Page 1 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
1
HARRISON
The mahogany desk still bore the same water ring from my father's morning coffee cup.
Twenty-two years had passed since I last stood in this office, and every detail remained frozen in time—the leather-bound volumes arranged by height, the brass nameplate that readHEADMASTERVALEin severe block letters, the oil portrait of my grandfather glowering from above the fireplace.
Even the air smelled the same—old wood, floor wax, and the faint residue of disappointment.
I pulled my shoulders back and kept my hands at my sides.
The funeral had been three weeks ago, but this room transported me back to age sixteen, standing before that desk while my father explained why I would never measure up to the Vale legacy.
The memory tasted bitter on my tongue.
"Please, take a seat." Theodore Blackwood, the family attorney, gestured toward the conference table that had been wheeled in for the occasion.
His voice was carefully neutral, as it should be.
My father probably paid Blackwood well to make sure he kept the same air of impartiality he always had.
Caroline perched on the edge of her chair, her Hermès handbag clutched against her chest with both hands.
At thirty-six, she had perfected the art of looking perpetually offended, her blonde hair swept into a chignon so tight it pulled at the corners of her eyes.
She wore black, as befitted a grieving daughter, but the Chanel suit probably cost more than the new carpet in Dad's office.
Margot sat directly across from me, her fountain pen already poised above a legal pad.
Two years younger than Caroline, she had inherited our father's sharp angles and sharper tongue.
Her dark hair was also pulled back in a bun, and she wore the same expression she'd perfected during law school—the one that suggested everyone else in the room was an idiot.
"This is highly irregular," she said, tapping the pen against the table in a staccato rhythm. "Father always said the will would be straightforward. Equal distribution among the three children, with the academy held in trust."
"Your father changed his mind." Blackwood opened a thick folder and withdrew several bound documents. "The final will was executed six months ago, with proper witnesses and notarization."
I said nothing.
The board members flanked us on both sides—Dr. Patricia Sterling, the head of academics, sat rigid in her navy blazer.
Marcus Henley, the treasurer, kept checking his watch.
And at the head of the table, Board Chairman Robert Caldwell studied me with the same expression my father used to wear when I tracked mud through the school corridors.
"Before we begin," Caldwell said, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed, "I want to note for the record that this reading is a formality. The board has already discussed contingency plans should the will prove… unworkable."
The words hung in the air between threat and promise.
I met his gaze without flinching. "Then let's get on with it."
Blackwood cleared his throat and opened the first document.
"I, Edmund Vale, being of sound mind and body, do hereby revoke all previous wills and testaments…"
The formal language washed over me while I studied the faces around the table.
Caroline's grip on her handbag had tightened until her knuckles showed white.
