we could have sailed together more than once.”

I’m jolted out of my grief-stricken stupor at the sound of his name. A ripple of excitement runs through the room. Christopher isn’t his biological child, which means there’s hope for everyone else in this room.

“As for the rest of my assets, both liquid and otherwise,” Mr. Smith reads, “I bequeath them in entirety to my daughter, Harper St. Claire.”

There’s a gasp in the room, and I’m painfully aware of the looks of pure venom being shot in my direction. All I can do is stare straight ahead, shocked at hearing my father’s final words, even if spoken in a voice so unlike his own. It’s strange that hollowness can feel so solid, a physical sensation that threatens to bend me at the waist. Daddy, come back.

Nothing is so cold and so calculating as money in a void where love and hope had been. I don’t want his billions of dollars, or however much his fortune amounts to. I never did. If there’s one upside in all of this, it’s that Mom will finally be able to relax. A small comfort.

“I have a stipulation for Harper, who is still young and impressionable as I write this.