Crown of Lies

I obeyed, reaching out to touch the black binder that always rested there. Dad would bring it home with important documents inside then take it back to the office with yet more vital paperwork. I was never allowed to touch it unless he was around—and only then to bring it to him.

I hesitated as my fingers ghosted over the soft leather.

He smiled. “Go on, you can open it.”

I pulled it toward me and cracked it wide. There, like all the other times, were white, crisp pages scarred with multiple black lines of adult jargon.

“What does it say at the top?” He popped his middle blazer button and perched on the side of the desk. His long frame towered over me but not in a bad way; more like a willow tree where I liked to curl up and nap in Central Park on the rare days Dad did nothing.

“Last Will and Testament of Joseph Mark Charlston.” My eyes raced to his. “Dad...you’re not—”

He reached out and patted my hand. “No, Bell Button. Not yet. But one can never be too careful. Up until last week, my Will and Testament left the running of our family’s company to Steve until you came of age. However, I never felt comfortable bequeathing such responsibility to someone outside the Charlston family.”

I gnawed on my lip. “What do you mean?”

He pulled a pen from the small gold holder on his desk. “It means I’ve had it revised. I have no plans to leave this world early, so don’t worry about that. And you, my dear, are beyond intelligent for your age, so I know you’ll take all of this in your stride. Your education about our processes, factories, and employee structure will be accelerated, and when you’re ready, you’ll become CEO, and I’ll step down.”

My mouth fell open. That sounded hard. When would I have time to go to school and make friends other than the staff in the makeup department where I hung out when he worked late?

But how could I say no? I was all he had. He was all I had. We had to stick together.

My heart lurched, needing confirmation he wasn’t going to leave me, despite his assurances. “You’re not dying, though?”

He shook his head. “Never, if I had my way. This isn’t meant to scare you, Elle, but to show you how proud I am of you. I won’t deny that it will be so rewarding to hand over this legacy sooner rather than later, knowing with all my heart you will take it to even greater heights than I ever could.” He passed me the pen. “Initial each page and sign.”

I’d signed enough contracts even at my young age to know how to do it. Stocks that he’d put in my name; a house he’d purchased in some state I’d never heard of—even a limited edition painting that came from an auction house in England.

Bending over the paperwork, I curled my fingers tight around the pen, ignoring the sudden shakes. This was no different from all those other documents, yet it was so much more. This was my life. This was more than growing up and celebrating a birthday. This was every day, every moment, every final say that would manipulate me until I was Dad’s age. I didn’t have the luxury of figuring out if I wanted to be a doctor or an astronomer. I’d never go to the Olympics as a swimmer (even though my instructor said I was more rock than dolphin). I’d never be anything more than Noelle Charlston, heiress of Belle Elle.

My heart beat with a strange squeeze as I placed the pen on the paper.

“Oh, wait a sec.” Dad pressed the intercom to connect him to his receptionist. “Margaret, can you come in, please?”

Immediately, a pretty, middle-aged redhead entered and came forward. Weekends were no different from weekdays in this company. “Yes, Mr. Charlston?”

“I need you to act as a witness.”

“Sure.” She smiled at me but didn’t say anything as I flipped through the seventeen pages and initialed each, then took a deep breath and signed my name. The moment I’d finished, Dad grinned and spun the deed to Margaret. “Your turn. Sign in the witness box, please.”

I passed her the pen.

She took it. “Thank you, Elle.”

My nickname (not Bell Button—which remained a mystery on how it came about. Dad said it was something to do with how much I loved buttons when I was little, and bell rhymed with Elle) reminded me how I’d been named in a roundabout way for the first wife of our company. The woman who’d created an empire beside her husband until he’d died of pneumonia, and she ruled on her own for forty more years. Elizabeth Eleanor—the original Belle Elle.

Scrawling her signature, Margaret passed the contract back to my father.

He signed in the last box with utmost concentration and an air of relief.

“Is that all, Mr. Charlston?” Margaret asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Dad nodded.

She gave me a small wave, before retreating to her adjoining office, leaving Dad and me alone once again.

He looked up from signing, his older eyes meeting mine. His face fell. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

I shrugged, doing my best to seem carefree and not think about how big of a throne I had to fill. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He frowned. “You look...afraid.”

I am.

I’m afraid of a world where you’re gone, and I’m in charge.

I’m afraid of not being the daughter you think I am.

But he could never know that. This was my duty. My birthright. No matter my age or experience, I knew enough to know my existence was always destined for Belle Elle.

I smiled. “I’m not. This is just my face.”