by B R Snow
“You broke into his office?” Bentley said. “What on earth is the matter with you?”
“You got a couple hours to spare?” Roxanne said, shaking her head. “You’re an idiot, Brock.”
“What’s the big deal?” Brock said. “No harm, no foul. Dad always started babbling after he’d had a couple of cocktails in the afternoon and he let it slip. And after we couldn’t find the will anywhere, we decided to check out Walter’s office.”
“We?” Bentley said.
“Yes,” Walter interjected. “Brock and Oliver. I’ve got a wonderful close-up of both of you staring directly into the camera. And it’s even time-stamped.”
All eyes settled on Oliver, but he didn’t see them because his head was buried in his arms.
“Oliver?” Lucinda whispered.
“Yeah, I went along with it,” he said, not looking up.
“Went along with it?” Brock said. “It was your idea.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it,” Oliver snapped, glaring across the table.
“Relax, Oliver,” Brock said. “It’s a simple breaking and entering charge. Isn’t that right, Chief?”
“By itself, probably,” Chief Abrams said, shrugging.
“There you go,” Brock said. “I’ll even pay the fine, Oliver. Not let’s get on with it, Walter. I can’t wait to hear about how big a slice Caspian cut for herself.”
“You’re such a waste of oxygen, Brock,” Caspian said.
“And if anybody would know how to cut something,” Brock said, laughing. “It would be Caspian.”
“Knock it off, Brock,” Oliver said, again coming to Caspian’s defense.
“What is it with you, Oliver?” Brock said. “You got a soft spot for Ghost Girl?”
Oliver turned beet-red, and he stared down at the table.
“Really?” Brock said, glancing back and forth at Oliver and Caspian. “I got it right? You and her? That must be quite the sight to see.”
It was, but I wasn’t about to open my mouth.
“We all have our indiscretions, Brock,” Caspian said. “You should know that better than anyone.”
“Now I’m just an indiscretion?” Oliver said.
“Please, stop,” Lucinda said.
“Wait a minute,” Bentley said. “I think I missed something here. You’re sleeping with him? Your sister’s husband?”
“Yes, on occasion,” Caspian whispered.
“For how long?” Brock said.
“We usually go about an hour and a half,” Oliver said.
I kicked myself under the table to keep from laughing. Walter employed a different technique. He was biting down hard on his gold pen. I couldn’t gauge Chief Abrams reaction because his head was buried in his hands. But his shoulders were shaking slightly, so I had a pretty good idea.
“You idiot,” Lucinda said, staring at her husband. “He was talking about how long the two of you having been seeing each other.”
“Oh,” Oliver said, blinking incessantly. “A little over a year.”
“You knew about this?” Brock said to Lucinda.
“Yes,” Lucinda said, starting to tear up.
“How did you find out?” Brock said.
“I told her,” Oliver said.
“Lucinda’s right,” Brock said, shaking his head. “You are an idiot.”
“For being dumb enough to listen to you, yes,” Oliver said.
“Shut up, Oliver,” Brock said. “You’ve got a lot more to lose than I do. Okay, Walter. Now that we’ve dumped that load of family laundry on the table let’s get this over with.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Walter said, reaching for the copy of the new will. “Caspian has asked me to read the opening section. After that, I’ll be more than happy to answer any of your questions.”
He glanced around the table, got nods from everyone, then cleared his throat.
“I, Alexander Winters, being of sound mind and body do hereby declare that the following constitutes my last will and testament and supersedes all other previously signed and dated documents. All of the information contained in this document reflects my own personal decisions that were provided to my longtime legal counsel, Walter Adams, and signed and witnessed on the date below.”
Walter paused to take a sip of water, then continued.
“Before I outline the terms of my will, I would like to make it clear that anyone named in this will, or anyone purporting to represent the interests of such individuals, will immediately have any and all provisions assigned to them permanently removed. I am sure that Walter would be more comfortable using a whole bunch of legalese to cover this issue, but it won’t be necessary since I’m going to put it in the simplest terms possible that I know all of you will be able to understand. If you try to screw with anything in this will, you will get nothing.”
Again, Walter paused to let it sink in.
“Would that provision really hold up if it got challenged?” Brock said.
“You want to try and find out?” Bentley said.
“No,” Brock whispered, shaking his head.
“I know that in many ways,” Walter said, as he continued to read from the document. “I have failed all of you as a father. Especially with my son and daughter who, through no fault of their own, just happened to be the children of another man. For this, my wife bears the responsibility. But I also share a portion of the blame for driving her into the arms of another. I was unable to see that for the majority of my life, and I took my grief and anger out on them. And I willingly drove one of them completely away. That is something I’m sure I’ll be judged on when I meet my maker. And I’m certain that judgment will be severe.”
“It’s like he’s in the room with us,” Lucinda said as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Yeah, he wrote just like he talked,” Bentley said.
“I never heard him say anything like that,” Brock said.
“We’re talking about the tone, not the actual words, Brock,” Lucinda said.
“Oh, that. Yeah, I always hated that professorial tone Father put on,” Brock said, noticing Roxanne’s stare. “What are you looking at?”
“I have no idea,” Roxanne said.
“Let’s continue. We’re almost done,” Walter said, then continued. “As such, my intentions with the will are two-fold. The first is to attempt some degree of reconciliation with Wilbur and Lucinda. And I know that it is far too little and way too late, but I hope that it serves its purpose by making you realize and eventually accept my belief that, deep down inside, all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, that I was not the monster you believe me to be. My second intention is to ensure the preservation of the estate that I spent my entire life creating. And to that point, I must say that I have serious reservations about dividing my estate into shares for each of my children. Lucinda, who has chosen to spend her life cocooned inside four walls hiding from the outside world, simply doesn’t have the necessary skills to manage a large amount of money on her own. And the thought of entrusting any sum to her idiot husband causes me an unbearable amount of stress and anxiety.”
Walter paused to look down the table at Oliver.
“I’m sorry about that, Oliver,” Walter said. “He insisted that comment stayed in verbatim.”
“He sure had you pegged,” Bentley said, glancing at Oliver.
“You might want to hold that thought, Bentley,” Walter said, casually as he turned to the next page. “With respect to my other two sons, Brock and Bentley, who continue to this day to bring shame and disappointment to my family, I can only hang my head as a father. And while I may not have given them the love and encouragement they needed, they have done nothing of note with their lives despite having every advantage that wealth and privilege bestows. Giving them a large portion of my estate would be disastrous and akin to throwing it in the trash. To this point, I’m reminded of a conversation I had with my wife a long time ago. We were discussing what we could do that migh
t help Brock and Bentley get some degree of control over their lives and take responsibility for their actions. At one point, my wife suggested that we could start by setting both of them up in a small business. I said that was certainly a possibility, and when my wife asked how we would do that, I replied that all we would need to do was give them a big business and wait. It was one of the rare times we ever shared genuine laughter.”
Wide-eyed, I watched Brock and Bentley flinch like they’d been punched. In some way, I guess they had. Even in death, their father couldn’t resist taking another jab at them, and I wondered if the bad father-screw up son routine had played itself out since Brock and Bentley were old enough to walk.
“I’m so glad he’s dead,” Brock said, then glanced around the table. “Yeah, you heard right. I said it.”
“You and me both,” Bentley said, nodding.
I looked down the table at Caspian who seemed to be casually listening to the conversation as if it were old-hat. Then I remembered her comments about being the invisible fly on the family wall and realized it probably was.
I felt an overpowering sense of sadness and briefly considered leaving the room. But there was more to cover, so I put my elbows on the table, rested my chin on my hands, and waited for Walter to continue.
“Which leads me to my daughter, Caspian,” Walter said, reading. “A woman terrorized by life since she was a young girl. A girl crippled by phobias, irrational fears, and driven to self-destructive behaviors no one should ever be forced to confront. And now as a woman who still bears the scars brought on by her parent’s neglect and indifference, she has transformed herself into a successful artist who has used her given talents and personal courage to rise above her own numerous challenges and the deplorable upbringing her mother and I provided. For that, I am ashamed, humbled, and honored to name Caspian as the permanent, and irrevocable, trustee of my estate. She will assume the position of trustee as soon as my wife and I both pass on from this life.”
Walter placed the will on the table in front of him and looked around.
“They are other legal clauses inserted into the document that protect your father’s final wishes. I won’t bother going through them now, and I’ll give you a copy of the will before you leave today. But I think you get the gist of what your father’s intentions were.”
“You set this up,” Brock said, glaring at Caspian.
“Of course she did,” Bentley said.
Caspian glanced back and forth between her brothers, and I was proud to see that she completely refrained from blinking.
“No, she didn’t,” Walter said. “Caspian was as surprised as you are the first time she heard it.”
“When was that?”
“Walter called me and asked me to bring Father to his appointment per his request. And since he rarely even spoke to me, much less ask me to do something for him, I agreed.”
“And you’ve had the new will the whole time?” Brock said.
“Yes, Father insisted that I hold onto it,” Caspian said. “And keep it in a safe place.”
“Caspian, as soon as I heard him mutter in his sleep something about a new will, we turned that house upside down looking for it,” Brock said.
“I’m sure you did, Brock,” Caspian whispered.
“We?” Bentley said.
“Figure of speech, Bentley,” Brock said, glaring at his brother.
“Doubtful,” Bentley said, turning toward Lucinda. “Was it you? You had the most to gain from a new will.”
“Don’t look at me,” Lucinda said. “Roxanne?”
“Not likely,” Roxanne said, nodding at Brock. “He never tells me anything.”
Eventually, every eye in the room landed on Oliver. He dropped his head and exhaled.
“Yeah, we were looking for the will,” Oliver said. “Brock said he needed help, so I said okay. I really didn’t understand what it was all about.”
“Nice try,” Brock said, laughing.
“But what does all this trustee stuff mean?” Lucinda said, glancing back and forth between Caspian and Walter.
“Your father was quite clear about that,” Walter said. “You want to tell them?”
“No, you go ahead, Walter,” Caspian said.
“Lucinda, you’ll be brought into the allowance agreement that Brock and Bentley currently participate in,” Walter said. “Just like your brothers, you’ll receive a full share of one hundred-fifty thousand a year going forward,” Walter said, then softened. “If your brother Wilbur hadn’t been killed, he would have also gotten the annual allowance.”
“You mean to tell me that stupid allowance is going to continue?” Brock said.
“It is. That will remain unchanged,” Walter said.
“But it’s going to be topped off with a nice chunk of the estate, right?” Brock said.
“No, it’s not,” Caspian said. “Father was quite clear about that. But you will continue to receive your annual allowance in perpetuity.”
“But nothing else?” Bentley said, wide-eyed.
“No. Any and all additional payments to recipients have to be pre-approved,” Caspian said.
“By you?” Brock said.
“Yes, Brock. By me.”
“Unbelievable,” Bentley said, slamming his hand on the desk. “Well played, Ghost Girl.”
“Don’t call her that!” Oliver shouted.
“I’ll call her anything I want,” Bentley said.
“What does all this mean, Brock?” Roxanne said.
“It means that you can kiss your million bucks goodbye,” Brock said.
“What?” Roxanne said, staring at him in disbelief. “I’m glad I was smart enough not to get pregnant until I actually saw the money.”
My head was trying to follow the action like I was watching a tennis match being played on four different courts. Chief Abrams was sitting quietly jotting down notes.
“That’s just great,” Brock said. “My own wife has been lying to me. Sorry to disappoint you, dear. I know how much money means to you.”
“Let it go, Brock,” Oliver said.
“Mind your own business,” Brock said. “And in case you haven’t figured it out yet, our deal is off, too.”
I sat up in my chair and nodded at Chief Abrams. Finally, we were about to get to why we were here in the first place.
“Brock,” Oliver whispered.
Brock grimaced but did fall silent. He sat back in his chair and casually glanced up at the ceiling. He reminded me of a puppy that had been caught with the family’s dinner in its mouth and doing its best to look innocent.
“What deal?” Bentley said.
“Nothing. As usual, Brock is just babbling,” Oliver said.
“Brock?” Caspian whispered.
“What?”
“What deal are you talking about?” Caspian said, her eyes fixed on Brock.
Brock exhaled loudly and rubbed his forehead.
“Since we couldn’t find the new will, I needed to take one last look for it. And if I couldn’t find it, I needed to be sure that the old one was still in effect,” Brock said. “So I asked Oliver to help me.”
“Why on earth would you ask Oliver to help you?” Lucinda said.
Brock fell silent. He glanced at Oliver who shook his head.
“Brock?” Lucinda said. Getting no response, she turned to her husband. “Oliver?”
The silence continued.
“Why did you ask Oliver to help you, Brock?” Lucinda said.
“Because Oliver had the skillset Brock needed,” I said, deciding that this was the best chance I was going to get to steer the conversation where it needed to go.
Chief Abrams gave me a small smile. Everyone else in the room stared at me like I was an alien life form.
“Who asked you?” Brock said.
“No one,” I said, shrugging.
“Then keep your mouth shut,” Brock said. “You’re lucky we let you stay in the first place.”
“I’d l
ike to hear this,” Caspian said. “Go ahead, Suzy.”
“You’re making a big mistake, Caspian,” Oliver said.
“Be quiet, Oliver,” she said, not even bothering to look at him. “Please, continue.”
“Walter, do something,” Brock said.
“You mean something like having you arrested for breaking into my office?” Walter said.
“Unbelievable,” Brock said. “My father always said you were nothing more than a bottom feeder.”
“Go ahead, Suzy,” Walter said, choosing to ignore Brock’s cheap shot. “I’d like to hear what you have to say as well.”
“Man,” Bentley said, glancing at his watch. “I’m never going to make it to Saratoga.”
“Thank you, Walter,” I said. “Chief Abrams and I started talking about some things soon after the bank robbery. Specifically, the second explosion that managed to blow all the safe deposit boxes open without doing any real damage to what was inside them.”
“What about it?” Bentley said.
“It was the work of professionals,” I said.
“Well, they were bank robbers, right?” Bentley said. “Isn’t that what you’d expect?”
“Yes, but there were other things the police noticed that led them to believe that the robbery was conducted by what they called a bunch of amateurs. Except for the second explosion.”
“What about the first one?” Bentley said.
“Pretty much anybody could have handled blowing the vault,” Chief Abrams said. “First National is a small town bank, and that vault was old. Simple brute force was enough to get it open.”
“But the safe deposit boxes were a different story,” I said. “There were a lot of them, and the police said that the wiring must have looked like a spider web when it was set up. So, we assume that whoever it was had photos of the room’s layout, built the explosive in advance, and just attached it to the outside of the safe deposit boxes using some form of putty.”
“Photos?” Lucinda said, baffled.
“Brock, would you care to explain that one?” I said.
Brock sat quietly glaring at me.
“Interesting theory, Ms. Chandler,” Bentley said, stifling a yawn. “Why on earth does it matter?”
“It matters because, like I said earlier, it was the work of a pro. Not a professional criminal, but the work of an expert in explosives.”
