Summer’s POV
It had been three days since grandpa George was gone.
The drizzling rain had finally stopped by the time Brandon and I made our way up the hill to Grandpa’s grave at Ridgeline Park Cemetery. The rest of the Taylor family had already left, their black mbrellas disappearing down the winding path like a procession
of crows.
My body felt hollow, drained of everything but grief. My logs trembled with each step, threatening to give out entirely.
“Summer,” Brandon said softly, his eyes filled with concern. “You’re exhausted.”
Before I could protest, he swept me into his arms, cradling me against his chest as if I weighed nothing. I didn’t have the strength to argue. Instead, I rested my head against his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent as he carried me up the steep path.
When we reached Grandpa’s grave, the freshly turned earth was still dark against the green grass. His headstone was simple but elegant, with his photograph–smiling that warm, kind smile I knew so well–protected behind glass. In that moment, looking at his face, the reality of his absence hit me all over again.
“Grandpa,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I miss you so much.” I reached out to touch his photograph, my fingers trembling. “Are you missing me too?”
3
Brandon set me gently on my feet but kept his arm around my waist, supporting me as I swayed slightly. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept properly. The days since Grandpa’s collapse had blurred together in a haze of grief and exhaustion.
Brandon stepped forward, his expression solemn as he addressed my grandfather’s grave. “Sir, I promise you, I’ll take care of Summer. You have my word.”
I clutched Brandon’s arm, suddenly remembering something vitally important. “Brandon,” I said urgently, “Capital Corp–you have to get control of it. You must save Capital Corp. It was Grandpa’s life’s work. We can’t let it fall apart now.”
Brandon’s eyes met mine, firm and determined. “I will,” he promised simply.
“Miss Summer.”
I looked up to see Jenkins, Grandpa’s longtime butler, approaching us. His weathered face was lined with grief, but he maintained his dignified bearing.
“Jenkins,” I acknowledged, my voice barely above a whisper.
“The reading of Mr. Taylor’s will is scheduled for tomorrow at the Taylor residence,” he informed me. “Your presence is requested. It’s important that you attend.”
I blinked in confusion. “Will? When did Grandpa make a will? I didnt know anything about this.”
“It was drawn up quite some time ago,” Jenkins explained. “You are mentioned specifically, which is why your attendance is required.
I nodded numbly, still processing this information.
“After the will is read,” Jenkins continued, his voice dropping slightly this old man will be returning to the countryside. Take care of yourself, Miss Summer.”
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His words took a moment to igister. “You’re leaving too?” I asked, able to hide the shock in my voice.
Jenkins nodded, his eyes sad but resolute. “It’s time. Mr. Taylor was the last thing keeping me in the city,”
The next day, I approached the Taylor family mansion with a sense of dread. It had been my childhood home, but it had never felt like one. Now, without Grandpa’s presence, it felt even more unwelcoming.
As I entered the grand foyer, I felt the weight of hostile stares from various Taylor relatives. An aunt I barely knew stepped forward, her face twisted with disdain.
“What are you doing here?” She demanded.
Before I could respond, Jenkins appeared at my side. “Summer is here at my request,” he stated firmly. “Today’s will reading concerns her as well.”
The aunt retreated, muttering under her breath, but continued to glare at me from across the room.
A few minutes later, a distinguished–looking man in a tailored suit arrived. He introduced himself as Andrew Phillips, Grandpa’s attorney.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” he said, his voice carrying across the room. “I’m Andrew Phillips, George Taylor’s attorney. Mr. Taylor entrusted me with his last will and testament, to be executed according to his wishes following his passing.
He glanced around the room. “I’ll need to confirm the P
of all parties named in the will. Is Richard Taylor present?”
My father raised his hand from where he stood beside my mother.
“Elizabeth Taylor?”
My mother nodded curtly.
“Victoria Taylor?”
There was a pause.
“Victoria is unable to attend due to work commitments,” Elizabeth explained smoothly. “Her father and I will represent her interests.”
Andrew Phillips nodded, making a note. “And Summer Taylor?”
“Present,” I said quietly.
The attorney nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Very well. Let’s proceed with the reading.”
We moved to the formal living room, where everyone took seats. I sat slightly apart from the others, feeling like an outsider as always.
Andrew Phillips opened his briefcase and removed a sealed envelope. He broke the seal and unfolded several pages of legal documents.
“This is the last will and testament of George Edward Taylor,” he began. “I’ll summarize the key provisions.”
He cleared his throat. “First, regarding real estate holdings: The upstate New York residence is bequeathed to his son Richard Taylor
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and daughter–in–law Elizabell Taylor.”
My parents exchanged satisfied glances.
Second, regarding business holdings: All shares in Capital Corp and associated companies are bequeathed to his granddaughter, Summer Taylor.”
The room went deadly silent. I stared at the attorney, certain I had misheard.
“Third, regarding financial assets: Five hundred thousand dollars from his personal accounts is bequeathed to his granddaughter Victoria Taylor. The remainder of his liquid assets is to be donated to the charitable foundations specified in Appendix A.”
My mother shot to her feet, her face contorted with disbelief. “What did you say?” she demanded. “There must be some mistake!”
My father stood as well, his face ashen. “That can’t be right. Check again!”
Andrew Phillips remained perfectly composed. “There is no mistake, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. I drafted this will myself under Mr. Taylor’s explicit instructions. He was of sound mind when he signed it, and it has been properly witnessed and notarized.”
I sat frozen in my chair, unable to process what I’d just heard. Grandpa had left me his shares? All of them? Why hadn’t he ever mentioned this to me?
My mother turned to me, her eyes blazing with fury. “What did you do?” she hissed. “How did you manipulate him into this?
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