Bryan cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you were a nurse, and I certainly didn’t know you were my father’s caregiver. I’d understand if he left you something in his will. You probably earned it listening to his whining and preaching.”
Katelyn bit her bottom lip, and he could see she was holding her tongue from spouting a snarky rebuke. “It so happens that I believe in the same God your father did, and I enjoyed sharing scriptures to ease his mind and heart.” She looked at the lawyer. “You may continue, Frank.”
Great! She’d called him Frank. The woman had probably held her patient’s hand to stop it from shaking as he signed Bryan’s inheritance away. He’d best be wary of her—she was obviously a sly wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Frank Bennis withdrew a manila envelope and displayed for Bryan the neat handwriting he recognized immediately as his fathers. That blew the shaky hand theory.
“Your father sealed and addressed this envelope to be read in a private seating.” Using a letter-knife, he slit the top withdrew a single page, inhaled deeply, and began:
“‘To my dearest son, Bryan,
“‘Allowing you free reign and all the money in your pockets to indulge your sinful lusts is my biggest regret as I face death and realize I have no more time to win your heart and trust. I have walked your road and made many mistakes in my lifetime, the only difference being that I continued to work and build the empire that you hope to inherit today. I have left a trail of tears, and I expect you to honor my decisions and perhaps build a bridge to healing within our bloodlines.
“‘Now to you, I have specific guidelines for you to follow, should you wish to claim your legacy. It will come in stages, and Frank Bennis, a trusted family friend and advocate, will see that my final wishes come to pass. Do not attempt to argue your way out of this. I am doing it for your own good. At present, you are incapable of bringing the Charter empire into the future. You, unfortunately, do not see past your next glass of booze and pretty woman.
“‘Enough said. You’ve heard it all before, and now you will work to prove yourself worthy of the family’s wealth.
“‘I’m sure you have met Katelyn by now. She is an angel of mercy, not only to me but to a hurting world. I want to leave her Heal the World Simms Foundation one billion dollars, but I have twisted her arm to help me in a quest I have neglected far too long: you! So, if you plan on inheriting the family’s wealth, this is how you will move forward. The entire process will not surpass six months, or the bulk of your inheritance will be delegated to other causes.
“‘Starting today, your credit cards and further monthly checks will be put on hold. And if your choice is to hole up in one of the estates and drink yourself into oblivion, you will pay the mountain of bills that accompany such an extravagant existence or be thrown out onto the streets. We both know either scenario will be fatal for you, so I suggest you follow my guidelines very carefully.
“‘During this short time, you will either learn the value of money or learn to live as a pauper – entirely your choice. Of course, it is my desire that you find the Lord, the One I learned to love at such a late date, but that, again, is a personal choice. God only accepts willing heirs into His kingdom. He will not force you to bow your knee.
“‘The next step is where Katelyn comes in. She is undoubtedly about to embark on a mission trip—she always is—so money for you to participate in this endeavor will be provided. You will work alongside the medical team in whatever task they assign to you, no questions asked. In this undertaking, I trust the Lord will grow you a heart for the needy. At the end of this step, you will be given one million dollars, and she, one billion. The next step will be explained at that point.
“‘Although I suspect that you hate your old man at this moment, in time, I hope you will see it as a lifeline. It is my last chance to mold a son of worth for now and for eternity.
“‘I will see you back here in three months, so don’t waste too much precious time feeling sorry for yourself.
“‘Forever your father,
“‘Bryan Jerome Charter III.’”
His ways are not our ways.
Lean not on your own understanding,
but trust in the Lord.
Chapter 2
You could have heard a pin drop, like the calm before the storm. Katelyn watched Bryan’s expression turn from curiosity to horror, and end with defiant disapproval. The severity of his glare possessed the power to melt an unprepared woman and cause her to cringe in fear. But she’d been prepped by the lawyer and her patient and was made fully aware of what to expect upon meeting this wayward soul. He sat next to her, close enough for her to pick up on his difficulty breathing and his inability to hold her steady gaze. His frantic appearance served to deepen the challenge she’d accepted from his father, further intensifying her mission’s heart as she sought to bring another sinner home.
He finally found words. They were accusing ones, but they were, nevertheless, a response. “You are a sly one. How did you talk my dad into doing this—a billion dollars for your good-deed-enterprise in exchange for what? Another bum on the streets? A sucker for heaven? Or perhaps that respectable gent my father hopes will come out of this bizarre arrangement; one that actually desires to run the family business?”
“My agreement with your father is none of your business. Every night he and I prayed for you and asked the Lord to intervene on your behalf…the will had already been written when he got sick. It just became more urgent when you didn’t show up to say good-bye and receive his spiritual blessing.”
“The only blessing I want is his money.” Bryan jumped to his feet and loomed over her. “He wasn’t there for me as a kid. I grew up with nannies and the countless hussies he brought home to warm his bed, so, don’t get all righteous with me when you’re just another woman who wants to sponge off him. Granted, the plan of attack is different this time around, but it’s still sponging.”
She stood slowly and leveled her gaze at him, unflinching under the intimidation aimed her way. “Our next mission is to Africa. We are flying out in two weeks. I suggest you go home to pack. You will need to get your shots before we leave, so I recommend you hurry.”
“Shots? How many?”
“Some you will have no doubt had with your regular boosters, but the complete list includes hepatitis A, hepatitis B, typhoid, yellow fever, rabies, meningitis, polio, measles, mumps and rubella, Tdap—which includes tetanus, diphtheria, and pertussis—chickenpox, shingles, pneumonia and influenza.”
“Are you showing off or trying to add more nails to my coffin?”
“I’m trying to save you from going into a coffin. Protection is important in a third world country.”
“Well, the only shot I’m interested in is one I can drink from a whiskey glass. I’m not going, so go find someone else to feel sorry for.” Bryan leaned on the desk. “And you, Mr. Bennis, can expect a call from my lawyer.”
“I am your lawyer,” Frank said calmly.
“Not anymore.” Bryan slammed his fist on the desk before exiting the room.
Katelyn turned to the lawyer and raised her eyebrows. “That went as expected. I’ll give him tonight to cool down and start to wield God’s miracle tomorrow.”
As Katelyn made her way back into the main room fifteen minutes later, to the crowd speaking in hushed groups, a young man hurried past her on the way to the back room. She twirled around and stared at his back, confident she knew him from somewhere, but his identity wasn’t registering.
She focused again on her quest, wishing Bryan had seen the benefit to his father’s wisdom and not created such a fuss. Katelyn scanned the largest room on the yacht but did not see the man in question.
At the bar, she spoke to the man serving drinks. “Jude, did you see Bryan pass by?”
“I did. Came through here like a whirlwind. Went in the direction of the ship’s bridge.”
“Mm…suppose that means he’s eager to leave,” Katelyn said. “And aft
er I vacated the room he usually occupies when aboard the Sea Winder.”
“If you go out on the deck, you’ll probably catch his rapid departure,” Jude said. “The junior Bryan Charter is used to getting his way, and he and the first mate have an explosive relationship.”
“I can believe that. It’s a good thing I brought my own ammunition with me: the eternal brand.”
Katelyn laughed and strolled toward the bow. She’d spoken to the barkeep often about the state of his soul, and the man had loosened his barriers somewhat as she’d tried to live her faith before him while nursing his boss. She leaned against the railing on the starboard side and peered down to the water’s surface. She watched as the motor of the small boat roared to life and eased away from the yacht. Bryan Charter was aboard, with a drink in his hand, grimly staring toward the shoreline. Tall skyscrapers loomed behind the harbor—no doubt, the final destination to which Bryan was fleeing—the New York penthouse. She hoped it was only temporary, for the poor man had really been given no choice but to follow his father’s instructions unless he abandoned the idea of securing his legacy, which she doubted he’d throw away without a fight.
She’d give him the night to mull it over and knock on his door in the morning to see if he’d come to his senses.
Bryan swirled the drink in his glass, trying to block out his anger and disappointment. It had only taken Statin a few minutes to find his bag and load it back onto the junior vessel for the return trip to the mainland. He couldn’t stand another moment on the Sea Winder with strangers staring at him, gauging his response to his briefing with the lawyer. They apparently knew who he was, but even though he couldn’t care less who they were, his new lawyer would be investigating their right to be at the reading of his father’s will.
His father! What a joke. He’d failed him as a young lad, and now, even from the grave, he failed him in the worst possible way. Did he really expect him to fade into the mass of paupers? Even he wouldn’t stoop that low. His buzzed mind chuckled at the joke Bryan Charter III was playing on him—probably laughing from his heavenly heights at the predicament into which he’d placed him.
Bryan hit the dial for his chauffeur to pick him up.
“We have been given notice, sir—the staff has been cut to a bare minimum, and the others will only stay if you can afford to keep them on. We are awaiting your decision.”
“Who the blazes told you that?”
“The notice was delivered to the house after we left for the dock this morning. It is the late Mr. Charter’s wishes, and he has compensated us well for the short notice.”
“Well, it’s my wish not to be stranded at the dock without a ride to the penthouse,” Bryan yelled.
“Of course. I am still making some arrangements for my immediate future, but if you have the one-hundred-dollar fee for my services, I will come straight away.”
“A hundred dollars! Cash? Don’t be absurd. I have no need to carry money in my pocket.”
“As I said, sir, the clause is included in our sign-off agreement. If we stay, we must charge you for any services rendered from this day forward.”
Bryan was on his feet, and the sway of the boat knocked him off balance. He landed on the floor and looked around, expecting someone to pick him up. There was always somebody lurking in the background eager to cater to his every need. Instead, he grabbed the seat and pulled himself up, plunked his bottom on the white leather chair, and buried his aching head in his hands. He heard chatter on the other end of the phone and reached down to pick it up from where it had fallen.
“You still there, John?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. What will you have me do, sir?”
“Come get me. We can stop off at the bank, and I’ll withdraw some cash from my account. I still have some left from this month’s check.”
“I’m leaving now, sir.”
Bryan threw his cell on the seat beside him, slumped and rested his head against the backrest. He was in a bad way. Bryan looked down at the broken glass of blooze lying on the polished wooden planks and knew the alcohol he’d consumed wouldn’t help bring any sense to his new situation.
At the dock, the first mate simply stared at him as he struggled to heave his bag onto the deck to disembark. With the slight nod of his cap, Statin pulled away again. The lack of respect shown him startled Bryan, and he didn’t know how to function without an employee at his beck and call. This one, especially, for he’d caught Statin’s smug expression, and the sight of it, relit Bryan’s temper. The man figured he was rid of the young Charter heir, but he’d show him who was boss just as soon as this mess was cleared up by providing him with his walking papers.
While dragging his case up to the parking area, he wondered what had been written in the note the employees had received that morning. Had his father ridiculed him to the help, told them of the conditions of the will and his new poverty status?
When John arrived and they were on their way, Bryan asked him after sliding the window down between them so they could talk. “So, John, for old-time’s sake—what exactly was in the note the workers received from the lawyer’s office?”
“I have mine here, sir, if you’d care to read it.”
“Yes. That would give me a better understanding of today’s events.”
The man reached for the envelope in his inside pocket and handed it to Bryan who closed the window and leaned back in his seat. The envelope was addressed to the employees of the New York penthouse. He removed the single sheet of paper inside and read:
“‘To my faithful employees,
“‘If you are receiving this, it is because I’ve passed on to my eternal home. You have been loyal and attentive to my needs, some of you for many years in which I was not the ideal employer. For that, I apologize, and I trust that the check included for six months’ wages will tide you over until my son runs the course and is able to bring you back into full-time service. If, in the meantime, you find jobs elsewhere, I wish you well.
“‘As of today, you will provide no services to my son, beyond the bare essentials. I have outlined to the cleaning staff to keep the penthouse in an orderly manner, unless of course, Bryan decides to reside there and pay you out of pocket. I doubt that will be the case, as he spends his trust money faster than you can take a breath, barely able to make it through until his next generous allotment every thirty days. Those funds have now been frozen. I will let him address you regarding his plans when he returns from the reading of my will.
“‘Thank you again for your years of service. I pray a blessing over each of you, hoping that things will return to normal in six months with a much more responsible son taking over the Charter corporation.
“‘Yours affectionately, Bryan Jerome Charter III.’”
Bryan stared at the paper as if it had been written in a foreign language. He needed to come to grips because drinking himself into numbness was surely not an option, and tomorrow would dawn with the same burden to bear.
The first order of business would be to calm Camilla down. She must be frantic, wondering what was going on at the penthouse and the reading of the will. The night before, they’d sat in front of the artificial fireplace that provided ambiance enough for them to dream big dreams about the future parties they would attend amongst their circle of friends. Not that he’d planned a lifelong future with Camilla—she was merely his latest plaything, who had grabbed hold of the new-found opportunity to snag a rich husband after his father’s death. He was not interested in commitment or paying for the wants of this particular leach; she was too high maintenance.
Sure enough, when he stepped off the elevator, Camilla was there to greet him, throwing herself into his arms with exaggerated drama. He found it difficult not to compare her to the strong, independent woman he’d encountered on the ship.
“Oh, Bryan! The house is in turmoil. The chef had the nerve not to make my lunch, and I’m near starving, thinking you would not return for a few days in order to put things righ
t. The insolent man should be fired. Then, there’s the maid, who has not even made my bed as of yet or put out clean towels. They are all acting so uppity since some man hand-delivered letters to each of them. I think I even saw one of them dragging a suitcase from the storage into her room.” Camilla took a deep breath and was about to continue her spiel when Bryan hushed her.
“Relax woman. It hasn’t been an easy day for either of us. Go to the diner and get something to eat. I need time to think.”
She stepped back and scrunched her brows. “What about you? The kitchen staff won’t feed you either.”
“Bring me some take-out when you come back.” He went to the door, and she grabbed his arm.
“Give me your credit card, and I’ll bring you back something yummy to make you forget about whatever is going on. I suppose you have a lot of alcohol at the bar, enough to help you over a mountain of problems.” She chuckled and punched him playfully. “Lighten up. Money takes care of everything.”
Bryan stared at the superficial girl who existed only to prey on men with money to make them feel important. The concept wasn’t new. He’d always known the women in his circles were only after one thing. It just never mattered much before that day.
“My card is no good. My life’s in ruins, and if you can’t help me through this setback, then I suggest you leave and find another sucker to leach onto.”
“What’s happened? You sounded so positive and happy last night and even this morning. How did the reading of the will go?”
“It didn’t go as planned, and that’s all you need to know.”
She clung to his arm as he headed across the marble foyer for the penthouse suite’s main door. The apartment encompassed the length and width of the top floor, large enough to house family members when they were in New York, as well as a chef, cleaning and serving maids, a butler, and a driver. That afternoon, Timothy, the butler, had not greeted him at the door, and the place was as quiet as a tomb.
A Legacy for Bryan Page 2
