3. Casey

Chapter 3

Casey

After just two days at Westbrook Meadows, I’d started to find my footing.

Well, as much as anyone could in a place this opulent and bizarre.

I descended the sweeping staircase toward the kitchen, hoping to grab a snack for lunch before picking up Henry from school later that day. From the rumors I’d heard around the estate, Henry might be receiving a new car from his grandmother on his birthday the next day.

I knew he’d be thrilled. In my short time as his nanny, he’d been remarkably independent, and a car would mark a new time in his life.

On my way to the kitchen, an unusual scene caught my eye.

Betsy was fussing about the grand sitting room. She had set up the seating in a semi-circle that was centered on an ornate lectern. Betsy noticed me and waved me over.

She was absolutely commanding in her bright green suit and beautiful hat. She moved around the room like a stage director, adjusting vases and fluffing pillows as if she were preparing for a performance.

“Casey!” she exclaimed.

It was as if she was always happy to see me. Her welcoming warmth had made my adjustments to living at Westbrook Meadows easy.

“Big day today,” she said with theatrical flair, her diamond rings catching the light. “The family is about to learn about bequeathments. You’re in for a show.”

That sounds intense, I thought.

I recalled the local headlines about Betsy’s task: distributing one-hundred-million-dollars of her fortune among her family.

I wouldn’t want to be in Betsy’s position, having to determine who gets what. Then again, being in her position would mean a life of unimaginable wealth where money was never a concern.

But that wasn’t my world. I was the nanny, here to do a job.

Still, as I stood there, I couldn’t help but marvel at my surroundings. I soaked in the grandeur of the space, knowing how lucky I was to glimpse this life even temporarily.

I glanced again at the lectern.

This was going to be quite a show.

Before I could envision it, Martin appeared in the room.

“Ma’am, the Mercers are here,” he said. “They’ve requested an audience.”

An audience?

I raised an eyebrow.

This was like living at Buckingham Palace.

Betsy sighed and looked at her feet, her brow furrowed in frustration. She turned and glanced at me.

“The Mercers are Henry’s maternal grandparents,” she said.

Martin nodded stoically. “They’re in the parlor, ma’am. Shall I have them come in?”

Betsy nodded yes and rushed over to whisper while we waited for their arrival.

She pulled out her phone. “I’m going to text Logan to come down right now. I can’t believe they’d show up announced.”

I had no idea what was going on, but I didn’t like it.

Betsy frowned as she typed into her phone. “I have a bad feeling.”

She quickly fired a text to Logan before looking up at me.

“They haven’t been around much since their daughter’s passing,” she declared in what she must have thought was a whisper.

It wasn’t.

Her voice echoed through the cavernous hallways and ricocheted off the antique mirrors.

Glancing nervously at the couple approaching us, my heart sank as I thought about them overhearing. Betsy, of course, was completely and utterly unbothered.

She leaned in closer as if to lower her voice but somehow got even louder.

Her tone was drenched in faux sympathy. “I know grief is hard on them, but that’s no excuse to ignore their own grandson. I feel so bad for Henry, it’s been horrible for him.”

I winced, my internal discomfort at its absolute max, knowing that the Mercers could hear us as they approached. I practically willed Betsy to stop, but she was on a roll.

She adjusted her hat, and her tone was as casual as if she were discussing the dinner menu.

Next, Betsy delivered a classic southern insult. The kind that felt like a velvet-cloaked dagger. “They’re not nearly as attentive as I am.”

I could hear their footsteps as they approached.

Any moment now.

“And let’s be honest,” Betsy added with a polite smile that could melt steel, “they’re absolutely insufferable.”

Suddenly, the Mercers were in the room.

They both gave off a polished, upper-class appearance, but I suspected from first glance that they were nowhere near as wealthy as the Westbrooks. Even the Mercers seemed intimidated by their surroundings, even though they’d probably been here before.

Helen Mercer approached Betsy and gave her an uncomfortable air kiss. “We were in the neighborhood and just wanted to stop by for a visit.”

Neither of the Mercers looked at me. Not even a glance.

I was probably like the furniture to them: taking up space, nothing important.

Suddenly, Logan appeared with Martin in tow. Evidently, Betsy had commanded all the troops to locate Logan and bring him forth posthaste.

Logan cleared his throat, confusion on his face. “Helen? Robert?”

I wasn’t entirely sure, but there appeared to be a hint of animosity in Logan’s expression.

“What can we do for you?” Betsy asked.

“Something to drink?” Helen replied with a haughty grin.

Martin quickly turned to Betsy and apologized for not bringing refreshments. “I’m sorry, ma’am, what can I bring?”

Betsy’s smile was deceptively sweet. “Let’s make it something special, Martin; after all, it’s been so long since we’ve had the pleasure.”

Helen winced.

“Maybe a nice iced-tea,” Betsy added. “Sweet, of course. We wouldn’t want anything bitter, would we, Helen?”

Helen’s grin disappeared and her expression tightened.

Logan smiled, and for some reason I smiled too.

The Mercers were incredibly off-putting.

Helen’s lips pressed into a frown. “We’ve heard that there’ve been some staff changes around here.”

Her gaze finally flickered to me, cold and glaring. Like I was an art exhibit she wasn’t impressed by.

“We wanted to make sure that Henry is still living in a stable environment.”

It was a dig. I knew it, plain and simple.

I was furious.

Logan didn’t miss a single beat. “The environment we’re raising Henry in is loving and attentive.”

Betsy, naturally, didn’t bother with subtlety. “If only you were around more to witness it.”

Damn. No sugarcoating from Betsy.

Robert smirked. “That’s exactly what we were thinking. As a matter of fact, we’d like to see more of Henry.”

Helen cast her awful glare at me again. “We just know how hard it must be for Henry, adjusting to a new presence in the house.”

Logan paused and cleared his throat again. “Henry is fine. You both know that I have no problem with you spending time with him.”

Helen nodded. “We were actually thinking about more than just spending some time.”

Robert added, “In fact, that’s why we’re here today: we’d love to have Henry⁠—”

But Helen interrupted. “Robert, no. We’re only here for part one today.”

Betsy stepped forward. “Part one? What the hell is this all about?”

Helen froze, obviously realizing she had let something slip. “We just miss Henry so much.”

Silence filled the air, thick and tense.

It seemed as if everyone was firmly in place, daring anyone else to make the next move.

Robert finally broke the silence. “It’s obviously a bad time. Maybe we could stop by this weekend for a proper visit?”

Logan hesitated, visibly grappling.

It was apparent that this was a difficult decision for him. If it were me, I’d be furious that the Mercers had shown up in the middle of the day and made things uncomfortable. Betsy turned and looked at Logan, a rare moment of deference from someone of her stature. It was almost weird—the queen stepping aside. But Henry was Logan’s son, and Logan alone could make this decision.

Logan nodded toward the Mercers. “As I said, I have no problem with you both visiting Henry. Give me a call later and we’ll schedule a time.”

Everything inside of me wanted to believe that was the end of it. But something still felt off.

It was clear to every single person in the room: this was far from over.

An hour later, I stood by and watched in awe as various Westbrook family members trickled into the grand room to learn of their potential fate in regard to the money.

They all looked absolutely eager—or maybe even desperate—to clamor for a slice of the estate.

I, on the other hand, felt nothing but anxiety over the Mercers’ visit earlier in the day.

The encounter had left me shaken and a little upset. The idea of someone taking Henry away from Logan was horrifying to me, so I could only imagine that Logan was probably furious.

After the conversation, Logan had escaped outside to talk with Henry. I had no idea how much Logan planned to reveal to his son about his conversation with the Mercers earlier in the day.

Now, as I watched family members sit around Betsy’s lectern, I tried to focus on the task at hand: providing care for Henry.

Betsy had hinted at an upcoming birthday surprise for him and told me to be prepared to assist.

Finally, Logan entered the room, looking tense as he adjusted his collar with obvious discomfort.

Henry had gone off to do his own thing around the property.

I took a seat near the back of the room, eager to watch the proceedings.

Once everyone was seated, Betsy stepped up to the lectern.

She lifted a crystal glass and cleared her throat dramatically. “Thank you all for joining me today.”

Silence fell across the other family members.

Obviously, when Betsy spoke, everyone listened, their eyes filled with anticipation about what might come next. There were over twenty people in the room, and I had no idea who they were.

Except for the mid-forties woman sitting in the front row, whom I’d been told was named Veronica. She was Logan’s cousin and, evidently, the black sheep of the family. From what I’d heard so far, Veronica was a person who constantly attempted to manipulate the family for financial gain. She’d taken money from Betsy for failed business ventures, and possibly even leaked a bad story to the press for a quick payday.

“As you know,” Betsy continued, “I am nearing my final decisions about the Westbrook estate, but before I finalize anything, I feel that you each should demonstrate your commitment to our family’s legacy.”

Silence lingered in the air as light filtered through the windows and onto the hushed faces of the Westbrook family.

Betsy’s eyes sparkled as she said, “That’s why I’ve created the Westbrook Legacy Challenges. Each of you will be given a Legacy Challenge—a task that, when completed, will show that you’re truly committed to this family.”

I glanced over at Logan and noticed that he was the only one who didn’t look nervous. In fact, he had a big grin on his face.

Then again, maybe it was because he was already a successful man in his own right. A quick internet search a few days prior had clued me in to the fact that the average cardiac surgeon earns about three to five-hundred-thousand-dollars a year, so I figured Logan wasn’t too concerned with money.

Still… it was hard to be sure. After all, one-hundred-million was nothing to sneeze at, even for a successful doctor.

“These challenges,” Betsy continued, “are designed to test your creativity and patience. They’re also designed to see if you can uphold the spirit of our family.”

Henry suddenly walked into the room.

“Ah, Henry!” Betsy exclaimed. “Just in time.”

She always seemed absolutely thrilled to see her grandson. Whenever he walked into a room, she beamed from ear to ear. The way she spoke to him was completely different from the way she spoke to anyone else, except maybe Logan.

There was an endearing element of love, compassion, and strict guidance to which Henry seemed to respond well.

Henry and Logan each sat in a chair, looking toward Betsy.

“For Logan and Henry, I’ve created the Heart of the Family challenge.”

“The what?” Henry asked, a befuddled expression on his face.

“Let me explain,” she added, almost scolding him. “Here at Westbrook Meadows there’s a garden called the Heart of the Family. Over the years, it has become neglected, overgrown, and thoroughly unused. I’d like for you both to fix that.”

“Fix what?” Logan asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Restore it,” she answered. “Bring it back to pulsating vitality. Clear out the overgrown shrubs. Tear out the weeds. Clear the old pathways of brick and replace them with new. Replant each of the garden beds.”

“Pathways?” Logan asked. “How big is this garden?”

“Only three acres,” Betsy replied, as if it were nothing at all.

“Mother,” Logan said. “I have less than zero experience with gardening. An acre alone is larger than a high school football field. You think I’m capable of restoring a garden the size of three football fields?”

“No,” Betsy said, matter-of-factly. “But together with Henry, I know you’re capable of it. Besides, I’ve lined up a professional horticulturist to help plan. You just need to execute.”

Oh good, I thought. At least they’ll have help from a professional.

Then again, I expected nothing less from a woman as wealthy as Betsy. After all, she probably wanted the garden to be stunning for all the galas and soirees she was known for hosting.

“Additionally,” she said, “I’d like for you both to add personal touches to the garden. Incorporate elements that’ll reflect both your personalities. At the center of the garden, I’d like there to be a family tree sculpture. A striking iron tree sculpture—each iron branch adorned with a plaque or ornament for each family member. Even Veronica.”

“Hey!” Veronica exclaimed.

Betsy frowned at her. “Veronica, dear, I’m only teasing,” she said with fake sincerity. “Your name will, of course, go on the smallest branch. I imagine somewhere near the bottom. Perhaps by the roots. Symbolic, really.”

Muffled laughter filled the room from the other family members as Veronica’s face flushed.

Betsy clapped her hands. “Next challenge!”

The room fell silent again.

Betsy glanced at me. “Casey, I just realized I haven’t introduced everyone.”

She gestured out towards the other family members as if they were her gallery.

First, she pointed out a well-dressed man in his thirties. He had a laid-back style infused with quiet wealth. “This is my son Hunter.”

Next, she gestured toward another sharp-dressed gentleman in his thirties, this time with more of a city-slicker professional style, touched with a hint of Charleston southern flair. “This is my nephew, Dean, Logan’s cousin.”

She pointed at a woman in her sixties seated in the front row, immaculately dressed like a first lady of an important country. “This is my sister, Mildred.”

Next Betsy gestured toward Veronica. “And we’ve already spent enough time talking about Veronica.”

“Pleasure to meet you all,” I said to the room, trying my best to sound confident.

Hunter and Dean both offered a pleasant hello, but no one else in the room spoke.

Their gazes ranged from curiosity to outright indifference.

Tough crowd.

Logan’s deep voice cut through the silence with authority. “Listen everyone, Casey has become a valuable asset to our family, so please treat him accordingly.”

The room went still which took me by surprise. His words obviously carried more weight than I’d expected.

His tone wasn’t just polite. It was firm. It was as if he was staking his claim—in a way that left no room for argument.

Suddenly, my pulse quickened. Presumably a reaction to his kind words.

I hoped.

He was a man who carried himself with such reserve—the only way to interpret an act like this was that he cared. About me.

I wasn’t sure if he could hear me over the murmurs of the room, but I said, “Thank you.”

Then, his gaze flickered toward me. Our eyes met.

If I weren’t mistaken, I thought I could see a small, almost imperceptible smile forming at the corner of his lips.

It sent a shock wave through me that I had no business feeling.

I was the nanny. A consummate professional.

I tried to look away, but it was no use. There was something about the way he’d defended me. It was disarming. He somehow had the ability to stop the chaos around him with a few simple words. Nothing too obvious, simply understated.

“Basically,” Betsy said, commanding everyone’s attention back to her, “don’t scare him off or you’ll have to deal with me.”

Betsy welcomed me with open arms, and I was starting to feel like part of the family.

“Casey has already exceeded my expectations,” she added. “And everyone knows how high those are. So, behave yourselves, all of you. Or else. And for goodness sakes, no ignoring him just because he’s charming and more competent than half of you.”

Logan’s eyes sparkled at Betsy’s quip in a way that told me he admired her. I appreciated her frankness.

For a moment, I let myself wonder what it might feel like to truly be a part of this family. To have Betsy’s fiery support and Logan’s quiet reassurance.

But I couldn’t let myself think like that. I had to shove those ideas away. I had been hired to do a job, plain and simple.

Veronica scoffed. “Casey has exceeded your expectations? My, Betsy, I didn’t realize your standards had fallen to ‘good with children’ and ‘willing to fetch coffee’.”

Wow. That was a dig. Veronica obviously had her opinions about me.

I fumed inside but kept a straight face.

“Veronica, dear,” Betsy said with a sugar-coated, condescending tone, “if my standards are so low, what does that say about your inability to meet them?”

The air in the room was alive with tension.

The smug expression on Veronica’s face faltered for a minute as she seemed to reminded herself that she was here to beg for inheritance money, so maybe she should smarten up.

“Just an observation,” she said with a fake tone.

“No,” Logan said firmly, “it was an insult, Veronica. Stop it.”

Betsy nodded. “Stop or leave.”

Veronica shifted in her seat and said nothing.

“On to the next challenge,” Betsy said, turning toward Logan’s brother Hunter.

“Hunter,” she said, “your task is the Westbrook Family Carnival challenge. I want elegance and refinement, but also carnival games, funnel cake, the works.”

Hunter nodded as if he understood, which confused me.

Then I reminded myself that he was a member of the Westbrook family and was therefore accustomed to Betsy’s quirks.

“Are you familiar with mechanical bulls?” she asked.

Hunter grinned and said, “I can easily do that!”

“Make it a mechanical peacock,” Betsy said as if it was a completely normal request. “Why? Because we’re not boring, Hunter. There will also be a gnome-tossing contest, a petting zoo, a family trivia challenge, and a rooster race.”

Betsy walked over and handed Hunter a thick binder which obviously contained further instructions for the carnival.

“You’ll find lots of information in this binder about the kinds of food I expect,” she commanded. “A deep-fried truffle popcorn station, lobster corn dogs, champagne cotton candy, and edible gold flakes sprinkled on various things. Naturally, I’ve hired a professional event planner to coordinate with you, but you’ll be expected to be the driving force in this carnival, Hunter.”

Hunter looked confident, as if he were up to the task. Again, a lifetime with this family had probably prepared him for eccentricities.

Not to mention what was on the line: a vast fortune to be claimed by anyone Betsy deemed fit. I’m sure they were all eager to impress.

Next, Betsy turned to Logan’s cousin, Dean. “For you Dean, a charity art auction. You’ll be tasked with curating art pieces from various artists, getting wealthy patrons involved—you’ll even personally auction off some the Westbrook family artwork.”

Dean nodded enthusiastically as Betsy handed him a binder, just as thick with instructions as the one she’d handed Hunter.

“Remember dear,” she said, “I own half of Harborstone Gallery here in Charleston. Accordingly, the public will expect a lavish and extravagant art auction, especially if it’s being hosted by a Westbrook. I don’t want the event to disappoint. Do you understand?”

“I understand completely.”

Betsy patted him on the head before walking back to her lectern.

He grinned as he started flipping through the pages.

“Add a modern twist to it,” she said. “I’m testing your creative skills and your public speaking skills, Dean. The Westbrook family name is at stake. And so is your legacy. Don’t screw it up.”

Suddenly, Veronica jumped to her feet, commanding the attention of everyone in the room with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

“What about the bequeathments?” she asked.

Betsy feigned ignorance, tilting her head as if Veronica had spoken another language. “What, dear?”

Veronica stomped her foot. “The money!”

Her voice carried through the giant room, echoing off the walls. It was the kind of tantrum you’d expect from a toddler denied dessert, not a woman in her forties.

Betsy steeled her expression save for wincing. It was clear that Veronica frustrated her. I couldn’t imagine the burden of having family members constantly buzzing around, acting out in the hopes of getting a big payout.

Betsy relaxed her expression into a forced smile. “The money, my dear, will be addressed when I decide it’s worth addressing.”