Page 62 of The Billionaire's Wedding

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The reading of the will was completely without surprises.

Actually, let me qualify that.

Had I never had dinner with my father that night, I would have thought the will reinforced the same status quo I’d come to accept over the last ten years.

But knowing what I did about his state of mind, I was a little mystified why there was absolutely no difference in the status quo.

The will split my father’s stock ownership in the Templeton Group between Mother and Vincent. Vincent got a few hundred million in cash, but everything else – the houses, the bank accounts, the financial assets – all went to my mother.

My mother started bawling as soon as all the details about her inheritance were read out loud.

“Oh, Augustus, Augustus,” she wept, and didn’t stop even after the senior partner had finished.

There were two notable absences in the will.

I was one. I got nothing. I wasn’t even mentioned. I had been expecting that for the last ten years, so it didn’t impact me much… but I had thought that maybe, just maybe something had changed – all because of that dinner with my father last week.

Guess not.

Augustus Templeton: a bastard to the last.

But there was also no mention whatsoever of Miranda.

It was a very pointed slight towards her. After all, she and Vincent had been married for months now – plenty of time for my father to readjust his will. But he hadn’t.

In the end, it didn’t matter, though. Miranda controlled Vincent, and Vincent would convince my mother to do whatever Miranda wanted.

My father had failed to safeguard his empire. The monster was inside the gates, and soon it would start rampaging.

I got up to go. I shook hands with the head of the firm just as a formality.

Vincent got up to shake my hand, too. “See you Sunday.”

He meant at the funeral.

“See you Sunday,” I agreed.

I turned around to my mother, but caught Miranda’s eye in the process.

She regarded me without emotion – but dropped her eyes to her lap, as though not wanting to stir up any animosity.

What a clever little ploy.

I know what you are, though,I thought. And so did my father. Why he failed to do anything about it, though, is beyond me.

“Goodbye, Mother,” I said.

She didn’t say anything, she just sat there crying and clutching Miranda’s arm.

When I got no response, I headed for the door of the office.

I shouldn’t have counted her out, though.

“Remember what I said about your whore,” my mother’s phlegmy, hate-filled voice sneered.

I paused at the door, every nerve in my body on fire with rage.

But I took the high road, and I walked out without saying a word.

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