Mr. Blackwood put on his reading glasses and began to read the preamble. The voice was unmistakably Alistair’s–cold, formal, and exacting.
“To my wife, Lady Beatrice Croft,” Blackwood read, “I leave the Croft Estate, the properties in the Hamptons and Aspen, and a cash settlement of five hundred million dollars. You desired security above all things; now you have it.”
Beatrice let out a breath, nodding. It was a fortune. It was freedom.
“To my son, Malcolm Fotheringham,” Blackwood continued. “I leave the European Division and the entirety of the Tech Holdings. You proved yourself a capable operator. Take your family and build your own world.”
Malcolm squeezed Isabella’s hand, relief washing over him. It was exactly what he wanted–autonomy.
“And to my son, William Croft,” the lawyer read. “I leave the title of Chief Executive Officer, to continue the work he began before my return.”
William nodded solemnity. The hierarchy was restored. The nightmare was over.
“However,” Blackwood paused, turning the page. “The distribution of the Class A Voting Stock–the fifty-one percent Controlling Interest in Croft Enterprises–is subject to a specific clause.”