Vance calmed his breathing and wrestled his attention back to the moment. This crunch wasn’t anything he hadn’t faced before. He’d been through tough times. This was just another one of those. It was a tight moment, that was all. No reason to get all worked up, let things get out of hand. I’ve got this.
He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. Steady again. He caught a nose-wrinkling scent and knew the source. If anyone else smelled it, they’d never know the stench of fear had come from him. He was calm, cool, collected. Yeah, I’ve got this.
An old man entered the room and took his seat at the head of the table.
“Good afternoon. I’m Rodney James Mathers, senior partner in the law firm of Mathers, Chambers, and Horne, and the attorney of record to the late Mrs. Amanda Pearl Featherstone. I see we’re all finally here. Let’s get started.”
He sat slightly forward, listening as the man droned on. Mathers read from the will, all the usual blah blah blah, and Vance had to struggle to keep his mind in the moment. The lawyer’s voice was both irritating and mind-numbing. Vance never before considered that a man’s voice could be both at the same time.
The first bequests were what he considered nominal sums, gifts to the household staff and a few people with whom Amanda had dealt over the years. Standard pap, and not very much money, really, though it was hard to justify why those low class servants should get any of his money.
“To my great-nephew Douglas Vance, I leave the sum of one insurance policy, in the amount of five hundred thousand dollars. The balance of my estate, both property and financial assets, all bank accounts, investments and personal possessions, anything else not named herein, I bequeath to my granddaughter, Marissa Jayne Featherstone.”
Vance heard a buzzing in his head. He froze, the words that the old codger of a lawyer had just read echoing inside his brain as if they didn’t mean anything—until, like the pop of a balloon, they did.
“Granddaughter? Granddaughter? My great-aunt, Amanda Featherstone, didn’t have a granddaughter! I’m her sole heir. What kind of bullshit move are you pulling here, old man?”
Vance narrowed his gaze and looked at the only person in the room he hadn’t recognized. Spiked-hair girl had to be in her late twenties. Her newfangled hairstyle looked messy, as if the owner of that mop of hair hadn’t bothered with a comb or brush that day.
For all he knew, she hadn’t.
“You?” He pointed his finger right at her and let her see his venom.
She looked down her nose at him then turned her attention back to her notes. When she spoke, it seemed to be to the room at large. “I’m not Marissa Jayne Featherstone, no.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Vance, there is no ‘bullshit move,’ as you term it, and there is indeed a granddaughter. Ms. Bixby, who is working on behalf of the estate, provided my client with definitive proof of that about two months ago. Of course, Mrs. Featherstone immediately rewrote her will to reflect this new information.”
“Why was I not informed of this? I should have been told! I have rights!” He’d heard the bequest he’d been left—a measly half a million dollars. He’d assumed when the lawyer mentioned an insurance policy that the bulk of the estate would also be left to him.
Damn it to hell, I have to have that five mil! He noticed the smirk on the face of Mrs. Novak, Amanda’s long-time housekeeper. One of the things he’d been looking forward to when he moved into the Featherstone mansion was firing that old biddy. She’d never treated him with the respect that was his due.
“Where is this so-called granddaughter? If she’s to inherit, she has to be here at the reading of the will!”
Vance didn’t like being looked at the way Mathers looked at him—as if he was stupid. “A person’s presence at the reading of a will in which they are a named beneficiary is not mandatory, just customary. As to where Miss Featherstone is at the moment, that is none of your concern.” The lawyer closed the file. “The reading of the last will and testament of Amanda Pearl Featherstone is concluded. You’ll all receive checks within the next couple of weeks, as soon as probate is complete. Matilda will now give each of you a copy of the document, for your records.”
The ferret-faced lawyer signaled to his assistant, a woman who looked like she sucked lemons for a living. Douglas Vance looked at the folder he was handed then shot knives at Mathers. “I think I’ll take this to my lawyer, old man. I don’t believe this bullshit. I’ll see you in court.”
“As you wish. Be sure your lawyer reads the fine print, first. Otherwise you might find yourself with nothing left to remember your aunt by, except a rather hefty legal bill.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
The red-haired bitch got to her feet. She looked at him, and dismissed him, in only a few seconds.
The lawyer also stood. “Mrs. Featherstone took precautions when she had her will re-written. If you contest it, you will lose even the half-million dollars you’ve been given.”
Doug Vance surged to his feet. A searing hatred filled him—for his great-aunt, and this lawyer, the spiky-haired bimbo who was sneering at him, and his so-called new cousin, however many times removed she may be.
Removed. Now there’s a thought. She’d be young. Yeah, there’s a thought indeed. Vance would take this to his lawyer, and then he’d hunker down and do some
