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I spent the rest of the night planning my approach. Not the desperate, demanding tactics of a rejected grandmother. The strategic patience of a woman who’d built an empire from nothing.
Victoria had made one crucial error in her calculations. She’d assumed that after 13 years of exile, I’d grown weak with grief and loneliness. Instead, I’d grown strong with purpose.
The mansion sat on five acres in the most exclusive neighborhood in the city—the same neighborhood where James and Victoria lived, though their modest colonial seemed almost quaint compared to my new residence. “The library is ready for your inspection, Mrs. Rivers,” called Margaret, the head interior designer.
I followed her to what had once been three separate rooms, now opened into a magnificent space with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, Persian rugs, and comfortable reading chairs positioned near tall windows that overlooked the gardens. “It’s perfect,” I said, running my hand along the mahogany desk that would serve as my workspace. “What about the guest wings?”
“Both fully furnished and ready.
Each has its own sitting room, bedroom, and private bath. Perfect for extended visits.”
Extended visits. Exactly what I had in mind.
My phone buzzed with a text from Patricia Hartman. Westfield Academy board approved your proposal unanimously. They’d like to meet with you next week to discuss implementation.
Students will be selected by the end of the month. I smiled, typing back. Excellent.
I’m particularly interested in reviewing applications from students with surnames beginning with R. The meeting at Westfield Academy was everything I’d hoped for and more. The headmaster, Dr.
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