Inevitable Inheritance

by Kade Charest

  Inevitable Inheritance

  The Inevitable Series | Book One

  Kade Charest

  Copyright © 2019 by Kade Charest

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Maria @ Steamy Designs

  Interior Format: Steamy Designs

  Contents

  Inevitable Inheritance

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Inevitable Inheritance

  Inevitable Inheritance is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental….and quite frankly amazing.

  This book, and all my work, would not be possible without the undying love and devotion from my husband Dave. All your support, positivity and editing throughout this endeavor makes me love you infinitely more. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you.

  Prologue

  Libby blew back her curly brown locks as they fell into her face again. One puff of air from the corner of her mouth sent them flying out of her face momentarily, allowing her to follow through with the nightly routine of cleaning all the stainless steel countertops at the Roasted Bean. It had been open mic night at the coffee shop, which meant it was a late night for the employees.

  Libby had worked at the Roasted Bean for the last two years. She had bounced around from place to place before that, but when she came to Chadumor, Maine, two years earlier, she had fallen in love. It was a small town with cobblestoned streets, and it was right next to a government telescope that blocked all signals so that the town was without Wi-Fi or Internet access. It was a quaint town that embraced being sans technology, and Libby loved it.

  “Doesn’t that hair falling in your face drive you crazy?” her co-worker Ben asked beside her, as the unruly curl once again fluttered in front of her thick black-framed glasses.

  Libby bent her head a little lower, causing more of her disobedient curls to fall down into her face, and shrugged .

  Ben laughed. “How come you don’t pull it back if it keeps falling down?” he asked, coming closer and tugging on one curl.

  Libby jerked back, now looking at Ben. She shrugged again. “I like it down.”

  Ben leaned back onto the counter he and Libby were standing at and smiled at her. “I do too,” he said softly, and Libby immediately shifted her gaze down again.

  Libby avoided attention. She didn’t feel comfortable with people looking at her. It was why her hair was the way it was—it blocked her from view. It was why she looked away often and avoided conversations. She hated it all.

  But as she glanced up to see what Ben was doing, she was happy to see he was still looking at her with that small smile on his face. He wore a gray Fidel hat over his shaggy black hair, and a thick beard covered his face. He had started working at the Roasted Bean two months earlier with Libby, but he would come in many times on their Friday open mic nights to play his acoustic guitar and sing. His voice was raspy and cool, and Libby liked to close her eyes and get lost in it.

  And it was his singing that had built up the huge crush she had on him.

  Libby had trained Ben when he started, so they had spent a lot of time together. Libby didn’t mind talking to people. She just hated when they focused on her too much. She preferred to talk about things other than herself. Ben never pried, and that appealed to Libby too.

  She thought she had imagined it, maybe even dreamed it, but it seemed like Ben had been paying a lot of attention to her. And this was confirmed by Sara, another server at the Roasted Bean. Sara was Libby’s only other friend here in Chadumor, and she was eager to gossip about Ben’s attention, which she had noticed as a voyeur.

  “He is totally into you!” Sara had informed Libby during their weekly dance class at the town center.

  Libby had shaken her head at the suggestion, but deep down she both hoped and dreaded that this was true. She was unsure how to handle romantic attention, because at twenty-four she had never had a boyfriend and wasn’t sure she would know what to do. Before her life in Chadumor, she had lived a sheltered life. She hadn’t even known how to use an ATM, so talking to a guy was well outside her area of expertise.

  And now here she was, scrubbing the same spot of stainless steel over and over again, painfully aware that Ben was looking at her and totally unsure of what to do. Should she say something? Should she walk away?

  Suddenly Ben’s hand landed on Libby’s scrubbing hand, stopping her . “It’s clean,” Ben said softly to her, but he let his hand linger on hers.

  Libby moved her eyes from their joined hands up to Ben’s face. When she met Ben’s eyes, he smiled and brought his free hand up to rest on Libby’s cheek.

  Her breath caught in her throat as Ben searched her face and then dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. Libby’s heart raced, and butterflies danced in her stomach. When Ben brushed her lips again, Libby pushed forward to return his kiss.

  Ben slid his hand to the back of her head and leaned in when suddenly a car horn blared.

  Ben and Libby jumped apart and looked at each other wide-eyed. The car horn honked again repeatedly, and Ben rolled his eyes. “It’s my ride,” he explained to Libby, looking every bit as irritated and annoyed as she felt.

  “It’s okay,” Libby said softly.

  “No, it’s not,” Ben said, grabbing Libby’s hand. “I want to stay, but we have a gig—”

  HONK!

  “It’s okay, really,” Libby assured him.

  Ben gave Libby’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, searching her eyes.

  Libby nodded, and Ben leaned in to give her another quick kiss.

  “I can’t wait,” he said against Libby’s lips. He took a step back and let go of her hand. “Night, Libby,” he said, walking backward to the door, his eyes still on her.

  “Night, Ben,” Libby replied, smiling at him. Ben smiled widely at her and then turned and ran out the door as more honking ensued.

  Libby reached up to gently touch her lips and then ducked her head and smiled. After a few minutes, she dropped her fingers and turned back to the counter to finish cleaning up.

  Winter was keeping its frosty hold on the early spring New England nights, but tonight Libby didn’t feel the cold. She locked the shop, completely forgetting to put on her sweater. Instead, it stayed wrapped around her waist, leaving her arms bare in her T-shirt. Tonight the cold was irrelevant; tonight she was warmed by the kiss Ben had left her with, as quick as it may have been.

  She gazed up at the stars and wrote poetry in her head. For the first time in her life, she saw how brightly the
stars shone and how they actually did twinkle from their heavenly position. She was certain they had never shone quite this brightly or twinkled so freely. Nope, she was quite certain that tonight they shone brighter because—

  “Oooph” was all Libby was able to get out before large arms encircled her from behind. Her mouth was quickly masked with an awful-smelling cloth, and then she was being hoisted and carried away, despite her attempts to escape. Libby wrenched her body to and fro, but it was no use.

  Her efforts were futile because she could feel herself growing weaker and the darkness pulling her down into unconsciousness. The last thing Libby knew was she was petrified, absolutely and totally petrified.

  The fear wasn’t because of the unknown—it was because she knew exactly who had taken her. And that was the worst part of all. Because now Libby was dead.

  Taylor had been resurrected.

  Chapter One

  The headache was bad. Groan-out-loud bad, and that was exactly what she did as she came to. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell there was light just on the other side of them, but she could not bring herself to open up.

  “Taylor?” a voice asked softly. The sound of it had her entire body tensing. She knew that voice. She would never forget it. The voice terrified her that the worst had come true. She opened her eyes wide to see if her fear was well deserved.

  And, sure enough, crouched in front of her was someone she had never wanted to see again, someone from what she thought was her long-lost past—a past she had desperately tried to eradicate, a past she had changed her name to avoid.

  Apparently it hadn’t worked.

  Charlie Mickels was waiting patiently for her to respond. He was not a mean man, not a terrible person, just a complete emblem of her previous life—the mascot of it all. Just seeing his perfect white hair, his finely lined face, and his fancy three-piece suit brought back a trillion memories and made her sure it had finally happened.

  They had finally found her.

  Taylor shook her head rapidly from side to side like she could shake him off or get him away. Maybe he was a hallucination. But he stayed there.

  “You’re okay, Taylor, you’re safe,” Charlie assured her, and he touched her hand gently. If there was any doubt this was a horrific dream, the light touch of Charlie’s hand only confirmed to Taylor that this was happening; this was real. She tried to pull herself up from her seat but found that she was tied down.

  It was amazing how quickly fear could turn to rage.

  “Untie me,” she said sharply.

  Charlie jumped to his feet, nodding as he went for the ties at Taylor’s wrist. “We didn’t want you to fall,” Charlie explained.

  “Well, I am holding myself up now!” Taylor shouted. Panic set in then. She had been found, abducted, and taken God only knew where, and she was tied down. This was not good. Taylor started to tug at her restraints as complete hysteria overtook her, but to no avail.

  Charlie moved in and released the binds on her with a quick pull at both of her wrists, and Taylor sprang from her seat. She grabbed at her sore wrists and bumped into a banquette couch. Taylor looked down at the couch that had stopped her and finally took in her surroundings: She was in the Preston family jet. She knew it well. The whole thing was outfitted with cream carpet and leather, with a bar just behind the cockpit and a fireplace too. The sight of it made her sick.

  She had been inside this jet hundreds of times because she was Taylor Preston, one of the last remaining descendants of the billion-dollar money-making machine, Preston Corporation. It was a company that started with hotel chains in the early 1900s, over time expanding to a conglomerate of hotels, housewares, electronics, clothing lines, and anything else one could think of. It employed hundreds of thousands of people in the United States alone; it was a powerhouse and a household name. Growing up, Taylor had never wanted for anything, but that life hadn’t been without its issues.

  And it was absolutely the last place she wanted to be ever again.

  Taylor could feel the frenzied nerves building up in her as she kept her eyes on the couch. She needed to get herself together, and the best way to do that was to get information. Maybe it wasn’t what she thought, she told herself, maybe it wasn’t that bad. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded.

  “Cedric is dead, Taylor.” The news was delivered by another voice that Taylor also knew all too well; it was the voice of Todd Hammel.

  Taylor spun to take in the new arrival. “Good,” Taylor spat the word. “Where the hell are we going? And why the hell am I here?” she demanded of the two men with her.

  Todd and Charlie were the top advisers for Preston Corporation. She had known both men her entire life, and they couldn’t be more opposite. Charlie was decades older with silvery-white hair, coiffed in the style of a mad man. He was kind and soft spoken; he had a grandfatherly quality about him. Todd had a stare that could melt steel, and he wore his hair in a buzz cut. It fit his personality—straight and to the point, no fuss.

  “L.A.” Charlie answered her quickly, too quickly.

  Taylor paused to try and gather herself. Something was up. She had known both men forever, and both were acting strangely, especially Charlie. In business dealings Charlie was no-nonsense and confident. On social occasions he was relaxed and easygoing. But now he was bouncing from foot to foot and jabbering. He was like a boxer who was afraid of his opponent. And his behavior was scaring the shit out of Taylor; something was up.

  And then Todd spoke again, “Taylor, Cedric is dead.”

  And this time it actually hit her. But there was no way it could mean what she thought it did. “So you said,” Taylor evaded, buying some time. Seconds ago she had just wanted information, and now she just wanted to disappear, again.

  “Preston Corp. needs you, Taylor,” Charlie said softly.

  Taylor’s blood pumped, her heart raced, and her breathing raced out of control. “I don’t want it,” she said slowly. She swallowed, trying to banish the sudden dryness in her throat, but it didn’t work. She backed away slowly; she wasn’t even aware she was doing it until she bumped into a swivel chair and was once again trapped.

  “Taylor …” Charlie said softly, searching for words.

  “You don’t really have a choice,” Todd cut in.

  Taylor backed away in another direction, shaking her head, and fell back into the swivel chair she had been bound to in the first place.

  “I don’t care who needs what,” she said evenly, feigning indifference, “I want off this plane, now.”

  “Taylor, you need to take over the corporation—”

  “No!” Taylor shouted as she twisted her body in a jerky circle, searching for an exit.

  “Preston Corp needs you—”

  “No goddamn way!” she exclaimed, still spinning wildly. Suddenly her eyes found the door. She jumped toward it, eager to fly out into the wind rather than stay in this cabin with these two men.

  “Or it will be closed.”

  Taylor stopped and closed her eyes. You don’t care, she told herself. You let it go. You moved on. You don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care. “Where is the board? Have them run it,” she said finally, her back still to them. As much as she wanted to not care, the truth was she did.

  “Cedric fired them months ago. There is no one left,” Todd explained.

  “Why the hell did he do that?” Taylor exploded and turned back to face Todd, anger pumping through her. She had left knowing the company would be okay because the board was in place. She knew the importance of the company and wanted it still standing despite any stupidity her uncle could bring to it. The members of the board were all strong minds—handpicked by her grandfather before he had gotten too sick—men and women who could handle the corporation and not let Cedric Preston destroy it or the empire her family had spent generations making a solid household name. The corporation was the livelihood for millions of people worldwide. She remembered all the times her grandfather had sa
id what a huge responsibility it was, why it was so important, and it was why he worked so much—so that those people would be okay. Suddenly Taylor felt weighted down with the burden.

  “They were trying to rein him in, stop his ridiculous expenditures,” Charlie explained. “Cedric was just buying uncontrollably since your grandfather’s death. In addition, he invested it in visibly bad investments. He spent his entire inheritance and every other dime he could get his hands on. Then when he wanted more, he went to the board, and they denied him further funding. They very intelligently denied him.”

  “And he fired them to get more money?” Taylor asked, still in shock.

  Charlie nodded grimly. “He got rid of the board and took over everything. He had been taking all the profits from all areas of Preston Corp. for the last six months and diverted it all to himself. Then he just kept buying. Cars, yachts, buildings, homes. Just spending like there was no end.”

  “I didn’t hear anything about the board,” Taylor said absentmindedly as she took all the information in, baffled. The press should have been going wild with the information about Cedric just pissing carelessly through a fortune. She had shut herself off from all types of media, hadn’t read the newspaper, watched TV, or checked computers, and she had an older-than-old phone. But she did hear people talk about big news in the coffee shop, and news about Preston Crop. would most likely have reached her that way.