6
The Present
Lexi sat straight in the hard leather chair opposite her father’s personal attorney, Larry Larson. The tissue she’d brought with her, in case she cried, was already damp, wadded, and torn, and she held it in her clenched fist because there was no trash can nearby.
“You sounded like this meeting was urgent,” she said to Larry. She had just sat down and wondered how urgent it could be. Her father was already gone; he’d died almost three weeks ago from pancreatic cancer. Since that terrible moment when Lexi watched him close his eyes for the final time and take one last labored breath, it didn’t feel like anything else really mattered. She was numb.
She was alone.
What could possibly be urgent now?
Larry was in no hurry to let her know. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Coke? Maybe a beer?” His hand hovered over the intercom button, and Lexi got the feeling that his secretary, Ellen, was ready to come running in with any or all of the above.
“No. Thanks.” Something wasn’t right. “Why am I here?”
“Michelle has employed me to handle the affairs of the estate,” Larry said, leaning back and taking a deep breath, like the weight of the world were on his shoulders.
“You mean Dad hired you,” Lexi corrected. It was bad enough that she’d have to deal with that witch for the rest of her life; she wasn’t going to let anyone act as if the great Alexander Henderson and Michelle were interchangeable.
“Alexis, your father and I had a good working relationship for many years. I remember when you were born.” He reached for a cigar on his desk and chomped on the end. He never lit them anymore. “It was the happiest I ever saw him, and that includes the day he married your mother.”
Lexi felt tears burn in her eyes and darted her gaze around to see if Larry had tissues anywhere. All she saw was a carved mahogany box across the room that might have been a tissue holder but was more likely a cigar case. So she looked skyward, hoping the tears would somehow sink back in before she had to produce the little wad of hell she was holding in her hand. “Thanks, Larry. I appreciate that.”
“That said, my legal obligation to your father ended with the execution of his will.”
Lexi nodded and swallowed hard. “When will that be done?”
He moved forward, and his seat groaned under his weight. “But for a couple of small details, it’s done now, Alexis. The will was relatively straightforward.”
“Oh.” She was confused. There would be terms she’d need to understand. Transfers. Power of attorney. All kinds of financial stuff she didn’t want to think about but would have to learn to handle. Though she’d never had to do anything financial herself, she did know that the estate involved millions of dollars and she was going to have to, if nothing else, find a good financial adviser.
Her first thought was to ask her dad.
Her second thought, the follow-up thought she knew she was going to be surprised by over and over for a long time, was that she couldn’t. She could never ask him anything again.
“What do I need to know?” she asked, her entire body tense.
“He left everything to Michelle, Alexis.”
She nodded, not absorbing the words. “I knew she’d get something, obviously.”
“You’re not following me.” Larry’s face colored, and he cleared his throat. “He left his entire estate to Michelle. Do you understand what that means?”
“I . . . guess not.” It sounded like he was saying that her father had left her nothing, that everything was going to Michelle, but there was no way that was possible.
She and her father weren’t chummy, but he was all she’d had, and she knew he loved her in his way. There was no possibility that he would leave her destitute!
She smiled halfheartedly. Fear was bubbling up deep inside her. “I guess you’ll have to talk to me like you’d talk to a first grader.”
“Your father’s will didn’t earmark anything for you, per se. No money, no property, no investments. He left his entire estate to Michelle, meaning literally all his worldly possessions, with the written request that she divide it between herself and you as she sees fit.”
“Oh . . .”
“Meaning it was entirely discretionary. She’s not legally obligated to do a thing for you.” His words fell like heavy stones in an avalanche. “Since she and your father never had any children, I imagine he had in mind that this would be a bonding experience for you and Michelle.”
Lexi snorted.
“Interestingly, that is much the same reaction Michelle had.”
Lexi wasn’t so stupid she didn’t understand that. “How dare she! My God, she’s helped herself to my father’s money, my mother’s things, my things, for years! She’s siphoned off money, sold jewelry—Dad knew that! Why would he leave her everything?” It was unimaginable. He wasn’t a cuckolded old fool. Or at least she’d never thought he was.
“He trusted her,” Larry said, “with everything.”
“Including my life. You’re saying that my father left me nothing, assuming that Michelle would somehow”—she searched for the words—“do right or something?”
Larry nodded.
The conclusion was horrifying. “And that her response to that was . . .” Lexi shrugged and made the same dismissive snort she had a moment ago. “As in I’m out of luck?”
Larry continued to nod. “For lack of a better way of putting it, yes. I think you’ve hit the nail on the head.”
“She’s known me since I was twelve. She’s tried to get me out of the way since I was twelve, but she’s known me since I was a child. Are you seriously telling me she didn’t have it in her to show even a morsel of generosity to her husband’s daughter?”
“Well . . .” Larry drew the one syllable out. “She has given you until the end of June to vacate the house.”
Lexi’s stomach dropped. “That’s hardly any time.” Her eyes fell on the desk calendar in front of Larry. “A little more than a month. To move my whole life.”
“She’ll be out of the country during that time,” Larry offered, like a gift. He was reaching the end of his bad-news-delivery speech and would undoubtedly have a more pleasant appointment following this.
“She’s in the Caribbean.” Lexi had caught Michelle on the phone with her travel agent planning a trip to Saint John’s two hours after her dad had died.
“Correct. And she did ask that you don’t take anything from the house without her permission.”
Lexi gave a dry laugh. “How’s she going to stop me?”
Larry looked down for a moment and cleared his throat again.
Lexi knew exactly what that meant. “You’re going to chaperone me there.”
Now Larry did not meet her eyes. “If you can just tell Ellen when exactly you’ll be moving, I’ll meet you at the house.”
“Well, that’s really nice of you, Larry.” Lexi felt sick.
The betrayal was enormous. Not only because of what Larry was doing to her but also because of what he was doing to her father. They both knew damn well that Alexander Henderson had written his will with the intent—seriously misguided though it was—that his daughter be taken care of.
It had been almost twenty years since he’d married Michelle, but right up to the end, he hoped as he’d hoped from the beginning: that Michelle would take the place of Lexi’s mother, Anna. Both in his heart and in Lexi’s.
Lexi didn’t believe for a minute that he’d loved Michelle the way he’d loved her mother. Maybe that was the problem: Maybe for all these years, Michelle had felt like a second-class citizen.
But she’d never been treated like one. At least not to her face.
Still, that didn’t give her the right to take Lexi’s entire birthright away from her! Michelle was spiting her faithful, good-hearted husband every bit as much as she was spiting Lexi.
She didn’t have that right!
Lexi didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until Larry answered h
er.
“Yes,” he said. “Unfortunately, she does have that right. And—” He paused again. Lexi was starting to realize his clients paid a lot of money for those endless pauses. “—that is, unfortunately, that. Meanwhile, I suggest you start looking for a new place immediately, in order to give yourself plenty of time. Also, you’ll probably want to find work.”
That’s that. How simple. “Is she able to drain my bank account?”
Larry shook his head. “That’s the good news. Whatever assets you have in accounts in your name are yours to keep. Likewise, debts and credit in your own name are also your own, though I believe your father had you as a rider on most of his accounts.”
“That’s right.” She’d never had to pay a credit card bill in her life. She whipped those babies out at the store and never had to think about them again.
“Alexis.” He looked at her meaningfully. “I suggest you invest, if you have enough, and begin to bring in a new income as soon as possible. I can’t stress that enough. You need to be cautious and to save.”
“But get someone else to advise me.” Lexi looked at him, and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes. “Because you’re working for the enemy now.”
“Alexis—”
“Maybe you should call me Ms. Henderson now that we’re no longer what you’d call friends. At least, I assume we’re no longer friends. I assume you wouldn’t treat someone like this—take money to cut them off from everything they’ve known—and then call them your friend.” Her anger built with every word. “I realize that maybe, just maybe, you couldn’t stop my father from writing the will the way he did. But you know damn well it was never his intention that”—she didn’t even try to find a gentler word—“that bitch cut me off.”
“I don’t believe that was his intention.”
“Then why are you helping her do it? Why are you protecting her new interests instead of having some loyalty, Larry? What about ethics? Do you feel good about this?” She waited a moment, and when he didn’t respond, she demanded, “Well? Do you?”
He steepled his hands in front of his face, looking thoughtful, and for a moment she thought she might have gotten through to him. But then he said, “Unless you have any further questions, I think we can call an end to this meeting, and I’ll see you when you’re ready to move out of the house.”
Unless she had any other questions. How about, What kind of person would do this to her husband’s child?
Why did her father write a will that depended upon Michelle to do the right thing by Lexi when she had never once in her life demonstrated any desire to do so?
Why did Larry let her father write such a crazy will?
Why did Larry then abandon Lexi, whom he’d known, as he’d just said, since she was born, in order to support Michelle in cutting her off this way?
And, the most painful question of all, what kind of man married a woman who would do this to his only offspring? Particularly after he’d been so happily married to her mother? So in love with her mother.
Why did Lexi’s father do this to her?
“I don’t have any questions,” she said, standing up and leveling an icy gaze on him, “except one: How do you sleep?”
Lexi Henderson had never had to make her own way in the world. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
But that didn’t mean she’d never suffered any hard knocks, or that she wasn’t prepared to stand up to the task, whatever it entailed.
The one thing she decided with absolute certainty as she took the gilded elevator down twenty-nine floors from Larry Larson’s office was that she wasn’t going to beg.
Her inheritance, her birthright, the funding she’d gotten very comfortable enjoying these past thirty-three years, was gone. It was almost unbelievable, yet it was undeniably true. She had no illusions about that, and no plans to file for a costly and unlikely appeal. Her father had made a choice—a choice she thought straddled the line between stupid and cruel—and she had no power over it now.
She didn’t have power over her anger or sense of betrayal, either.
She was stopped in the lobby by Benny . . . Something. She couldn’t remember his last name, but she’d met him several times at her father’s business functions. He probably worked for Larry’s firm.
“Ms. Henderson!” He looked delighted to see her.
He must not have worked for the law firm. They were never delighted to see anyone who couldn’t pay them exorbitant retainer fees. Even Larry’s good-bye had held the implication of good riddance.
“Benny!” she trilled back, as if she knew exactly who he was. “How are you?”
“Well, thanks. I did hear about your father—I’m so sorry.”
Suddenly, without warning, she felt like she might cry again, only this time it wasn’t the same sense of grief and aloneness that hurt. “Thanks. I was just up talking to Larry about the terms of the will.” She watched him carefully to see if he registered any sort of knowledge.
But he just frowned and said, “Larry Larson?”
“Yes.”
“I’d heard he was representing Mrs. Henderson now, but I didn’t realize . . .” He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So what are you doing now, Ms. Henderson?”
She could have given an airy answer about moving on, hiding her predicament. It’s what her father would have wanted. He was the king of the stiff upper lip. She’d often thought that was why he got involved with Michelle so soon after Lexi’s mother had died—so no one would suspect he was grieving.
Don’t let on, her father’s voice said in her head. Protect the dignity of the family name.
Screw that.
“Looking for work, actually.”
“Oh?” He looked like he was hiding surprise. Badly.
And for some reason, that one small polite-but-false gesture set her on edge. This was just one more example of someone not shooting straight with her. She was sick of it.
She was angry that her father had done it. And that Larry had done the same thing, albeit with a completely different aim. He’d given her the cold, hard facts, with no warning, and expected her to take the hand he’d just dealt her and work with it.
Well, she would—she had to—but it still alarmed her that so many people she’d trusted effectively ambushed her with this.
And she was pissed.
“Things are hard,” she said, adding the one final word that would probably have her father spinning in his grave, “financially.”
“Yes. Yes, indeed.” Benny suddenly looked sympathetic. “The economy is in a very rough way, and, without good advice, one might lose it all.”
“I pretty much just did.”
Benny looked shocked.
“Well, not my father’s whole estate, of course,” she hastened to add. “It just—” She wanted to say it. She wanted to tell the world what a stupid son of a bitch her father was. But she couldn’t. “—feels like it.”
“I understand completely.”
“There are so many things to consider now that my father is gone.”
Benny nodded. “Perhaps even more than you know. I’d be very glad to help you in any way I can. As you know, I’m a financial adviser—”
She nodded, although she hadn’t known.
“—and I would be happy to discuss your financial plans with you at any time.”
“Thanks.” He wouldn’t say that if he knew how little he’d be dealing with.
“So you know where we are, third floor, same as always.” His eyes darted around. He was clearly looking for some reason to excuse himself from what had undoubtedly begun to feel like a prolonged conversation.
“Sure.” But she didn’t know where his office was.
She didn’t know anything.
She didn’t know what to do.
Apart from cling, conversationally, to Benny Whatshisname, who was standing in front of her, looking like he’d just stepped in gum and couldn’t get it off his shoe, desperate to get away from
this conversation with her—but she wasn’t going to let him off so easy.
“And if you know of any suitable jobs, let me know.”
“Where did you go to school? Sarah Lawrence?”
“The Maryland Institute.”
He frowned. “I don’t know it.”
“It’s an art school. Fully accredited, of course,” she added, though that wouldn’t hold water with a guy like this. “You can get regular degrees there. Bachelor’s, master’s.” She trailed off, unsure if it was possible to get a doctorate there.
“I see. Well, I’ll keep it in mind. I’m not looking to hire anyone myself right now.” He gave a short laugh. “Apart from someone to paint my house, that is, but if I hear—”
“I can paint your house!” Granted, she hadn’t finished at the Maryland Institute, but not because she wasn’t talented. She could paint! She just wasn’t into all the academics that came with a design degree.
Benny’s face colored. “Ms. Henderson, I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Actually, Mr. . . . Benny, that’s one thing I really love to do. I paint.” She smiled and shrugged. “Call me crazy, but I find it relaxing. So you’d really be doing me a favor. And I bet I can underbid any other painters you’ve talked to.”
Benny’s posture stopped being one of escape. “Really?”
“Sure! I’d really love to.”
He looked dubious. “You’ve done this before?”
This was one of those moments where she could barrel on with a new blunt honesty thing, or she could take the age-old path of deception to get a job.
She was angry and shocked and desperate, but she wasn’t stupid.
“I certainly have. I might even have done your neighbors’ houses. Where do you live?” She took a stab. “McLean?”
“Potomac.”
Better still! “Do you know the Chapmans on Belmart? I painted their house for them.”
He looked impressed. “They just had it renovated.”
She nodded, though she hadn’t seen the Chapmans since fifth grade, when she used to go horseback riding with their son. She thought she’d heard they’d gotten a divorce. Maybe this was a new Mrs. Chapman. Not that it mattered. “I did it after the renovation.”
Thin, Rich, Pretty Page 8
