The Accidental Son-in-law Is A Genius

Module 11: FALLEN IN LOVE

The heavy oak doors to the Wisehearts Industries conference room swung open, and Clarke Wiseheart strode in. 

The air in the room shifted with his entrance. 

His tailored suit and calm demeanor were at great opposition with the tension already simmering among the board members. 

Around the long table, senior executives and advisors exchanged curious, skeptical glances. 

The whispers began almost immediately.

“Who is this?” came the gruff voice of Samuel Vance, one of the longest-serving board members. His gaze lingered on Clarke with open disdain. “Where’s Duke?”

“Or Clifford,” Margot Reynolds added, her tone sharp. “Someone we actually know.”

Clarke ignored their murmurs and walked to the head of the table, the exact spot his father had occupied for decades. 

Resting his hands on the polished wood, he addressed the room with the steadiness of a man who had long prepared for this moment. This was his time.

“I’m Clarke Wiseheart,” he said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “The son of Frederick Wiseheart, and your future… leader.”

The room fell silent for a dead beat before erupting into incredulous laughter and muttered objections.

“Clarke Wiseheart?” Greg Timmons leaned forward, an eyebrow arched in disbelief. “You mean Frederick’s son.. the one who vanished for two years? The one who had an accident? What are we supposed to think? That you’re here to claim your father’s empire after being MIA?”

Clarke’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched. But before he could respond, the doors opened again, and Clifford Wiseheart, his younger brother, entered the room with his usual charm and confidence. 

The murmurs turned to relief as several board members straightened in their seats.

“Clifford!” Margot exclaimed, as if salvation had arrived. “Finally, someone sensible.”

Clifford smiled faintly. His gaze swept the room before settling on Clarke. 

“Good afternoon, everyone,” he greeted smoothly. “I can see there’s some confusion. Let me clear it up.” He walked to stand beside Clarke, his hand gesturing toward him. “This is Clarke Wiseheart, my brother. Yes, that Clarke. The rightful heir to this company.”

The room erupted again, though now the voices were sharper and questioning.

“Clifford,” Samuel called, his tone measured but firm, “you’ve been here. You’ve proven yourself. If anyone should take over, it’s you. Not… him.” He nodded toward Clarke. He barely hid his disdain.

“I understand your concerns,” Clifford replied. “But this isn’t about preference. It’s about my father’s wishes, and his wishes were clear: Clarke is to take the reins.”

Margot crossed her arms. “And how do we know what Frederick wants? Words are easy to twist.”

Clarke reached into his briefcase and produced a thick document. He slid it across the table. “This is a memo signed by my father, appointing me as head of Wisehearts Industries,” he said coldly. “I’m not here to beg for your approval. This is happening.”

Silence blanketed the room as the document was passed around one by one, hand by hand. Even those who doubted couldn’t argue with Frederick Wiseheart’s unmistakable signature.

“Fine,” Margot said finally. “But leading isn’t just about a piece of paper. It’s about presence. Can you be here, day in and day out, like your father was? Can you handle the scrutiny? The pressure?”

“I can,” Clarke deadpanned, though his voice lacked its earlier certainty. Could he be here day in and day out? What happens to his marriage then?

Greg leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “We’re not convinced. If you want us to trust you with this company, you’ll have to prove you can handle it. Be here. Work under our watchful gaze. Just like your father did.”

Clarke felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He had anticipated them resisting the idea of his leading which would have been difficult, but this level of scrutiny was worse. Suffocating. 

Still, he squared his shoulders. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”

But as he said the words, his thoughts drifted—unbidden—to Winifred. Just hours ago, the idea of being tethered to this company, to this city, might have been tolerable. But now, the thought of staying here indefinitely, far from his wife and her family, twisted something deep inside him.

It had only just occurred to him how deeply he cared for her. 

Winifred, the woman who had given him very tiny glimpses of warmth and care even when her family treated him with disdain, like he was shit. The woman who made him feel alive in small ways this sterile boardroom never could.

Could he stay here, trapped under the watchful eyes of these people, knowing it meant giving up the time he could spend with her? 

The thought sent a pang through his chest. He had truly fallen in love with a woman he barely knew. A woman he'd just met weeks ago.

He tried to dismiss it; pretend it didn’t matter. 

But the truth was undeniable. He didn’t want to be far from her. He didn’t want to lose what little he had found.

The voices around him faded as his mind battled with itself. 

Should he sacrifice his time with Winifred and her family, imperfect as they were, for the sake of duty? 

Could he endure this sterile life for a legacy that had nearly destroyed him once before?

“Clarke,” Clifford’s voice jolted him back to the present. His brother was watching him carefully, as if sensing his hesitation. “Are you willing to commit to this?”

The room was waiting. 

The weight of their expectations really bore down on him.

“No,” Clarke said suddenly, his voice sharp. The declaration stunned the room into silence. “I’ll lead Wisehearts Industries, but not on your terms. I won’t spend my days shackled to this table or living under your microscope. My leadership will speak for itself, whether I’m here or not.”

The room erupted again, but Clarke didn’t care. He turned his attention to Jason Whitmore, one of the board members who had been unnervingly quiet throughout the meeting. 

Clarke knew Jason had been involved in the accident that had nearly cost him his life two years ago. Though he couldn’t prove it yet, the suspicion burned like a fire in his gut.

Jason smirked. “Bold words for someone who’s barely stepped into this room.”

“And bolder words for someone who should be in jail,” Clarke shot back, his voice icy. 

Jason’s smirk faltered.

Clarke took a steadying breath. He didn’t have time to deal with Jason now. He had bigger battles to fight. But one thing was certain: he wasn’t about to let anyone, board members, rivals, or even his father, dictate how he lived his life.

His father’s empire would be his. But he’d fight for it on his terms. 

And as much as it terrified him to admit, Winifred was part of those terms. The thought of losing even the tiniest of minutes he could spend with her was unbearable.