Page 52 of Chaperoning the Billionaire
The skin beneath Mom’s eyes looked bruised enough that even her skilled hand at makeup couldn’t hide it. She’d obviously spent a restless night. Was it because she’d just lost the last of her parents? Because she was estranged from me, and her son was risking life and limb for the military, God knew where? Per usual, Dad was well appointed in a bespoke suit. He looked perfectly well rested, with an unmistakable gleam of avarice in his eyes, as Mr. O’Shea cleared his throat to begin.
“I have a letter here from Henry, to Victoria and John, that he requested be read first.”
As Nancy slipped into the room and handed me a bottle of water, I nodded in thanks and twisted off the cap.
The lawyer slid a pair of thick, black-framed reading glasses onto his wide nose. “Victoria and John, let me speak plainly now that I've passed.”
I froze, the water bottle halfway to my lips. Uh-oh.
Granddaddy had gotten a lot more salty in his last months without Grandma around to curb him. What had he done?
“Victoria, our relationship since you moved off-island has not been the best. I am regretful that both of us passed without rectifying that. But we did have the great privilege of reconnecting with our granddaughter, Willa. She is a joy and a true testament to the Sutter name. I can’t say that any of that can be credited to either of you.”
I was barely breathing. Despite the fact that Mr. O’Shea was using a fairly inflectionless tone, I heard every word in my grandfather’s booming captain’s voice, and as such, each one hit with the weight of a fist.
“John, I’m dead now, so I feel safe in saying that I never liked you. I don’t like who my daughter became when she married you. And I certainly don’t like how you treated either of my grandchildren. They were the greatest gifts you could ever have, yet you squandered them. I don’t know the specifics. I don’t have to. I saw what Willa was like when she came back to Hatterwick. May you rot in hell for whatever you put her through during those years off-island.”
Oh my God. I can’t believe he actually said any of this!
All color had drained from my mother’s face, and rage clearly simmered beneath my father’s even expression.
Mr. O’Shea hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, but he resolutely continued. “I know you will think I’m being unduly harsh and unreasonable, but I promise all of it is relevant as to the dispensation of my estate. You both have profoundly disappointed me as parents. I need you to know that—to understand it—so that when I say that, other than a few provisions for my grandson, John Christopher Hollingsworth, IV; and a trust that has been laid by for the continued betterment of Hatterwick Island; the entirety of the remainder of the Sutter estate, including the land, the house that sits upon it, and the ferry company itself, goes to my granddaughter, Willa Sutter, as she embodies the grit, loyalty, and community spirit at the heart of the Sutter legacy. My spirit will rest easier knowing she will preserve what matters most.”
Ears ringing, I stared in abject shock at the lawyer. At least until my father exploded from his chair.
“This is utterly absurd. That’s not even her name!”
For all that I wanted to shrink from his anger, I lifted my gaze to his. “Yes, it is. I changed it years ago, because I want nothing to do with you.”
Apparently, for the first time in my entire life, I’d shocked him. Not that it lasted long. His hands curled to fists that he pressed to the tabletop as he leaned toward me. There might have been ten feet of wood separating us, but I still felt him looming. “This is ridiculous. You manipulated your grandparents in their old age. Everything rightfully belongs to your mother. We’re going to challenge. There is no possible way they could have been in their right minds when they did this.”
Mr. O’Shea cleared his throat again. “Actually, they were quite in their right minds. The will was changed years ago. The… letter was a more recent addition. Certainly, you can attempt to contest, but you’re going to fail.”
Dad’s nostrils flared with outrage for long moments before he straightened and snapped his fingers at my mother. “Victoria, we’re leaving.”
She scrambled to her feet, trailing after him like a dog. A few moments later, I jolted as the building shook from the force of a slamming door.
“Willa, can I get you anything?” Mr. O’Shea’s voice was very gentle.
“I…” My head spun, trying to sort out the implications of all of this. “Is this real? Or did he decide to punk my parents as his last act?”
The professional demeanor cracked, and he smiled. “I can assure you this is absolutely real. Your grandparents adored you, and they chose to leave their estate to the person they believed would do right by it. That’s absolutely you.”
“But I never expected… any of this.”
“And that’s exactly why. Henry and I had many frank conversations about your parents. I can’t say that I agree with his choice to have that letter read, as I don’t know what the fallout might be for you, but I absolutely understand and agree that you are the best of the Sutters for generations.”
That simple faith—from him, from my grandparents—had tears burning in my eyes.
Mr. O’Shea extended a pocket square toward me. “Now that your parents are gone, perhaps you’d like to go over the rest of the details?”
Numbly, I took the handkerchief and dabbed my eyes. Then I nodded.
He reached for the folder. “Then let’s begin.”
CHAPTER 8
SAWYER