Chapter 3
Oscar turned the page. "Clause Three: I currently hold 80% of Claner Group's shares, and I hereby bequeath all of them to Shiloh West."
The air was sucked out of the conference room.
Three seconds later, Noelle drew in a sharp breath, clearly stunned.
My uncle shot to his feet. "What do you mean, 80% of the shares? Claner Group is worth more than 70 million dollars.
"He gave more than 40 million dollars to someone outside the family?"
Everyone started talking at once.
"Has Declan lost his mind?"
"Is this will even legit? He was in that condition."
"Miriam stuck by him for thirty-six years, and she didn't get a dime?"
All at once, everyone turned to my mom.
She sat in her chair, unmoving. Not a trace of collapse, anger, or even surprise showed on her face.
Shiloh didn't say a word either, but the corners of her mouth lifted a little. It was a subtle, tightly controlled hint of pride.
"Mom," I called out.
She glanced at me and shook her head. She finally spoke. "I know."
She repeated the same words.
Noelle stomped her foot, exasperated. "Miriam, is that really all you have to say? He handed the company over to an outsider, and you're just going to sit there without saying a word?"
Mom stood up. "Mr. Walker, have you finished reading the will?"
Oscar nodded. "The reading is complete."
"Then I'll be leaving now," Mom said faltly. She adjusted her coat, picked up her bag, and turned to walk out.
As she passed Shiloh, she didn't pause. Shiloh called out to her.
Mom paused for a moment.
"Now that Declan's gone, I'll handle everything for this family. Rest assured," Shiloh said.
Mom didn't look back. She pushed open the door and left.
I hurried after her. The rain was still coming down.
Mom stood under the funeral home's awning, pulled out her phone, and dialed a number.
She said, "Adriel, he's gone. The will's been read. Yeah, just like you said. 80% to that woman.
"Yeah. Stick to the original plan."
With that, Mom hung up and slipped her phone back into her bag.
She turned to look at me. "Come on, Celeste, let's go home and have dinner."
"Mom," I called out.
"Just don't ask. For the next few days, keep quiet and stay out of it," Mom answered, her lips quirking ever so slightly.
It wasn't a sad smile. That tiny curve held a kind of resolve.
"Just wait and see," Mom added.
Shiloh didn't waste any time.
The day after the funeral, she got in touch with Claner Group's board secretary and called for a special board meeting as the new majority shareholder.
By ten a.m. on the third day, the board was already gathered.
On the twenty-third floor of Claner Group's headquarters, in the main conference room.
I wasn't on the board, so I couldn't get in. But Kimberly, the receptionist, was on my side.
She secretly texted me. [Shiloh just walked in. She's dressed head-to-toe in red, rocking ten-centimeter heels and a platinum bag.
[She swept her gaze over everyone, chin held high. She went straight for your dad's old seat.]
I gripped my phone, my fingertips going cold.
Kimberly texted again: [She had the board secretary read a copy of the will aloud, then said that from today on, she's running Claner Group.
[Every hire, every dollar spent, every project. Nothing happens without her sign-off.
[She claimed this was what Declan wanted.]
I tried calling Mom. She didn't answer.
I called again. Her phone was off.
Kimberly's message popped up again: [She's about to sign the share transfer papers. The pen's already in her hand.]
I almost bolted upstairs.
Then another message came through. [Wait. Something's up. Someone walked in. A guy in a suit. No clue who he is.]
Later, I got the full account of what happened in the conference room from Nicolas, Claner Group's vice president.
After Shiloh took her seat, she spent the first five minutes laying down the law.
She said, "I know some of you aren't happy about this, but the will is official, notarized, and legally binding. There's no room for debate.
"I don't know how Declan ran things before, but from now on, we do things my way."
Shiloh picked up her pen, flipped open the share transfer papers, and hovered the tip over the signature line.
The conference room door swung open. A middle-aged man in a dark gray suit walked in, carrying a briefcase.
Shiloh looked up. "Who are you?"
The man ignored her, striding straight to the head of the long table to face the entire board.
The man spoke up. "I'm Harley Parker, Miriam Turner's attorney."
Shiloh's hand stopped, her pen hovering over the paper. "Miriam's attorney? She's a housewife, what's she need a lawyer for?"
Harley didn't even bother to respond. He opened his briefcase, pulled out a document, and set it on the table.