“We’ve come to claim our rightful share of your father’s inheritance. Pack your bags and leave, now,” he demanded.
The morning dew still clung to the roses when I heard the click of expensive heels on my garden path. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Only one person would dare wear Louboutins to trample my father’s most treasured garden.
—Madeline? —her voice dripped with feigned sweetness—. I see you’re still playing with the dirt.
I continued pruning my father’s white roses, the ones he’d planted for my wedding day. The wedding that ended in divorce papers and my ex-husband running off with the woman who was now chasing after me.
“Hi, Haley.”
“You know why I’m here,” he said, approaching, his shadow falling on the flowerbed. “The reading of the will is tomorrow, and Holden and I think it’s best to talk… civilly.”
I finally turned around, wiping my dirt-covered hands on my gardening apron.
“There’s nothing to talk about. This is my father’s house.”
“It was, his inheritance,” Haley corrected, her perfectly painted red lips curving into a mocking smile. “And since Holden was like a son to Miles for fifteen years, we believe we’re entitled to our share.”
The pruning shears in my hand suddenly felt heavier.
“The same Holden who cheated on his daughter with his secretary? That Holden?”
“Ancient history,” Haley said, waving her well-manicured hand dismissively. “Miles forgave him. They kept playing golf every Sunday until…” She paused dramatically. “Well, you know.”
My father’s death was still fresh, a wound that hadn’t even begun to heal. He had been gone barely two weeks before, and there was that woman, that vulture, circling what she thought was easy prey.
“My father wouldn’t have left Holden anything,” I said firmly, standing up straight. “He might have been many things, but he wasn’t stupid.”
Haley’s fake smile faltered.
“We’ll see. Your brother, Isaiah, seems to think differently.”
