Heiress in Disguise

ALEX’s POV

I watched as several numbers flashed through the screen on top of the elevator door. It felt like we’ve been inside the lift for five minutes already and the doors still haven’t opened. The numbers went on from 2s to 3s but it still kept going.

I stuffed one hand in my pocket, fishing out a muffin I had wrapped neatly inside a table napkin. The old man’s gaze immediately landed on me.

“Where did you get that?” he asked through his neatly combed mustache.

“From the plane?” I said and took a bite. I fished another one from my other pocket. “You want one?”

“Just how many muffins do you exactly have?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

I shrugged. “Just the two.”

He raised another eyebrow.

“I also took the chocolate truffles.”

He kept waiting.

“And the wafers… and the bread… and the bagels.”

He sighed sharply at this and extended a hand. “Give it here.”

“What, why?” I complained, immediately backing away from him as I stuffed the rest of the muffin into my mouth.

He huffed, “Because there is no way I will present you to the Harringtons with your pockets filled with food. I promise you, you will have plenty more once we’re in there.”

I was left with no choice once the doors finally opened to reveal the top floor. I gave up every single one of the food I had stuffed into my jeans and jacket. I could’ve saved one of the cookies but the loud crinkling once I started to walk gave it away.

The floor we were in, surprisingly, looked nothing like the rest of the building. If the Harrington Group was heavy on polished marble floors and glass walls, whoever was in the topmost floor had a different idea.

The walls were lined with dark wood paneling, polished to a shine, and heavy crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling at even intervals. A dark red carpet ran the length of the floor, muffling out our every step. Towards the end of the hallway, two massive doors awaited.

As we walked down the corridor, my eyes landed on all of the paintings that flanked the room.

“Who are these people?”

“Your ancestors.”

My head whirled towards the old man. “My what now?”

The old man gave me a knowing smile, the kind of smile that you would give to someone if you know something and you’re taunting them with it.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

The guards that were with us opened the double doors and we stepped into the room. It was exactly what you would expect with the kind of hallway this office had. Dark opulence, crystal chandeliers, and leather furniture. But it was empty.

The old man led me to another set of doors on the right of the room. And when it opened, the sound of hushed talking immediately filled the room. Until they noticed me, that is.

Everyone fell silent, their heads turned to me completely. I gulped and adjusted myself, suddenly overwhelmed by how sharp their gazes were.

“Is that her?” a drawl sounded and I turned towards the person who spoke. He looked about the same age as me, only a little older.

The old man that was beside me nodded. He then urged me to take a seat on any of the empty conference chairs. I sat there, still confused and absolutely terrified by the people in this room.

I mean, I’ve had my fair share of scary people. Criminals, mean adults, meaner teenagers—but it’s nothing quite like this. Each one of them look like they could destroy my life without even batting an eye or remembering my name.

A man in a suit at the other end of the table cleared his throat and said, “Should we begin?”

There was a chorus of comments. Some of them saying that this should’ve been over months ago already. Heck, I don’t even know what I’m doing in here. Was this some kind of mistake?

No, wait.

Are they going to throw me back into the slammer if they find out they got the wrong person? Nah. I’ll just run.

The man, who looked to me like a lawyer, adjusted his glasses and rested a black briefcase on top of the table. He opened it, took a couple of papers from inside, and then took a seat.

The lawyer cleared his throat again, shuffling the stack of thick papers before him. His voice carried easily across the room, clipped and precise.

“This is the last will and testament of Reginald Alexander Harrington. Dated the 5th of May, 2024. As per the wishes of the late Chairman, the following allocations shall be made.”

He adjusted his glasses, eyes flicking briefly toward the old frail woman seated nearest the window. She was just staring out into the cityscape below, probably not even aware what was going on inside the room.

“To my beloved wife, Margaret Harrington, I leave the right to remain in the Harrington Estate for the rest of her life. She shall occupy her own wing of the mansion, and all her needs—medical, personal, and otherwise—will be met without restriction.

In addition, I provide an annual allowance of ten million dollars to be placed in a trust, administered by her physician and nurse, to ensure her continued comfort and care. These funds shall not be interfered with, diverted, or withheld under any circumstances.”

Quiet nods in agreement circled the room and the lawyer continued the reading of the will, turning his attention to the woman with the slicked-back blonde hair on his right.

“To my eldest daughter, Claudine Harrington-Davenport, I leave a portfolio of blue-chip stocks valued at fifty million dollars, along with minor real estate holdings in Geneva. I also grant her a cash settlement of five million dollars, and a stake of two percent in Harrington Group.”

The woman, Claudine, looked like she was still expecting to hear more of her inheritance. But her face darkened when the attorney turned to someone else.

“Wait!” she said, and the lawyer turned to her. “Is that it?Just fifty?!”

My eyebrows immediately furrowed. ‘Just’ fifty million dollars? Damn. I’d be happy to take that if she doesn’t want it.

The lawyer checked the paper and nodded. “Apparently.”

Claudine looked like she’d been stricken. The lawyer did not care though as he continued the reading of the will. “To her husband, Hugh Davenport, I leave no direct assets, though Davenport Shipping & Trade will remain under favorable contracts as previously negotiated.”

The husband who was beside Claudine was aghast, too. Looks like they were all expecting more from the dead billionaire, huh? Whoever this Reginald Harrington was, he must really hate this family.

“To my youngest daughter, Cassiopeia Harrington-Fitzroy, I leave the Harrington luxury fashion subsidiaries, including Harrington Couture and Maison de Lys, with a combined valuation of seventy-five million dollars, and a cash settlement of three million dollars. To her husband, Peter Fitzroy, no direct allocation is made, though Fitzroy Holdings shall continue to benefit from minor joint ventures.”

Cassiopeia’s reaction was even worse. If she smiled at the reading when she heard about what was apparently a ‘small’ share her older sister got, she was now near to fainting when she heard hers.

Was I just brought in here to watch a live soap opera? If yes, I think the ten grand is worth it.

A woman dressed in corporate attire went around with a food tray, offering the people some food. None of them could even look at her, their faces all ashen.

I waved a hand at her and smiled when she offered me the food. I took the entire tray, much to her surprise, and thanked her. I just sat there eating food while the lawyer continued.

“To my eldest grandchild, Percival Davenport, I leave a seat on the Harrington Group board, and a trust tied to the company’s development fund, valued at thirty million dollars, to be accessed fully on his thirtieth birthday.”

The blond guy from earlier who spoke when I arrived had his mouth wide open. I rolled my eyes. Their reaction was over the top. They’re all acting like they’ve been given spare change. What were they expecting exactly?

“To my first granddaughter, Henrietta Fitzroy, I leave a full trust of forty million dollars, half of which is to be directed to any charitable ventures of her choosing.”

Henrietta’s face paled, embarrassment seeping through her face. “Charity?” she whispered, her voice croaking at the word like it was something disgusting. “You want me to do… charity? Seriously?”

The lawyer carried on. “To my youngest granddaughter, Blaire Fitzroy—”

She was already practically shaking in her seat, her eyes closed, probably praying relentlessly for a different result of their grandfather’s cruel joke.

“—I leave a lifetime stake within the Harrington fashion royalties, estimated at ten million dollars annually.”

Blaire blinked, clearly not comprehending the insult until she saw her mother’s glare.

“And to George Davenport, my youngest grandson, I leave an educational trust of ten million dollars, unlocked in full at his twenty-first birthday, with yearly stipends provided until then.”

Hugh’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing toward Claudine. “Ten? He leaves my son ten?” he hissed under his breath but nearly everyone in the room could still hear him. The mother immediately ran to George, who looked like he was just about four years old.

“To Mr. Harold Greene, who has served faithfully as the groundskeeper of the Harrington Estate for over four decades, I leave a cottage house within the estate grounds, situated by the southern lake, along with a lifetime stipend of one hundred thousand dollars annually for upkeep and personal needs.”

Alistair’s weathered hands folded in his lap, his jaw tight with emotion. His wife, seated beside him, dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. They both smiled at each other—the very first ones who actually appreciated what was given.

“To Mrs. Eleanor Greene, his wife and my dear wife’s best friend, I leave a trust of one hundred thousand dollars, to be drawn upon freely, as thanks for her years of devotion in maintaining the estate’s household and gardens.”

The room shifted uncomfortably; some of the cousins are glancing at each other, the insult of comparison already burning through their eyes.

“To Mr. Thomas Hale, head of security, I leave a personal trust of five hundred thousand dollars, in recognition of his loyalty to myself and my family, with the instruction that he remain in service should my wife, Margaret, or my granddaughter, Ivy Alexandria, wish it.”

Everyone turned to me at the mention of my name.

I stiffened and nearly choke on my croutons.

Granddaughter? What?!