The Accidental Son-in-law Is A Genius

Module 8 - 6:12 AM. A TEXT FROM DUKE:

The faint light of the morning sun crept into the room, illuminating Clarke’s face as he stirred. His phone buzzed on the nightstand and the soft vibration broke the silence. Groaning, he reached out blindly. His hand fumbled before grabbing it.

He squinted at the screen. 6:12 AM. A text from Duke:

"Mr. Clarke, urgent. Call me when you wake."

Clarke sighed, already feeling the tension creeping back into his muscles. He glanced at where Winifred sat last night and she wasn't there, neither was she in the room. For a moment, he considered ignoring the message. But he knew Duke wouldn’t disturb him without good reason.

Sliding out of bed carefully to avoid making any noise, he padded to the window side. His bare feet was sure silent against the cool floor. 

Once he was far enough from the bedroom door, he tapped Duke’s number.

It rang twice before Duke’s voice came through, calm but serious. “Mr. Clarke, we have a problem.”

“What now?” Clarke asked, keeping his voice low.

“It’s about your father. The board members are already circling like vultures. They’ve caught wind of his condition and are pressing for an emergency meeting.”

Clarke pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration bubbling. “It hasn’t even been 12 hours. Can’t they wait?”

“Apparently not. They’re using his health as leverage to demand answers about succession plans. Some are even proposing interim leadership.”

“Let me guess. They’re hoping to push me out before I can step in.”

“Exactly.”

Clarke’s jaw tightened. He couldn't help pacing around the room. “Alright. Call for a meeting. Today. I’ll be there.”

Duke hesitated. “Are you sure? That means you’ll have to face them head-on. No more flying under the radar.”

“It’s been two years and I’m done hiding, Duke. If they want to challenge me, let them. But they’ll regret underestimating me.”

“Yes, sir,” Duke said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

Clarke adjusted his phone against his ear, clearing his throat. “Duke, before you go, I need you to look into my wife’s studio.”

There was a pause on the other end. “The studio? What should I be looking for, sir?”

“Anything. Faults, loopholes, issues; big or small, I don’t care. Fix them. Pay close attention to everything. I’ll handle my father’s situation, but I need you to make sure her problems are dealt with quietly and efficiently.”

Duke’s response was immediate compared to his playful self. “Understood, Mr. Clarke. I’ll have my team on it.”

“Good.” Clarke was about to hang up when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. He turned to see Winifred standing at the doorway, her sharp gaze locking onto him.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked, suspicion lacing her tone.

Clarke quickly adjusted his demeanor, lowering the phone from his ear. “No one. Just my boss.”

Winifred’s brow arched skeptically. “Your boss?” She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Haven’t I told you to quit that flimsy job of yours? It doesn’t even pay well. When I sort out the issues at my studio, I’ll have enough money to take care of everyone. I’ve always been the one carrying this household anyway. Your little salary won’t make a difference.”

Her words cut sharply, and while they might have sounded rude to someone else, Clarke had grown used to the way she spoke. Despite her tone, he felt a flicker of warmth. He could sense the care buried beneath her words, no matter how harsh they seemed.

He smiled faintly.

Clarke stood and stepped closer to her, his voice soft. “Actually, thank you, Winny. I know I haven’t been the most useful husband. I’ve caused you more problems than I’ve solved—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, dismissing his words. “Please, don’t whine in my ears, Clarke. I’m not in the mood for your dramatics.” Her tone was sharp but lacked true venom. “You know the rules. If you’re so thankful, go to the kitchen and cook breakfast. Then clean the house. Do something useful, so I don’t have to waste my energy yelling at you.”

Clarke chuckled softly, despite himself. “Got it. Anything to avoid getting my ears bitten off by your Aunt.”

Winifred rolled her eyes and turned toward the bedroom. She tossed one last remark over her shoulder. “And don’t worry about my bathe. I’ll handle it myself.”

He watched her retreating form, shaking his head with a rueful smile. As much as her words stung, there was no denying the fire in her.

He exhaled and made his way to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. “Breakfast it is,” he muttered to himself.