The Inheritance
Part I
Olivia Mayfield
INTERMIX BOOKS, NEW YORK
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
THE INHERITANCE PART I: THE WILL
An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
InterMix eBook edition / October 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Rhonda Helms.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
About the Author
The Will
Chapter 1
Maggie pressed a clenched fist to her stomach and drew in a deep breath. You can do this. The funeral was much harder, and it’s almost all over now. She opened the glass doors to the large brick building and made her way up the beige-carpeted steps to the third floor. A small brass placard to the side of the office door let her know when she’d reached the right room: Webber and Gareth, Attorneys at Law.
She lifted a shaking hand to smooth the errant wisps of hair around her face, drew another steadying intake of air and opened the door.
An older woman in a soft mauve dress looked up from her mahogany desk, small strands of a tidy gray bun spilling around her face in gentle curls. “Miss Willings,” she said quietly, nodding. Her line-grooved eyes were filled with a generic kindness worn by those who frequently interacted with grieving relatives or emotionally volatile clients. “Please, come in. Mr. Webber will see you in the conference room.” Her slender heels clacked across the slick black-tiled floor into a clean, neutral room on the right with a massive cherry table. “Can I bring you any coffee?”
“No, I’m—” Maggie stepped inside, then stopped, blinking in surprise. “I’m . . . fine,” she made herself continue.
Andrew Brownstone stared back at her, offering a polite half smile. A lock of dark hair flopped over his brow, and in typical Andrew fashion, he let it stay.
Why was he here? Her lungs squeezed tight. He’d made a brief appearance at her grandfather’s funeral, lingering at the back of the crowd and giving her nothing more than a slight nod. The biggest show of emotion he could muster, it had seemed. Had her grandfather put some kind of provision for him in his will?
And if so, why?
She buried her shock and irritation. This wasn’t about her and her issues with an old high-school boyfriend—it was about her grandfather. “Andrew,” she managed to say, proud of her cool and calm voice. She slid into the chair, pressing her now-damp palms onto her lap.
“Maggie,” he replied, his voice equally smooth, the slight drawl slipping across her skin and caressing her in a way she’d thought was long forgotten. His dark suit highlighted the sharp edge of his jaw, the bright blue eyes she’d fallen into more than once, back when she was a naïve seventeen-year-old.
Eight years. Eight years since she’d seen him, and they’d been reduced to these polite formalities. It was like they’d never kissed, never slipped out at night to dance under the moon and—
“Hello?” a familiar light voice asked from the doorway.
Maggie whipped her head around. Icy anger flooded her veins as she stared into the eyes of her former best friend. The gold digger herself, dressed to the nines in a slim red-and-black sheath with black Christian Louboutin heels tall enough to stab someone. Her dark brown hair was coiffed to perfection. God forbid Bethany step out in public without drawing attention to herself.
“Bethany. I’m surprised you bothered to leave my grandfather’s mansion long enough to make it here.”
The instant the words flew from her mouth, Maggie flinched, knowing she sounded a bit too harsh. The rampant emotions of the last few days—finding out her estranged grandfather had died, booking a last-minute flight from Florida back to her hometown, the funeral—had nearly broken her. But when she’d seen Bethany clutching her grandfather’s cold, dead hand while she was poured into an expensive black dress and crying prettily into a handkerchief, Maggie had nearly lost it.
Why had no one warned her beforehand about her grandfather’s affair—and with her, of all people? What would a woman in her midtwenties want with a man in his sixties? Nothing . . . unless he happened to be attached to several million dollars. She never would have expected that kind of blatant materialism from Bethany, though apparently she should have.
The only thing that had held back Maggie’s rage at the funeral was respect for her family. Now that her grandfather was gone, their ties with Bethany could be severed once and for all. The woman could get her portion of the inheritance today and slither back under a rock for all Maggie cared.
Bethany slipped into a padded black swivel chair at the end of the table with a tightly clenched jaw, not responding to Maggie’s barb. Just as well. She needed to get through this next half hour and then get the hell out of here. Hop back on a flight to Florida and leave this godforsaken nightmare behind.
Every moment in this town reminded her of dark memories she’d fought hard to suppress.
Not now. Maggie bit her lip, forcing her attention to the smooth wooden curves of the table, the rich swirl of colors.
The silence stretched out, long and awkward. Chairs creaked. Fingers drummed on the table. Maggie shifted in her seat, checked the time on her cell. What the hell was taking her brother so long? And were her parents coming too, or had they been cut out of the will because of the family split?
She purposely didn’t look at Bethany, who made occasional inane small talk with Andrew about the weather, the high school football team’s chances of success this year, on and on and on. What did Maggie have in common with these people, anyway? Nothing anymore, it seemed. So much distance.
So much unsaid.
Finally, her brother Robert burst in, the usual flurry of chaos accompanying him. “I’m here,” he said loudly, his dark blond hair spiked casually on top, his gray suit slightly wrinkled but form-fitted to perfection. “Sorry to keep you all waiting.” His gaze scraped over Andrew, who nodded, then over Bethany.
Right on his heels came her grandfather’s probate attorney, Mr. Webber himself, bearing a thick manila envelope and a regretful look on his face. “So sorry for all the delays,” he said, his voice thin and reedy as he shuffled his portly body to the end of the room. He sat, and Robert took the empty seat on his right. “First, let me say I’m truly sorry about your grandfather. He was a good man, and we’re going to miss him.” His eyes showed earnest emotion, underscored by the deep worry lines on his face. “I’m going to get right to the point. Your grandfather never let go of hope for a solution to Cassandra’s case, and his will addresses that.”
Maggie’s jaw dropped, her heart slamming madly against her rib cage. A swell of pain washed over her, fresh as ever, mixed with a healthy dose of confusion. “What does she have to do with any of this?”
What the hell was going on here?
Robert paled, drawing in a shaky breath. “Cassandra is gone. This is ridiculous. I don’t understand.”
Mr. Webber opened the folder and drew out a packet of papers plus four envelopes. “It might seem like old history to you, Mr. Willings, Ms. Willings, but it wasn’t to your grandfather. I was instructed to give each of you a letter he’d personally written. If you have questions, I will attempt to answer them once you’re done reading.” With that, he distributed envelopes to the four mourners.
Maggie’s hand began shaking again. What was the old man up to? Was this how will readings normally went?
Oh, Grandpa. So many lost years, time she’d never get back with him. Regrets piled up on her, stooping her shoulders and curving her back in grief. Now he was gone forever, and all she had was this handwritten letter. Sorrow bubbled in her chest and it took several attempts to nudge it back down.
Keep it together, at least for now. She would not lose it here. Not in front of these people.
Maggie withdrew the letter from the envelope and read, shutting out the quiet mumblings of everyone else to focus on his last words.
My dearest Maggie,
I’ve missed you so much over the last few years. Though we haven’t talked as often as we could have or should have, you’ve never been far from my thoughts. I’ve watched you grow from a curious little girl into a hardworking, independent adult who has forged her own way into this world.
And I’ve never been prouder.
I know you’re probably a little surprised right now and wondering what’s going on. Not everyone can plan for death, but I was lucky enough to have a little time. When the cancer came, I was blessed to be able to tie up all my loose ends.
Except one.
Your sister’s name became a curse word in our family. It split us apart.
I know your mother never believed me when I said that despite how hopeless Cassandra’s case may appear, despite the exhaustion of all visible leads, I knew in my gut that the answers were out there—in her desperation to heal, she needed to let your sister go and try to move on. But I couldn’t. These past few months I’ve thought of her more and more, wondered what kind of a woman she would be. Still as spirited and wild as her teen years?
Cassandra had the potential to be anything she wanted. A potential that was stolen from her and left us all hurting and empty, unable to forget.
Maggie’s hand shook, and she wiped away the tears burning in the corners of her eyes. Cassandra still haunted her dreams too. Having her sister suddenly vanish was a nightmare she still hadn’t woken up from.
If only Maggie had gone to that party.
Stop that, she berated herself. Going down that road wouldn’t help. She turned her attention back to the letter.
I’m going to ensure my sweet granddaughter gets her peace, one way or another. I pray she’s still alive out there somewhere, somehow. But whatever the truth is, we need to know. This has gone on too long. So I’m holding a contest for the full amount of my wealth. Mr. Webber can tell you specifics, but essentially, I’m relying upon one of you four to find out what happened to your sister since you were the closest to her, especially that last summer. You four know her better than anyone else—where she went, who she was around, her secrets and her hopes . . . a lead is in there, somewhere. Find it.
Someone knows what happened to Cassandra but isn’t talking. All my money and resources couldn’t uncover the truth or pinpoint who that person is, to my eternal sadness. But I’ve never given up hope.
Reunite our family, Maggie. Heal this open sore that has festered for far too long. And in this way, I can make peace with your parents. I know that they were angry with me for not letting go, that they still are (especially my daughter), but they’ll see when they have closure that it was the right thing to do.
And never forget how much I love you.
Always, with love,
Grandpa
Maggie pressed a hand to her suddenly aching forehead, fighting back hot tears. Her grandfather had assigned the four of them to solve this mystery for some reason. An impossible open case that had no leads, no trail, no solid evidence to pursue. And the reward for the winner would be staggering.
“Oh my God,” Bethany murmured.
Maggie looked up to find the woman’s hand shaking, the letter whispering with each movement. What did her letter say? She almost wished she could look. Better that she didn’t, though. If there were any terms of endearment in there, she would likely throw up on the table.
“This is ridiculous,” Robert said, scrubbing a hand on his face. He dropped the letter, shooting Mr. Webber an angry glare. “How is this even legal?”
“It’s perfectly legal, I assure you,” Mr. Webber said, irritation threading his voice. “I drew up the paperwork myself.”
“So, assuming we’re all going to participate in this . . . whatever the hell we call it,” Andrew said, waving his hand in the air, “what happens if none of us find out what happened to Cassandra?”
“The entire sum of Mr. Holden’s money, approximately ten million dollars, will be given to a number of different animal shelters across our county. His estate will also be liquidated and all funds donated as well.” Mr. Webber’s voice was flat. “Obviously, he was counting on you all to not fail.”
Maggie looked around the room at the three other faces reflecting her own inner surprise at the turn of events. She had a good life, was able to work as a commercial web designer with a flexible schedule and support herself; it wasn’t about the money. This would be about digging back into her past and resurrecting the horrible pain she’d tried to leave behind. Was she strong enough to do so?
One thing she knew—she couldn’t let Bethany take the money, or the house . . . the thought curdled her stomach, bringing with it a pinch of anger.
What had her grandfather been thinking? She couldn’t believe he had picked the four of them, four childhood friends and siblings whose lives had splintered so far apart. He was a shrewd man, a calculated risk taker. And he knew each of them would have a stake in solving Cassandra’s . . . disappearance. Kidnapping. Murder. Or whatever it was that had happened to her eight years ago.
Obviously, Maggie and her brother had the personal angle in the case, since Cassandra was their younger sister. Both Bethany and Andrew had been close to the family when they were teens, so the two of them would likely know as much about the case as anyone else. Upon chewing these facts over, her grandpa’s reasoning made sense to Maggie, but that knowledge didn’t ease her turmoil.
Her gaze met Andrew’s. He accepted her scrutiny and matched it with a bold, open look of his own. His hand was steady, his face smooth. He’d obviously grown adept
over the years at disguising his emotions; she could read nothing on him.
Would he accept the challenge for the money?
Or did he have something else to gain here?
Chapter 2
Lake Erie beat hard against the shoreline as Maggie wound her way down the road to her parents’ home in Bay Village. The sun was shining in spite of the brisk autumn air, and the leaves still clung tenaciously to trees, fluttering madly in the wind. A lovely Ohio view, but it brought no peace.
She couldn’t get her grandfather’s letter out of her mind. This insane contest. Had her grandfather grown mentally ill in her absence? No, that wasn’t it. His letter was perfectly coherent, the bold strokes of his penmanship sure and steady. He’d known exactly what he was doing.
Forcing together four people to finish what he couldn’t. What no one else could, actually.
After the meeting, Maggie had grabbed her brother’s arm and led him into a private conference room, away from the watchful eyes of Bethany and Andrew. When she’d asked him if he thought the two of them should pair up, he’d thinned his lips for a long moment and said he wasn’t sure. Then, glancing at his watch, he’d mumbled that he needed to rush to a work meeting and left the room, throwing over his shoulder that he’d call her later.
The whole thing had left her unsettled even more than she’d been. Well, maybe she would just shoot him a text in the evening, when she knew he’d be done with work for the day. Though to be honest, the idea of pairing up with her brother wasn’t very palatable. Her brother was notoriously unreliable, had been ever since he was a kid, and Maggie had a gut feeling she wouldn’t be able to depend on him to pull his weight.
She lowered her window a little, letting in the crisp, cool air as she turned off the main road onto her parents’ long driveway toward their estate. Home again. Several months after her sister’s disappearance, she’d left all of this behind, had escaped into college, needing to flee from the escalating anger between her parents, her brother’s withdrawal into drinking.
The Inheritance Part I Page 1
