Chapter One

When I heard my alarm clock ring, I forced my eyes to stay closed. I could hear the birds chirping outside my window, and through closed eyes, I saw the rays of the sun illuminating my room. I wanted to lie down, sleep forever and forget the things I will have to face. But a few minutes later, I heard my megaphone of a stepmother shouting commands and yelling downstairs. I sighed and sat up as our housekeeper Hilda came in. She smiled at me, flashing crooked but pearly white teeth. I groggily smiled back.

"Beautiful day, isn't it, Miss?" Hilda said, her high-pitched voice filling the room. I can never get used to that voice emanating from her huge and bulky body. But when she sings, her voice gives me a sense of warmth and serenity. A few months ago, when I used to have nightmares every night, she would sing until I fell asleep again.

She noticed my silence and hesitation. "I know you miss him. We all do. But you still have to be at the reading. Besides, you don't want her--" She paused and poked her head outside, checking if someone's listening. "You don't want her to get all that property."

She won't. My father's too smart for that, I thought, but I didn't want Hilda getting the wrong idea. I put on a frown instead. "I guess not," I mumbled. "Don't worry about me, Hilda. I'll be downstairs in a few minutes."

Hilda smiled again. "There you go. By the way, she wants you to wear the dress she gave you." I sighed as Hilda left my room.

I got up and stood at the window. I could see my stepmother Carole talking – no, yelling – at our poor driver Gary. She kept gesturing and pointing to the shiny, sleek car my father bought a year ago, and Gary kept nodding. I felt sorry for him. He's a very efficient driver, and a servant at most, but he's already old, so I don't blame him if he starts forgetting things he was supposed to do. For whatever reason, this irritated Carole. She wanted to fire him. In fact, she wanted to fire all of the servants and hire new ones. That seemed a good idea, but I have always protested against it. Almost all of them are old now, including Hilda, but they have been working for our family many years back, when my grandfather Alexander was still alive.

My father always trusted them and treated like members of the family, not servants. Carole was the opposite. Maybe I'm one sided, but Carole always humiliates and mistreats them for no reason, so much that I pondered if firing them was the better alternative than letting them endure her. Hilda assured me one time that Carole's treatment was okay with them. "Miss, we owe Mr. Alexander and Mr. John our lives, so it doesn't matter. Also, who's going to look after you?" she told me.

That night I lay on my bed thinking of reasons why my father married Carole in the first place. At least my father and my mother were similar in some ways, as far as I can remember. But Carole is a different story.

My mother Veronica grew up in a family similar to my father. She was an heir to the Robinson's prestigious clothing line, and my father was the heir to the Carter's chain of hotels. When they married, their parents were thrilled, and their fortunes were mixed, but the businesses and transactions were still separate. When I was younger, I heard my dad tell my mom that he was thinking of letting the other family members run the businesses before I run it myself. I didn't understand what it was then, and I don't see what it means to me now.

When I was seven, my mother died in a car crash in Paris. I was a kid then, and the only way I could let my grief out was to cry, and it was the first time I saw my father cry too. He was never the same after that. He would stare at space for a long time, and I had to call his name several times before he would respond.

I tried to cheer him up, and it worked . . . for a short time. He took me to trips in Europe, and that's where he met Carole, who was then a wanna-be model, scourging for agencies to apply in. I disliked her the moment I saw her. I remember sticking my tongue at her when my father introduced her to me, and I recall telling her that she looked like an ugly clown trying to be pretty in her heavy make-up. Her face and ears turned bright red, but I continued anyway. I told her that her waist was too thin, that I was afraid that she would snap in two because her breasts and backside were too big. She stormed out, and I burst out laughing. My father stared at me with disbelief, and I thought he was going to scold me, but then he laughed instead. I was twelve when he married her.

Although Carole will never replace my mother, things have worked out slowly. I learned to live with her. My father seemed to be himself again, and I hoped we would live in peace. That's what I thought.

Last spring, my father was to leave on a business trip to London. I stood by the doorway and watched him load his bags in the car. I was sad to see him leave, for in two days, I would be turning seventeen. It would be the first time that he wouldn't celebrate my birthday with me.

"Dad, I..." I said, but I couldn't get the words out. He patted my head like he always did when I was little. But as he turned to leave, I got the feeling that I would never see him again. I embraced him as tight as I could, and we stood there for a long time. I loosened my grip after a while and he turned around. His sad eyes mirrored mine, and he wiped the tears falling down my cheeks. He hugged me this time, then whispered, "Take care of yourself, kiddo." Then he was gone.

Hours later, I was uneasy. He should have called when he arrived at the airport. Carole told me to relax, that maybe he got delayed for some reason, but I kept pacing. I didn't know why, but I had a feeling something was wrong. Then, we received a call, telling us that my father never reached the airport. He was broadsided by a drunk driver. They tried to save him, but he died on the way to the hospital.

Everything had darkened when I heard it. I didn't realize how I froze in place, staring at the phone in shock, until I finally lost consciousness. The scene at the hospital was a blur: the doctors who were shaking their heads as Carole and I cried, begging for them to do something, his body lying in that cold room, lifeless. If only I had stopped him from going, he wouldn't be lying there, cold.

If I had only stopped him...

People came to offer their condolences, including my schoolmates, workers at my mother's company, as well as those who work for my father and those ladies Carole plays bridge with. I never spoke to them. The last time I saw him kept coming back to me. Carole was full out, grieving and wailing every night. After his funeral, I retreated to my room most of the time, whenever I'm home from school, and found solace in writing. It was my father's favorite thing to do. He used to write stories for me, and my mother would read it to me during bedtime. I wrote his stories as I remembered them. Maybe this way, I thought, I could preserve his memory.

After a few days, his personal lawyer contacted us. He said that my father had already organized his last will and testament a year before, and it was to be read seven months after his death. It was a little weird, as if he knew something was going to happen to him, but since my dad has always been organized, I had no problem with that. I thought the last days of school would take my mind off the grieving process, as I was graduating that spring also. He didn't tell us the reason why we needed to wait, not that Carole cared anyway. Her eyes were practically sparkling when she heard the word 'will'.

Honestly, I didn't think she'll get much. It seemed to me that my father never actually loved her, but he did care for her. As for Carole, she treated him horribly. All she did was go to parties, social gatherings, and ask for money every day. She threw tantrums worse that of a child's when she did not get what she wanted. But now that my father's gone, she couldn't manage the household properly, so she let Hilda take in charge of maintaining the house. Also, I understood what my father meant then, as his younger brother took over the hotels. My aunt Cornelia took over the clothing line.

Seven months is over, and every person who knew John Carter is now preparing for his will to be read.

I realized I've been thinking too much and standing there too long when I noticed that the ramblings have stopped. Gary was rewashing the car and Carole was no longer there. Normally, her ramblings and tantrums last from ten to twenty minutes. (Yes, I've been timing it.) I headed to the bathroom before she could start hollering again.

Thirty minutes later, I was dressed in a pink satin dress with matching pink shoes and my long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. I could have worn black, but my dad wouldn't like if I'm gloomy and depressed for a long time. As I descended downstairs, I saw Carole was already ready to leave. She was dressed in a black dress which adorned her figure and a hat with a veil covering her eyes. I guess her excitement is at its peak, seeing that it was only half past seven, and we were to leave at nine. She heard my footsteps and turned around. Her eyes were burning with irritation.

"I thought I told Hilda to tell you what to wear," she said, tapping her fingers on the table. I hated it when she did that. We're even, I thought.

"She did," I replied as I made a beeline to the dining room. "But I believe I can wear what I want."

After two hours, Carole and I, along with the servants, my cousin Leah, and other people I don't know, sat at a conference hall waiting for Mr. Larter, my father's personal lawyer.

I glanced at the people who had come. Most of them were relatives from my father's side, but since I only recognized them from pictures, I pretended I didn't see them. Others were from my mother's company, like my mother's sister Cornelia. She waved at me earlier and I politely returned the gesture. Then I went outside and searched for the restroom in order to avoid awkward situations. Gatherings make me nervous.

When I returned, the hall was packed and noisy. I saw my cousin, Leah, seated far away from my stepmother. Her father, Uncle Robert, was in Europe, so he sent her in his place. She and I were the same age, and at one point of our lives, we were friends. Sort of. Whenever our fathers visited each other, we used to play together. I don't know if she still remembers the times when we were playing in the mud and leaving traces of mud prints all around even on our fathers' crisp white shirts.

She must have noticed that I was staring at her, because when she looked at me, her bored expression changed into a look of recognition. Then she looked away. I returned to my seat next to Carole, who was busily chattering with one of my father's associates.

Finally, a few minutes later, Mr. Larter came in. His eyes widened a little, probably in surprise due to the number of people present, but he just cleared his throat and went straight to the table in front. The noise suddenly stopped and we watched as he opened his filecase and pulled out a stack of papers. He looked at me, then at Carole, and finally at the rest who was anxiously waiting for him to read what was written on those flimsy pieces of paper.

Mr. Larter paused for a few seconds then began reading. "Last Will and Testament of John A. Carter. I, John Alexander Carter. . ."

At the sound of my father's name, the emotions I've been holding at bay washed over me. I was blinking back tears, trying hard not to cry, so I couldn't really understand what he was saying. There were a lot of donations to the charities my father supported, and some things to my relatives and his business partners and associates. After a few minutes of reading, we all applauded when Mr. Larter announced that the maids and the butler get ten thousand dollars each. I heard Carole mutter, "Stupid John. Better make sure I get more."

"To Mr. Gary Brown, I bestow a sum of twenty-five thousand dollars, and my estate in London," Mr. Larter continued. I couldn't help laughing when Gary fainted at the back of the room. The butler and the maids carried him out.

"To Mrs. Hilda Rodriguez, I give and bestow a sum of fifty thousand dollars, and my estate in Paris," the attorney continued. Hilda suddenly broke into loud sobs and the ones near her exclaimed their congratulations. I was happy for her. My father was tight when it comes to money, but he was also generous to those who have been special to him.

"To my wife, Carole Irene Connor Carter, I bequeath a sum of one hundred thousand dollars for each month until my daughter Annaliese reaches the age of eighteen, a sum of five hundred thousand dollars, serving as her inheritance for the rest of her life, and my Los Angeles estate," he read on. Carole's ears turned red, and smoke was coming out of her ears. Or maybe I was imagining.

Mr. Larter also stated that my uncle Robert inherits half of the Carter hotels company shares. Same goes with my Aunt Cornelia, as the half of my mother's business now belongs to her. I wondered where the other halves will go to.

"Finally, to my daughter, Annaliese Catherine Robinson Carter, I give and bestow two hundred thousand dollars for every month for the rest of her life, as well as all my remaining estates. . ."

The other half of those businesses goes to . . . me.

All blood drained out of my face, and Carole's mouth dropped in shock. I had expected that my father will leave me a sum, but I never expected that he'll leave those companies to me.

He continued reading then paused. He put down the papers and brought out a velvet box from under his table. "Miss Carter, your father wishes to give this to you. He was holding it when he died," he said softly.

I slowly stood up, and with trembling hands, I reached for the box. When I sat down, staring at it, thoughts scrambling in my mind, I then became aware of their eyes focused on me, waiting for me to open it. I hesitated, and then I heard Mr. Larter say, "Let's give Miss Carter her own right and privacy to open her property." He resumed reading, but I was no longer listening. I gawked at the box I was holding, and I felt like Pandora who was wrestling with her curiosity to open the box that would bring suffering to mankind. But of course, what I was holding wouldn't release all those spirits out to torment humanity. Maybe only for me. Opening the box would have to wait.

No, I couldn't wait. On the way home, I was silently pleading for Gary to step on the gas and drive faster. Anticipation was building within me. When we finally arrived, I couldn't bear it anymore. Carole was the first one to get out of the car, but she was so taking her time that I was sorely tempted to push her, but I kept my hands glued to the box.

I ran as fast as I could to my room and bolted the door. I sat down on my bed, my heart thumping on my ears, and slowly, I opened it.

What I saw took my breath away, not in joy, excitement or delight, but in confusion and disappointment.

Inside the box was a pen.

My thoughts ranged from "This is a joke, right?" to "What on earth is this?"

I mean, when your multimillionaire father bequeaths you a pen in his will... That should be a joke.

But, one of my father's well known qualities was that, when it comes to legal and family things, he was serious. Dead serious.

I lifted the pen from the box. It looked like an ordinary pen. The one that you easily throw away when it starts blotting and ruins your homework.

I put it down and closed the box. Then I realized that the lid was heavier than a usual lid. I turned it over, and there was a notebook attached in it. I removed the notebook from the lid, but then it wasn't a notebook anymore. It was thicker than a phonebook.

Okay. Weird. Maybe I'm getting sleepy.

The book was hardbound, and the cover was old and dusty, like the ones that was kept in the darkest section of the library. I opened it, and a piece of paper fell. Just then, Hilda knocked. I knew it was her because only she knocks at the door. Carole just storms in, and the other maids call my name when they want to talk to me.

I opened the door, and Hilda stood there, looking panicked and wringing her hands. "Missy, you better come down."

What now?

I didn't respond so Hilda took me by the arm and almost dragged me downstairs. Her grip was a little tight, but I said nothing. I looked at the front windows, and I could see lights flashing outside.

"Where's Carole?" I asked her when we reached the foot of the stairs.

She pointed to the front door. "Outside. I'm sorry, Miss, but they won't leave until they've talked to you."

"So that's why." I held her hands in mine. "Don't worry. I'll take care of them."

She nodded but she still had this uncertain look. I wasn't sure if I could handle it myself but I had no other choice. I took a deep breath and marched.

Their lights blinded me immediately. I closed the door behind me, but I was still stunned by flashes of light. When my vision cleared, the reporters were already talking and pointing their microphones to me.

I had experience with media, being raised in high society. However, I wasn't in the mood to smile and wave like we usually do.

"I'm not answering any questions. What happened this morning is strictly family business. Please leave."

But as one might expect, they didn't simply went away. They edged closer until I had no choice but to lean against the door.

"Who were the primary beneficiaries of the will? Is it really true that your father had an illegitimate child? What about the businesses? Is it true that you get all the estates? And Mrs. Carter only gets a million? What about the Robinsons? And Mr. Robert Carter? What about the present owners of the companies?" Their probing questions went on. But I had to laugh. Where do they get those rumors?

"Hilda!" I yelled. Remarkably, the reporters shushed. "Get the phone! I'm calling the police!" I don't know if Hilda was on the other side of the door, but it was the first bluff that came to mind. "They are trespassing on private property!" The reporters looked at each other, and one by one, walked away, giving me resentful looks as they went.

I don't have grudges against them. I believe in freedom of expression, but sometimes you have to admit that there are times when you have to leave things alone. Instead of doing good, you make the situation even worse. But they reminded me of the thing that I've been avoiding all morning. For seven months.

Business. Companies. When I've organized my thoughts after the funeral, I had thought about it. Who was going to run the businesses now? I don't know anything about managing hotels, or designing clothes.

Somehow, I began to resent him. For leaving me so suddenly.

For the first time in five years, Carole knocked at my door. "Annaliese," she said softly. "Robert called. He wants to meet you now, to talk about the company."

Now? Can't they just leave me alone?

I heard a soft creak, but I didn't get up. I was lying face down on my bed.

"Miss Annaliese!" Hilda called, climbing the stairs. "Miss Cornelia called! She says she wants to meet you! Now, in her office!"

"Annaliese, come on, get up," Carole said gently.

I buried my face in the pillow. "You can handle that, Carole. Leave me alone. Go away," I mumbled.

Suddenly, my pillow was yanked under my face.

"Hey!"

Carole's arms were akimbo, and she had this fierce look in her eyes. "Get up. You're going to meet your relatives, like it or not."

I looked at her with amazement. I wonder if she was under shock too. But I still did not move.

She grabbed my arm. "Get up."

"Are you kidding me? Why are they calling me? I just inherited those this morning, and now I'm supposed to meet with them now? Is that even legal?"

She actually glared at me. "I'm sorry but you're the Carter, not me. Now get up." She dropped my arm and turned to Hilda, who was watching us from the doorway. "Hilda, get this girl ready in ten minutes." Then she stomped out of the room. I grabbed the pillow and buried my face again.

Five hours later, I sat opposite my Aunt Cornelia and Uncle Robert, and I didn't understand a word they said. I felt like my head was going to explode. I have no idea how to make presentations, negotiate and secure deals, assign reports, release new designs, and all those things they keep talking about. I could only look blankly at them.

Aunt Cornelia stopped talking. "Are you okay, Annaliese?"

"Yes," I breathed. "I mean no. This is too much. I—I can't do this. You don't really intend to make a teenager like me handle something this big, are you?"

She reached across the table and placed her hand over mine. "I know this is a shock to you. But I know that you are a strong girl. You can do it."

How I wish I could tell her, or scream if possible, that I can't. I couldn't. I have just graduated from high school. I'm only seventeen. I didn't even like business.

Why, Dad, why?

Cornelia and the room started to spin. I tried to steady myself but it seemed both my body and my mind couldn't handle anymore. "Excuse me for a moment," I told them. "I need some air." I stood up and left the room. I saw a balcony near the elevator when I came in and that's where I headed.

"Dad, what am I supposed to do? Why did you have to leave me like this? Why didn't you just leave it to them? You know that I never did anything right," I pleaded in the evening air.

"I'm afraid John can't hear you," a voice said suddenly. "And yes, I wonder too, why he didn't just leave it with us."

I turned around with a start to see my uncle Robert standing behind me.

He moved closer to me and glanced at the sky. "Life can give you so many tests at the same time, and you'll lose your mind by trying to answer all of them. But, sometimes the test is just choosing what matters most." He then turned to look at me. There was something in his gaze that made me uneasy, like I was being watched by a hungry predator. My thoughts must have registered in my face as his mouth twitched into a sympathetic smile. "My dear niece, I know that it is too much for a young girl like you to handle all this mess, twice over. So, I am giving you your first decision."

What was he talking about?

"It's quite simple. You can give me the company. I'll buy your share," he said, almost nonchalantly. I blinked over and over. Did I hear him right?

There was it again, that scary hungry look. "You don't want to handle this, don't you? Besides, I know John left you a fortune, so you'll be secure financially for the rest of your life."

"But..." I stammered, but I couldn't really think of what to say. I was scared, but mostly I was shocked.

"Or," he continued, "if you don't want to give that up, you could sell me the other half of your mother's business. Even better, you could sell me both."

When my brain decided to work again, his words sank in. It seemed insulting and outrageous, coming from my father's brother. On the other hand, maybe he's trying to help me, or not. But his offer was tempting. Why should I burden myself with those enormous responsibilities? I am still a teenager after all. I am still young. I have my whole life ahead of me. However, a small voice inside my head told me it was wrong. The voice became louder and louder until I couldn't hear what Robert was saying.

"I-I'll think about it," I said and left without even looking at him to say goodbye. I went back into the office and apologized to Cornelia. "I have to go, Cornelia. I don't feel quite well."

She nodded. "We'll resume tomorrow."

I ran into the lobby, and Gary was patiently sitting there on the sofa. "Gary, let's go home."