The Widow And the Heir

Chapter 2

I stood a little apart from the others, arms crossed, watching people closely. I didn’t recognize half the faces that attended my father's funeral.

Most of them were strangers to me, but that's a given since I didn't care about knowing the people around my father. His pretentious wife must have invited them.

She stood in front, of course. The perfect widow. Dressed in black silk, a small veil covering her face.

She clutched a single white rose and looked heartbreakingly elegant, like a woman who knew how to grieve beautifully.

I sighed painfully.

I wanted to rip that veil off her face.

"We gather today to lay to rest Weston Tate. A man of power, of vision, of legacy..."

My lips twitched. Legacy. That was rich.

The priest continued mumbling words about life and death and redemption. He didn’t know my father. He didn’t know the man who slammed doors, who cursed his bloodline, who thought affection was a weakness.

“May he rest in peace, may his soul find eternal light.”

There would be no peace for my father's soul. I was sure of that.

“Would the family like to say something?” the priest asked as the casket was lowered to the ground.

She stepped forward. Of course she did.

“My husband was...a complicated man,” she began, her voice steady. “But he was also brilliant, and fiercely loyal to the people he loved.”

I rolled my eyes. What sort of blatant lie was she spewing?

“He had flaws,” she continued, “as we all do. But today, we choose to remember the good. The strength. The vision. The man, Weston Tate.”

She placed the rose on top of the casket and stepped back.

The priest looked at me. “Charles?”

I shook my head. “No.”

The words I wanted to say weren't nice like his fake wife's. They were raw, angry and bitter words.

As the first shovelful of dirt hit the coffin, I turned away.

It was over.

I had no business here.

Again…as if she knew what I was thinking, she walked up to me and whispered in my ear. “I hope you're not planning on leaving, your father's lawyer is coming tomorrow morning.”

“I don't care about that.”

“You can leave after the will is read,” she said with a tone of finality.

Why should I be bothered about my father's will? She's probably brainwashed him with her fake acts into giving her everything.

“I only came here to watch him get buried, to look at the man who acted like he was even bigger than death. I don't care about his will because I know there is nothing there for me.”

“You can't be so sure about that,” she said, her expression still calm.

I turned to face her, my gaze cold. “You stood there when he disowned me and told me to forget I am his son. Or have you forgotten?”

“I haven't forgotten that.”

“Good. Now you know why I can't be bothered about his stupid will. But I know it's important to you, right? He must have left you a lot of money…because that's the only reason you married him…his money.”

Her expression faltered for just a moment, but she quickly masked it with that practiced smile of hers. “I’m just trying to help you, Charles. You don’t have to be so bitter.”

“I’m not interested in anything you or he left behind,” I said, my voice icy. “So, go back to your little fake grieving, and leave me alone.”

I turned on my heel and started walking toward the parking lot, but she followed relentlessly.

“Charles,” she called, her tone softer now, almost pleading. “I’m not the enemy here. I'm just telling you to wait for one more day. You can leave after that. Don't you at least want to know what your father wrote in his will?”

I stopped in my tracks, her words lingering like smoke in the air. I did want to know what he wrote in his will, if he actually gave everything to this little gold digger here. My father might have been many things, but one thing he never was was sentimental. There was no love left for me in that will… I was sure of that. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to see how things played out tomorrow.

I took a deep breath. “I’ll be here tomorrow. But I’m not doing this for you. Or for him.”

I walked away, hearing her soft sigh of frustration behind me. Tomorrow, I’d face whatever twisted mess he left behind. But for now, I needed to be far away from her and the ghosts of my past.

I slid into my car, the engine roaring to life as I sped away from the cemetery and went to a bar to cool off. I really didn't care about my father's will, or his wife. I was only curious about the outcome of his death…in a way. Who did my father think would be the best person to continue his legacy?

The next morning, my father's lawyer arrived early and we gathered in the living room, waiting.

“I'm here!!” A loud voice emerged from outside. I didn't need to see before knowing who's voice that was….Margot…the woman we were waiting for, and her son, David.

Margot Sinclair, my father's “baby mama” as I liked to call her. I didn't like Margot a lot, she was loud and always liked to compare me and her son.

Margot and my father used to date before he married my mother. His parents disapproved of Margot and his marriage with my mother was more of an arranged one. But then, Margot was already pregnant and decided to keep the baby. Even though she was settled handsomely, Margot hardly left my father alone, she was always in his face with her son, David. If I was the prodigal son, David was the perfect child, but my father always had one problem with him….he was illegitimate. Typical Weston Tate. Maybe he was going to give everything to David…who knows?

The fact that they were here meant that they were expecting something. I mean, they didn't even attend his burial but they came here because of his will. I pitied my father a little, did he even have anyone who genuinely loved him?

The lawyer adjusted his glasses, and began reading the will.

“To my wife, the love of my life, Celia Tate. I leave the Tate mansion and cars. She can do whatever she pleases with it upon my death. I also leave the sum of $1,000,000,000 to her.”

So she got the mansion and lots of money….she must be so happy.

“…and to my only legitimate son, Charles Tate, I leave everything I’ve built. Tate Industries, the estates, the assets, the shares, my money, and every drop of my legacy.” The lawyer paused, his eyes flicked up to meet my confused gaze. “However, this inheritance is conditional.”

A hush fell over the room. Even the air felt heavy. I was still trying to deal with the shock of my father's will and there's a condition? What could it be?