Chapter 5

{Hailey’s Pov}

The Great Room was two-thirds the size of the foyer. An enormous stone fireplace stood at the front. There were gargoyles carved into the sides of the fireplace. Literal gargoyles.

Kiara and I sat on the wingback chairs, three older gentlemen in suits stood, talking to Agnes and her husband.

The lawyers, I realized. After another few minutes, Clara joined them, and I took stock of the other occupants of the room. A White couple, older, in their sixties at least. A Black man, forties, with a military bearing, who stood with his back to a wall and maintained a clear line of sight to both exits. Aaron with what was clearly another Lachlan brother by his side. This one was in his midtwenties. He needed a haircut and had paired his suit with cowboy boots that, like the motorcycle outside, had seen better days.

Luca, I thought, recalling the name that Clara had provided.

“Are you all right, Hailey?” Kiara asked beside me.

“I’m fine,” I told Kiara. But I wasn’t. Even after two years, missing my mom could hit me like a tsunami.

“I’m going to step outside,” I said, forcing a smile. “I just need some air.”

Agnes’s husband stopped me on my way out. “Where are you going? We’re about to start.” He locked a hand over my elbow.

I wrenched my arm out of his grip. I didn’t care who these people were. No one got to lay hands on me. “I was told there are four Lachlan grandsons,” I said, my voice steely. “By my count, you’re still down by one. I’ll be back in a minute. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

I ended up in the backyard instead of the front, if you could even call it a yard. The grounds were immaculately kept. There was a fountain. A statue garden. A greenhouse.

And stretching into the distance, as far as I could see, land.

Some of it was treed. Some were open. But it was easy enough, standing there and looking out, to imagine that a person who walked off to the horizon might never make their way back.

I looked up and saw a boy sitting on the edge of a balcony overhead, balanced precariously on a wrought-iron railing.

Drunk.

“You’re going to fall,” I told him. Not like I care.

He offered me a lazy grin. He had hair darker than Julian’s and lighter than Aaron’s.. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. His torso was lean, his stomach defined. He had a long, thin scar that ran from his collarbone to his hip.

“You must be the mystery girl,” he said.

“I’m Hailey,” I corrected. I’d come out here to get away from the Lachlan and their talks. He brought his feet up to the railing and stood. He wobbled.

He landed right beside me. “You shouldn’t be out here, M.G.” I wasn’t the shirtless one who’d just jumped off a balcony. “Neither should you.”

I stayed out back a few minutes longer. Nothing about this day felt real. And tomorrow, I’d go back to New Orleans, a little richer, hopefully, and with a story to tell, and I’d probably never see any of the Lachlan again.

I’d never have a view like this again.

By the time I returned to the Great Room, Marcus Lachlan had miraculously managed to find a shirt, and a suit jacket. He smiled in my direction and gave a little salute. Beside him, Julian stiffened, his jaw muscle tensing.

“Now that everyone is here,” one of the lawyers said,

“Let's get started.”

The three lawyers stood in a triangle formation. The one who’d spoken shared Clara’s dark hair, brown skin, and self-assured expression. I assumed he was the Smith in McConnell, and Jones. The other two, presumably Jones and McConnell, stood to either side.

Since when does it take three lawyers to read a will? Either George Lachlan had been paranoid, or he’d known his family was going to burn.

“You are here,” Mr. Smith said, projecting his voice to the corners of the room, “to hear the last will and testament of George Lachlan. Per Mr. Lachlan’s instructions, my colleagues will now distribute letters he has left for each of you.”

The other men began to make the rounds of the room, handing out envelopes one by one.

“You may open these letters when the reading is concluded.

I was handed an envelope. My full name was written in calligraphy on the front.Beside me, Kiara leaned forward hopefully, but the lawyer passed her by and went on delivering envelopes to the other occupants of the room.

“Mr. Lachlan stipulated that all of the following individuals must be physically present for the reading of this will: Agnes Lachlan, Debra Lachlan, Julian Lachlan, Marcus Lachlan, Luca Lachlan,Aaron Lachlan, and Ms. Hailey Vale.”

My stomach dropped.

Every pair of eyes snapped toward me. My ears buzzed like I’d just been slapped.

I’d never felt more naked in my life.

“Since you are all here,” Mr. Smith continued, “we may begin.”

Beside me, Kiara slipped her hand into mine.

“I, George Joe Lachlan,” Mr. Smith read, “Being of sound body and mind, decree that my worldly possessions, including all monetary and physical assets, be disposed of as follows.

I braced myself. But it started… tame.

“To Mark and Kate Wilson, for years of loyal service, I bequeath a sum of one hundred thousand dollars, with lifelong, rent-free tenancy granted in Wayback Cottage, located on the western border of my New York estate.”

The older couple I’d seen earlier leaned into each other. All I could think was: ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS. The Wilson’s presence was not mandatory for the reading of the will, and they’d just been given one hundred thousand dollars. For just being nice employees?

I tried very hard to remember how to breathe.

“To Williams Brown, head of my security detail, who has saved my life more times and in more ways than I can count, I leave the contents of my toolbox, held currently in the offices of McConnell, and Jones, as well as a sum of three hundred thousand dollars.”

I blinked. Three hundred grand and a mystery toolbox? George Lachlan was handing out fortunes like candy.

George Lachlan knew these people, I told myself, heart thumping. They worked for him. They mattered to him. I’m nothing.

To…” He paused and then tried again. “To my daughters, Agnes Lachlan and Debra Hawthorne, I leave the funds necessary to pay off all debts accrued as of the date and the time of my death.” Mr. Smith paused again, his lips pushing themselves together. The other two lawyers stared straight ahead, avoiding looking at any member of the Lachlan family directly.

The room thickened

“Additionally, I leave to Agnes my compass, may she always know true north, and to Debra, I leave my wedding ring, may she love as wholly and steadfastly as I loved her mother.”

Another pause, more painful than the last.

“Go on.” That came from Agnes’s husband.

“To each of my daughters,” Mr. Ortega read slowly, “beyond that already stated, I leave a one-time inheritance of fifty thousand dollars.”

Fifty thousand dollars? I’d no sooner thought those words that Agnes’s husband echoed out loud.

George Lachaln left his daughters less than he left his security detail.

Suddenly, Debra’s reference to Grayson as the heir apparent took on a whole new meaning.

“You did this.” Agnes turned toward Debra. She didn’t raise her voice, but it was deadly all the same.

“Me?” Debra scoffed, “Daddy was never the same after Leonard died,” Agnes continued.

“Disappeared,” Debra corrected.

“God, listen to you!” Agnes lost her hold on her tone. “You got in his head, didn’t you, Debra? Batted your eyelashes and convinced him to bypass us and leave everything to

your—”

“Sons.” Debra cut in shape as a blade. “The word you’re looking for is sons.”

Aaron’s voice rolled in, thick with a New York accent“The word she’s looking for is bastard, Not that we haven't heard it before.”