by Denise Daye
For a moment, there was a heavy silence in the room. Then Ester nodded.
“It might be genuine then,” Mr. Bend finally said. “I can only imagine the magical words Morris must have chanted into your sick father’s ear to make this happen, but your father might have signed this will in good faith, believing it would be best for you.”
Esther’s head flopped forward as her mind sunk further into murky thoughts. Never in her life before had she thought her father a fool. But sitting here listening to Mr. Bend’s words was as painful as pieces of glass shattering in her ears, even if they might be the truth.
She felt no anger nor hatred toward her kind father, and even the word fool was more said in sadness than anything else. To his last breath, he seemed unable to see Morris for the great hoax he was. Instead, her father cherished him as the childhood friend he’d chased snakes with and covered for when one of them got in trouble. It was obvious to everyone else that her father’s innocent, cheerful Morris from his childhood was long gone. And in front of her was the price she would now have to pay.
“Mr. Jones,” she heard Mr. Bend tear her out of her miserable thoughts, “is he truly not to be reached? If anybody could be of help, it would be him. I am certain he has or at least knows of a previous will. With that in hand, we might stand a chance.”
Another cloud of cigar smoke crept its way toward Esther, but this time she didn’t care and allowed it to swallow her whole.
Another knot formed in her already painfully burning throat. Where was Mr. Jones? Was he even still alive? Esther had paid his wife a visit this morning to see if she knew how to contact him, but instead of finding information, she discovered a desperate Sylvia tearfully blaming the government for sending her husband into the ‘Wilds of the West’ where ‘he might have been eaten by coyotes by now’ for all she knew.
“Unfortunately, nobody has heard from Mr. Jones in weeks, maybe months. He was sent to New Mexico to assist the government in peace talks of some sort. According to his wife, the government kept reassuring her that he is in good health but none of the letters addressed to him have been answered in weeks.”
In disbelief, Mr. Bend slammed his huge hand onto his knee that made a ringing sound that echoed around the room.
“Unacceptable,” he almost shouted. “Mr. Jones was a friend of mine. I shall make my own inquiries. The government is as trustworthy right now as a pair of shoes without soles.” He was shaking his head in disgust. “That business with the natives down there—despicable.”
“Indeed,” she almost whispered, still in shock over her own situation.
She slowly pushed herself up from her chair a few inches, worried that her legs were about to give up on her again. The thought of Morris in charge of her family's wealth, home, business, and even worse, her every decision, made her dizzy enough to almost faint. The room seemed to have darkened, the ceiling too high and the floor too wide.
“Miss Silverton,” Mr. Bend’s voice broke through, sounding almost afraid. Her heart pounded in fear of what more news could be worse than the last twenty minutes of their conversation.
“I’m afraid I cannot just let you leave without telling you something you should know.”
Esther took a deep breath to prepare herself.
“Father, you fool,” she mumbled in a loving voice.
“If this is about Morris’ spending habits, I am well aware that he might spend my name into ruin before I can claim my inheritance.“
Mr. Bend shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that…” He stood up and rushed around his desk.
His voice made her freeze, her body rooted to the spot. “What...what is it?” she barely managed to ask.
Mr. Bend closed his eyes and let out a sigh of worry. "A few years back, it was rumored that your father and Morris had a fight.”
“A fight?” she echoed his words.
“Yes. Those are rumors, but still. It was said that Morris impregnated a young prostitute, barely fifteen. He refused to care for her or the baby. When your father heard of this incident, he confronted Morris, demanding he do the right thing.” Mr. Bend stopped for a moment as if he were trying to gather strength.
“What came of it?” Esther asked, unable to wait, but also afraid to hear the answer.
“Morris insisted it was all lies. Rumors spread by a rival company. He swore he had done no wrong and challenged this woman to face him in court.”
“So, did he win or lose?” Esther inquired, hanging on his words. Mr. Bend stared at the floor for a moment. “In court, I mean,” she clarified for him.
“Neither. The woman was never heard of again.”
Esther’s hand shot up to her mouth.
“But…but how could that be? How could he get away with this?”
Mr. Bend shook his head in shame for his own profession. “With what? Those were rumors and according to Morris, the woman fled due to her worries of being exposed.”
“Nonsense. He must have done something horrid to that poor woman!”
Mr. Bend frowned. “Not in the eyes of the law. Not without evidence.”
The meaning of the lawyer’s words started to settle in, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Was she in danger now?
“Would he stand a chance to get the inheritance in case of my death? It doesn’t say that in the will.”
Mr. Bend let out a deep breath.
“Well, not black on white, but it does mention that the inheritance shall go back into the company in case there should be no heir. And as Morris is the only partner in the company, he would become the full owner in case of your death. Morris would get everything through the Silverton business dealings.”
Esther struggled for words. So now, on top of everything, she also had to fear for her life?! As if it weren’t enough that she had watched everyone she had ever loved slip through her fingers like sand.
Did life really think she was ready for another heap of misery just yet?
She stumbled backwards a few feet, unnerved and stammering, when Mr. Bend grabbed her by the arm. She was such a strong independent woman, but this was the second time within the day that someone had had to grab her to save her from falling out of despair.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
She let go of his arm in a sad attempt to show she could stand on her own. Her big, teary eyes met with the serious, sympathetic eyes of Mr. Bend’s. For a moment he stared at her, unsure what to say, finally breaking the silence by shaking his head in a way that indicated he'd made up his mind about something.
“Now you listen carefully, as I cannot repeat my words nor explain them in more detail,” he said, walking back to his desk and grabbing the will and the money Esther had left there for him. “These wills can only be executed if all parties are present. If, for some reason, the main heir was to disappear shortly after a guardian has been named or identified, there is a chance that all funds might be frozen until the matter can be cleared up.”
Her heart pounded like a hundred stallions eager to escape, their hooves thumping through her chest that for a moment seemed ready to explode. Had she just heard this right. Disappear? But how?
“And to where?” she asked not realizing she’d said those words out loud.
“Nobody, and I mean nobody, should know about such details.”
Mr. Bend handed her back the will. She reached for it slowly, feeling the weight of such a weightless piece of parchment filled with nothing but ink.
“For how long would an heir have to vanish?”
“I’m not certain for how long, and whether this would even work, but considering it’s about the Silverton inheritance, I would be very surprised if authorities wouldn’t launch an investigation thinking they might be able to get their own hands on it.”
Esther let out a discouraged breath.
“I’m only twenty. How could I possibly hide for five years?”
Mr. Bend tilted his head. “Technically, you would only have to hide until you are of legal age
.”
Her gaze shot in a daze. “What do you mean?”
“Twenty-one. At that age, you are free to marry. Remember, it's either twenty-five or marriage.”
Her mind trailed off into thought. Indeed, it did say that. But marriage… With whom? And with a fortune like that, she ran an exceptionally high risk of attracting every Morris on this planet. Some might not even be as blunt about their despicable traits as Morris was, luring her in with sweet words and laughter, only to steal her money and mistreat her by the end of each and every day. All things considered, her wealth seemed more like a curse.
She stared down into her hand which unknowingly held Mr. Bend’s payment in it, then shot her gaze toward him.
“I couldn’t,” he said in a caring voice.
"But—"
“Use it wisely and make it last,” he interrupted her, giving her hand a light squeeze of encouragement. This was the first kind act she had come across in a long time. She would always remember his generosity.
“From the bottom of my heart, thank you.” She placed the money back into her purse, stunned by this newly emerging feeling that from now on, money, unlike before in her life, would not last forever.
Mr. Bend opened the door for her, then waved his secretary to stay seated, as he walked Esther out himself.
“You take care now, Miss Silverton. And who knows, maybe a nice chap is waiting just around the corner to sweep you off your feet and put an end to all of this nonsense.” And with a sad smile, Mr. Bend closed the front door of his office, leaving Esther in the busy streets of New York on a sunny but freezing November day.
For a moment Esther just stood there, confused, scared, and full of uncertainty. She stared at the door as if she were waiting for somebody to open it once more.
Carriages and pedestrians passed by, going about their business as if it were a normal day like any other—which for them it was.
But not for Esther. Overnight, her life had changed forever, from the once-American dream to everyone’s worst nightmare. Morris was probably in his office right now, gathering an army of lawyers and notary publics to officially have the will read at her home later this day. Doubts started to creep into her flooded mind, drowning her already muddled senses. Maybe she should just let Morris have it all, run headlong home to officially step down, crawl back on all fours and watch Morris ruin her father’s empire and good name.
But right there and then, the thought of her mother eased into her mind. An inspirational Cherokee woman who had lost her parents. A woman who had served as a slave to the thieves who took her land. A woman who had slowly watched her life getting eaten away by the cancer. A woman who never gave up—strong, caring, and full of honor until her last breath…
Esther shook her head, slapped herself out of it. How dare she think of retreat before the battle had even started? How dare she give it all to Morris and act like the coward she saw in him and hated so much? How dare she let her parents look down on her from wherever they were now, seeing nothing but a quitter. No, she would fight. There was hope and she would rather go down with a big firework than crying like a helpless wench in a corner of a house that wouldn’t even be hers any longer. For the first time in days she had clarity.
“All right,” she said in a determined voice, turning around, finally ready to face the world.
“I’ll show you what a Silverton is made of.” And at that moment, the most marvelous idea crossed her mind and put the first honest smile of the day on her face.
If she were to disappear, she would do so with a parting gift to the very man who might not only be after her money, but her very life.
The carriage pulled in front of the Silverton building on Silverton street, bustling with people moving about, plenty of whom saw her and recognized her at first glance—all of which would serve her well soon enough. Her father's property stood a staggering height, made of granite walls that shimmered just like the sun from the morning rays all the way to the afternoon. As one of the most modern and tallest buildings in New York, it stood as a symbol of hope and progress in a city that had been no more than wasteland not too long ago. From here, her father used to manage his legacy, which involved investments in everything the mind could possibly imagine: from shoes to furniture, threads to needles, books to fine prints, even to mustard and ketchup, the Silvertons had a stake in it.
Esther alighted from the carriage and lifted her head up to take a better look at the very reason she was in this predicament in the first place. She knew every aspect of the business. Her father had made sure of it by letting her attend important meetings and taking her on business trips with him. But she never felt like her heart was in it. To her, nothing was more exciting than experiencing a new discovery in the fine arts or sciences. After all, she was a woman dedicated to the modern world, inventions, and progress.
Her father’s idea of moving her to New York to mingle with high society could not have gone more wrong. Day in and day out, she attended different lectures, enrolling in various classes, and even decided to attend university to major in physics. And yet, all that was gone now. As things stood, she had to major in the arts of survival, attending the school called reality.
She took a few steps toward the Silverton building. This was it; she thought everything through. Would it work? What if she got caught? But there was no time for doubt. She calmed herself down before turning around to the carriage driver.
“I am to visit Mr. Morris. Please wait for me here.”
“Yes, Miss.” The carriage driver nodded, loosening the tension on the horses’ reins to signal them to relax, which they ultimately did. Esther did her best to cause her body to intentionally tremble, tightening her muscles hard enough that she almost felt her bones buckling under her skin. The carriage driver noticed with a worried stare. “Miss, is everything all right?”
Esther blinked back at him, clacking her teeth under tight lips like she felt cold in the dead of winter, under the scorching sun.
“Yes. It’s just—if I’m not back within the hour, please go straight to the police.”
The carriage driver drew his brows as he leaned closer as if to whisper. “Miss, are you in danger?”
Esther shook her head in a deliberate failed attempt to diminish his worry. “It's probably nothing. Please excuse my weak nerves.” She forced a fake smile. But before the carriage driver could say another word, she handed him a dollar bill and turned on her heels, distancing herself with wide abrupt steps. She didn’t have to peek over her shoulder to know that the carriage driver was still following her every step.
Perfect, she applauded herself for that little performance, thinking maybe she could have probably done well in the theater arts as well. The footmen instantly recognized her as soon as she was within a few feet from the grand, golden entrance doors.
“Miss Silverton,” they saluted, tearing the doors wide open for her.
“Good day to you. Is Mr. Morris in?” she asked them, well aware of the fact that no one knew better who entered and left the building than the footmen.
“Yes, Miss. He is,” the older one answered, taking off his hat and bowing slightly. Their dark blue outfits with white colored branches and golden buttons always reminded her of the army.
“Thank you.” She nodded back, walking through the doors.
“Should we run ahead and give notice of your arrival?” the younger footman shouted after her.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” she shouted back without turning around. A few employees going about their business in the enormous entrance hall turned toward her. Very good, more people who saw me here.
Esther made her way up the golden stairs to the first floor where her father and Morris’ offices were located. She wouldn’t be surprised if Morris had already moved into her father’s office to demonstrate his power at the company.
Mr. Gideon, an accountant working for the company, passed her on the stairs and wanted to engage in a conversation, but she ignored
him, staring a long, drawn out gaze as she kept walking.
For what she had planned, she couldn’t run the risk of Morris coming out of his office and finding her here.
She tiptoed down the first floor’s hallway and stopped in front of an enormous painting of New York, right next to her father’s office which had Morris' name plastered on its bold maple doors. He had already claimed it.
She could see his silhouette moving behind the frosted glass. What would she give to tear that door open and throw him out of her father’s office? Maybe even out the window if she could manage it. Esther cursed, biting her lip with her eyes almost glaring fire through the glass. Suddenly Morris’ silhouette moved toward her. She froze. Had he seen her? But just when it seemed as if he would open the door to expose her, he stopped at the whiskey tray next to the door to pour himself a glass of her father’s fine whiskey. Hopefully, he would choke on it. Maybe she could help a little?
No, she had to be more clever than giving in to a temporary feeling of satisfaction. Sure, it would feel great to have him yanked out of the office. But for how long would that last?
It was far beyond doubt that he was planning on having the will read in front of witnesses, claiming everything that was hers.
She focused her attention back to the enormous painting of New York and reached behind and under it, keeping one eye closely on the shadow that loomed behind the door. Her fingers snaked their way around it as the shadow of Morris grew larger and larger until it consumed the entire door. Her breath stuck in her throat: the sound of clacking, followed by the slow turning of the door handle when she finally found the secret hatch, pulling the painting open, exposing an entrance to a small staircase. She threw herself in, shutting the painted doorway. Had he seen her? She froze at the sound of footsteps from the other side, waiting, until they faded out of earshot. She let another minute pass before finally allowing herself to breathe.
She straightened herself, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
Her father had had these stairs built to have a private way in and out in case he did not want to run into people in the waiting area downstairs in the entrance hall. Nobody but him and Morris used it, besides that one time when she begged her father to play hide and seek with her when she was younger. The memory of it placed a warm smile on her lips and lightened her face in this drafty corridor leading downward.
