The Heir - Part 1 (The Kings & Queens of St Augustus Book 3)

  The Heir – Part One

  The Kings & Queens of St Augustus #3

  Gemma Weir

  The Spare - Part One

  Copyright © 2020 by Gemma Weir

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover design by Pink Elephant Designs

  Interior design by Rebel Ink Co

  Contents

  1. Carrigan

  2. Carrigan

  3. Carson

  4. Carrigan

  5. Carson

  6. Carrigan

  7. Carson

  8. Carrigan

  9. Carrigan

  10. Carrigan

  11. Carson

  12. Carrigan

  13. Carson

  14. Carrigan

  15. Carson

  16. Carrigan

  17. Carson

  18. Carrigan

  19. Carson

  20. Carrigan

  21. Carson

  22. Carrigan

  23. Carson

  24. Carrigan

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Gemma Weir

  Other Works from Hudson Indie Ink

  Because villains need to tell their stories too.

  Carrigan

  Three and a half years ago

  “Mr. and Mrs. Archibald, Miss Carrigan, please come in,” the lawyer says, his greying hair styled into a combover that does nothing to disguise his bald head beneath.

  Standing and following behind my parents I glance back at the waiting area and my sister, who is sitting playing games on her cell phone, and wish that I could stay out there with her. Since the moment I woke up this morning I’ve been filled with nausea over this meeting. I don’t know why I’m here, I’m only fourteen, just a kid, what could a lawyer possibly need to talk to me about?

  My great-grandfather died three weeks ago, but I’m not really sad. Tallulah and I went to the funeral, Mom made us wear matching black dresses and heels, but no one cried like they do in the movies. It was weird; there was hundreds of people there, a sea of black suits and huge sunglasses, but no one really seemed upset.

  I didn’t know him that well. I know he lived in the city not too far from our house, but apart from once or twice at Christmas when I was little, I don’t actually remember spending any time with him. He sent Tallulah and I cheques on our birthday and Christmas, but other than that he’s never been a part of our lives.

  Mom and Dad are pissy about me being at this meeting but I don’t know why. I overheard them talking about how ridiculous it is that they have to bring me, but neither of them has actually spoken to me about why I’m here. I don’t think they know either.

  Both Tallulah and I should be at school today, we’ve only been at St Augustus for a couple of weeks, and not long enough to make any friends yet. I don’t like it there; the classes are really hard and it’s strange being in a real school when we’ve been home schooled until now.

  When we enter the office, the lawyer motions for us to sit down, and I move to a chair off to the side, behind my parents. No one’s taking any notice of me, but I still brush down the back of my skirt and sit demurely in the cool leather chair, placing my hands in my lap just like my etiquette coach taught me. I’m not sure why any of this stuff matters but Miss Phillips is constantly telling me that a young lady should always behave appropriately.

  “Thank you so much for coming in today. Firstly, please accept my sincere condolences, Harold and I have been associates for many years and he will be sorely missed,” the lawyer says.

  I stay silent because I don’t think he was talking to me. He’s looking at Dad and it was his grandfather that died, so it makes more sense that he was talking to my dad rather than him offering me condolences over a man I barely knew.

  “As you’re aware Harold’s estate is currently valued at a little over twenty billion dollars, including his many businesses and property. I have his last will and testament here and if you’re happy for me to proceed I’ll go ahead and read it for you,” the lawyer says.

  “Mr. Worth, shouldn’t my father be here for this?” Dad asks.

  The lawyer’s face turns an odd shade of pink and his lips droop into a frown that makes him look a little like he’s going to cry. “Its customary that only the beneficiaries of the will be present at the reading. If you would like to invite Mr. Archibald to be present, we can delay until he is available.”

  From my seat I watch as Mom glances at Dad, her red polished fingers reaching out to lay a palm across his leg.

  “My father isn’t named in the will?” Dad asks, his voice shocked.

  “Perhaps I should continue to read the contents of the document, hopefully that should answer any questions you might have,” Mr. Worth says, his voice calm and monotone.

  “Of course,” Mom says, in her sickly-sweet tone that she only uses on men. “Please go ahead.”

  Mr. Worth clears his throat, then opens the sealed envelope from in front of him and pulls out the contents. Methodically he places the envelope back down on his desk and clears his throat again before lifting the pile of papers in front of him. “I Harold James Archibald, resident of New York City in the state of New York, being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature and extent of all my property and of this disposition thereof, do hereby make, publish, and declare this document to be my Last Will and Testament, and hereby revoke any and all other wills and codicils heretofore made by me.”

  He pauses, lifting his eyes from the document to glance at me before his gaze drops again and he continues to talk in language I don’t understand until my name is mentioned.

  “What?” Mom squawks.

  “I leave my estate in its entirety to my eldest great granddaughter Miss Carrigan Prudence Archibald, providing she adhere to the attached list of stipulations,” Mr. Worth repeats.

  My parents’ voices become a cacophony of noise and I cringe as they continue to argue with Mr. Worth, my dad jumping up from his seat and demanding to read the will for himself.

  I do nothing, and simply sit in my seat without having even the smallest idea that this day would change everything.

  Carrigan

  Present day

  Staring down at the cell phone in my hands I read the words of the letter I memorized years ago, the words that my mom made me recite over and over again until I could relay them on demand. The rules. The stipulations that I have to abide by to receive the money my great-grandfather bequeathed to me in his godforsaken will.

  Carrigan,

  The Archibald name has been honored and revered for our hardworking nature and upstanding moral values for hundreds of years.

  My child and his child in turn have sullied our family’s good name and made a mockery of the fortitude and perseverance our ancestors and I strove so hard to instill. As such I
have decided to attempt to make our family great again with your generation.

  I’m worth a great deal of money, all of which will ultimately become yours if you can prove that you are prepared to work hard to be successful and contribute to the legacy I want to create for the future generations to come.

  The world can be a complicated and difficult place to navigate, and as such I have created strict guidelines that I expect you to abide by. This inheritance is not free money. I expect you to work for it and by asking you to abide by this set of rules, I am providing you with the incentive to become a person worthy of being called by the Archibald name.

  Should you fail to live up to the standard I expect of you, the bequest will be revoked and my lawyers will act on my wishes on who should inherit in your stead.

  Below is a list of my expectations of you as my sole heir.

  One – I expect you to graduate as an exemplary student from the school I attended, St Augustus Preparatory School, with no less than a 4.0 grade point average.

  Two – You will apply to, and be accepted into, one of the below mentioned colleges.

  Harvard University

  Cornell University

  Yale University

  Princeton University

  Three – You will graduate from one of the aforementioned educational facilities with a useful degree and no less than a 4.0 grade point average.

  Four – As my heir you will create a beneficial alliance through marriage, with a son from a suitable family from the list provided. You will then relinquish control of all of my business assets to your husband who will take over the day-to-day running of my companies.

  Five – You will be a person of the upmost moral fortitude, by entering the married state as a virgin. An annual medical examination will be required of you and a report provided to Hallsworth, Hallsworth and Kingston attorneys at Law, until your marriage to ensure you are still untouched.

  Six – Unless you are physically unable, you will provide at least one heir to inherit the Archibald fortune upon your death. Should you be unable to have children, the Archibald fortune will pass to the next eligible recipient of my estate, you and your husband will be provided for with an annual stipend until your death.

  Seven – You will maintain the honor and status of the Archibald family by being a person of upstanding value and worth. As a wife and mother, you will support your husband and children in any way required and within the expectations of our family heritage.

  Eight – You will remain married and faithful for a minimum of twenty years, unless you become a widow, at which point an alternative marriage should be sought from one of the approved family bloodlines. Should it be your wish to dissolve the relationship after this point, if a suitable heir has been created then you may file for divorce and be provided the widows maintenance allowance while the rest of your estate will be passed to your eldest child.

  Nine – Upon producing an heir, you agree that your children—should they wish to inherit upon your death—will adhere to also live by these guidelines to ensure the purity of my bloodline and legacy.

  Should you not adhere to any of the above listed rules, you will forfeit all rights to my estate. Upon reaching your twenty-fifth birthday, should you decide that you no longer wish to inherit, then you may choose to refuse the inheritance and continue to live your life as you see fit.

  I understand that you may feel that these guidelines are extreme, but I fear that without this guidance our family will be lost to laziness and a false sense of expectation that my wealth has given my son and grandson. You, Carrigan, are my final chance to set straight the failings I have encountered in my own children and I hope you succeed and live a happy, prosperous, fruitful life.

  Regards,

  Harold Archibald the Third.

  I can’t help the scoff that falls from my lips when I consider the words written by a geriatric old man that have ruled my life for years. I remember the first time I read this letter, I’d laughed, sure that it was all just some elaborate joke. Because what other reason could there possibly be? Who in their right mind would discard their family and leave all their money to a fourteen-year-old on the proviso that she live by a certain set of rules?

  By the time my parents and grandparents had screamed and shouted and petitioned the courts to get the will overturned it was too late. The entire world, or at least the world we live in, the world of the filthy rich, all knew that eventually I’d be worth billions. In the blink of an eye I went from being Carrigan Archibald, new girl. To Carrigan Archibald, heir to a fortune.

  I’d like to say I handled the new notoriety well, that I didn’t let it change me, that my family laughed it off. That they loved me more than the money. But none of that is true.

  My parents lost their minds, I lost mine, and somehow everything I’ve done in the last three and a half years, the way I’ve lived my life to adhere to that old man’s rules, has led me here.

  It’s my sister’s engagement party tonight. She’s marrying the boy my parents wanted to be mine. I don’t know if I ever really wanted him, or if I was just told I wanted him so many times that I started to believe it.

  Arlo Lexington is from the right kind of family. My great-grandfather was a real peach when it came to picking my future husband. With that letter that damned me, he also provided a list of names of suitable husbands for me. They range from twenty years older than me all the way down to five years younger.

  I’ve met them all, flirted with the ones my parents asked me to flirt with, ignored the ones they thought were beneath us. Everything I’ve done, every thought I’ve had for the last few years, has been about securing me a husband.

  Another slightly crazed laugh falls from my lips and I’m glad that the room is empty, because right now I don’t know if I should be laughing or crying or screaming. My life went to shit the day that will was read, but it imploded when I watched my parents beat the hell out of my sister. Physically attack her, punch her, and slap her until she was cowering on the floor at their feet.

  That was the moment I knew this was all wrong. That the person I’d allowed the money to make me was evil. That I was evil, that they were evil. But what do you do when you realize that about yourself? It’s not like you can just take it back. If I could I’d like to think I would. Or maybe I wouldn’t because despite it all, despite all the truly despicable things I’ve done since I first read that will, I still want the money.

  I want the power that comes with it. I want to be wanted, envied, desired, and without that billion dollar pay out I’m just another rich girl.

  Now I’m here, planning my own judgement, ruining my future, changing my whole life because I am a terrible person and bad people have to pay a penance for their actions. Today is my penance, my day of reckoning so to speak, and it all started at five o’clock this morning.

  Carson

  Seven hours earlier

  “Hey.”

  I’m jolted to the side as someone shoves me in the shoulder. My eyes snap open and I act on instinct, grabbing the arm of my attacker and throwing them to the side as I jump out of bed and block any further attempts at violence with my forearm across their throat.

  My Dad is a survivalist, so me and my brother have been trained in multiple martial arts and forms of both attack and self-defense. We’ve done survival training in all environments and some pretty heavy-duty war scenario training. My dad is a lovable whack job, but if someone comes at me at least I know I can defend myself.

  Blinking past the haze of sleep, I realize that my attacker is a tiny blonde teenage girl. At first I think it’s Tally, but the long pink nails clawing at my arm show me that it’s not my friend, it’s her evil doppelganger.

  Releasing my hold on her throat I step back, narrowing my eyes at her. “What the fuck are you doing Crueligan?”

  “Really you psycho, what am I doing?” she shrieks.

  “You’re in my room in the middle of the fucking night, but I’m the psycho
,” I snarl back.

  “It’s five am, it’s hardly the middle of the night and I was trying to wake you up.”

  “Why?” I demand, taking another step back and crossing my arms across my chest, not caring that I’m completely naked.

  Like she’s just realized I’m not wearing any clothes, her gaze drops to my dick hanging between my legs. I’m well endowed, I’m not boasting, just stating a fact. I have a big dick and even completely uninterested like he is now, he’s still pretty impressive.

  “Oh my god, can you put some clothes on?”

  “No,” I say, pursing my lips.

  Her eyes lift comically high, like she’s never seen a dick before, and I swear if it wasn’t dark in here she’d be bright red with embarrassment. “Look I need your help, okay?”

  “What do you want me to help you with?” I ask, suspiciously.

  Her sigh is audible as she twists her head to the side, her eyes still focused on the ceiling. “Can we go somewhere away from here to talk, where you have clothes on?”

  “Look at me,” I demand.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t trust a single word out of your mouth, so if you’re asking me for something, I want you to be looking me in the face while you do it,” I snarl, shocked when she instantly complies.

  “I just, I just need your help. Can we please just go somewhere away from my sister so we can talk in private?” she asks, her eyes full of something I don’t expect to see. Honesty and fear.