Chapter 37

{Hailey’s pov}

I found myself listening, wondering: Was anyone back there? You won’t last a month in this house. I didn’t think Julian had meant that as a physical threat—and Williams certainly hadn’t reacted as if my life were being threatened. Still, I shivered.

“Hailey? There’s something I have to show you.” Kaira flipped open my new tablet’s cover.

“Just for the record, it’s okay if you want to yell. “Why would I—” I cut off when I saw what she’d pulled up. It was a video of Craig. He was standing next to a reporter. The fact that his hair was combed told me that the interview hadn’t been a total surprise. The caption across the screen read: Friend of the Vale family.

“Hailey was always a loner,” Craig said on-screen. “She didn’t have any friends. I’m not saying she was a bad person. I think she was just kind of desperate for attention. She wanted to matter. A girl like that, a rich old man…” He trailed off. “Let’s just say that there were definite daddy issues.” Kaira cut the video off there.

“Can I see that?” I asked, gesturing toward the tablet with murder in my heart—and probably my eyes.

“That’s the worst of it,” Kaira assured me. “Would you like to yell now?”

Not at you. I took the tablet and scrolled through the related videos—all of them interviews or think pieces, all about me. Former classmates. Coworkers.. I ignored the interviews until I got to one that I couldn’t ignore. It was labeled: Agnes Lachlan and Debra Lachlan.

The two of them stood behind a podium at what appeared to be some kind of press conference.

“Our father was a great man.” Debra’s hair whipped in a subtle wind. The expression on her face was stoic. “He was a revolutionary entrepreneur, a once-in-a-generation philanthropist, and a man who valued family above all else.” She took Agnes’s hand. “As we grieve his passing, rest assured that we will not see his life’s work die with him.

The Lachlan Foundation will continue operations. My father’s numerous investments will undergo no immediate changes. While we cannot comment on the complex legalities of the current situation, I can assure you that we are working with the authorities, elder-abuse specialists, and a team of medical and legal professionals to get to the bottom of this situation.” She turned to Debra’s whose eyes brimmed with unshed tears—perfect, picturesque, dramatic.

“Our father was our hero,” Agnes declared. “We will not allow him, in death, to become a victim. To that end, we are providing the press with the results of a genetic test that proves conclusively that, contrary to the libelous reports and speculation circulating in the tabloids, Hailey Vale is not the result of infidelity on the part of our father, who was faithful to his beloved wife, our mother, for the entirety of their marriage. We as a family are as bewildered at recent events as all of you, but genes don’t lie. Whatever else this girl may be, she is not a Lachlan.” The video cut off. Dumbfounded, I thought back to Julian’s parting shot. I’d lay money that you’re gone within the week.

“Elder-abuse specialists?” Kaira was agog and aghast beside me. “And the authorities,” I added. “Plus a team of medical specialists. She might not have come right out and said that I’m under investigation for defrauding a dementia-ridden old man, but she sure as hell implied it.”

“She doesn’t get to do that.” Kaira was pissed—a blue-haired, ponytailed, gothic ball of fury. “She can’t just say whatever she wants. Call Clara. You have lawyers!” What I had was a headache. This wasn’t unexpected. Given the size of the fortune at stake, it was inevitable. Williams had warned me that the women would come after me in the courtroom.

“I’ll call Clara tomorrow,” I told Libby. “Right now, I'm going to bed.”

*****

They don’t have a legal leg to stand on. I didn’t have to call Clara in the morning. She showed up and found me.

“Rest assured, we will shut this down. My father will be meeting with Agnes and Maxwell later today.”

“Maxwell?” I asked.

“Agnes’s husband.”

Linda uncle, I thought.

“They know, of course, that they stand to lose a great deal by challenging their will. Agnes’ debts are substantial, and they won’t be cleared if she files a suit. What Agnes and Maxwell don’t know, and what my father will make very clear to them, is that even if a judge were to rule Mr. Lachlan's latest will be null and void, the distribution of his estate would then be governed by his prior will, and that will leave the Lachlan family even less than this one.”

Traps upon traps. I thought about what Marcus said after the will had been read, and then I thought about the conversation I’d had with Aaron over scones. Even if you thought that you’d manipulated our grandfather into this, I guarantee that he’d be the one manipulating you.

“How long ago did George write his prior will?” I asked, wondering if its only purpose had been to reinforce this one.

“Twenty years ago in August.” Clara ruled out that possibility. “The entire estate was to go to charity.”

“Twenty years?” I repeated. That was longer than any of the Lachlan grandsons. "He disinherited his daughters twenty years ago and never told them?”

“Apparently so. And in answer to your query yesterday”— Clara was nothing if not efficient—“the firm’s records show that Mr. Lachlan legally changed his name twenty years ago last August. Prior to that, he had no middle name.”

George Lachlan had given himself a middle name at the same time he’d disinherited his family. Joe. Given everything that Marcus and Aaron had told me about their grandfather, that seemed like a message. Leaving the money to me—and before me, to charity—wasn’t the point. Disinheriting his family was.

“What the hell happened twenty years ago in August?”

I asked.

Clara seemed to be weighing her response. My eyes narrowed, and I wondered if any part of her was still loyal, to the Lachlan

“Mr. Lachlan and his wife lost their son that summer. Leonard. He was nineteen, the youngest of their children.” Clara paused, then forged on. “Leonard had taken several friends to one of his parents’ vacation homes. There was a fire. Leonard and three other young people perished.” I tried to wrap my mind around what she was saying: George Lachlan had written his daughters out of his will after the death of his son. He was never the same after

Leonard died. Agnes had said that when she’d thought she’d been passed over for her sister’s sons. I searched my mind for Debra’s reply. Disappeared, Debra had insisted, and Agnes had lost it.

“Why would Debra say that Leonard disappeared?"

Clara was caught off guard by my question—clearly, she didn’t remember the exchange at the reading of the will.

“Between the fire and a storm that night,” Clara said, once she’d recovered, “Leonard’s remains were never definitively found.” My brain worked overtime trying to integrate this information. “Couldn’t Agnes and Debra have their lawyer argue that the old will was invalid, too?” I asked. “Written under duress, or he was mad with grief, or something like that?”

“Mr. Lachlan signed a document reaffirming his will yearly,” Clara told me. “He never changed it, until you.” Until me. My entire body tingled, just thinking about it.

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

“Last year.”

What could have happened to make George Lachlan decide that instead of leaving his entire fortune to charity, he was going to leave it to me?

Maybe he knew my mother. Maybe he knew she died. Maybe he was sorry .

“Now, if your curiosity has been sated,” Clara said, “I would like to return to more pressing issues. I believe my father can get a handle on Agnes and Maxwell. Our biggest remaining PR issue is…” Clara steeled herself.

“Your friend ”

“Kaira?” That hadn’t been what I was expecting.

“It’s to everyone’s benefit if she lies low.”

“How could she possibly lie low?” I asked. This was the biggest story on the planet.

“For the immediate future, I’ve advised her to stay on the estate,” Clara said, and I thought about Kaira’s comment that she had nothing but time. “Eventually, she can think about charity work, if she would like, but for the time being, we need to be able to control the narrative, and your friend has a way of… drawing attention.” I wasn’t sure if that was a reference to Kaira’s fashion choices or her black eye. Anger bubbled up inside me. “My friend can wear whatever she wants,” I said flatly. “She can do whatever she wants. If New York high society tabloids don’t like it, that’s too damn bad.”

“This is a delicate situation,” Clara replied calmly.

“Especially with the press. And Kaira…”

“She hasn’t talked to the press,” I said, as sure of that as I was of my own name.

“Her ex-boyfriend has. . He is looking for ways to cash in.” Clara gave me a look. “I don’t need to tell you that most lottery winners find their existence made miserable as they drown in requests and demands from family and friends. You are blessedly short on both. Kaira however, is another matter.”

If Kaira had been the one to inherit, instead of me, she would have been incapable of saying no. She would have given and given to everyone who managed to get their hooks in her.