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Mr. Barclay laughed again. “You haven’t spoken with your grandfather in a few years. Have you?”
It was my turn to chortle, trying to remember the last time. “Over twenty.”
“How sad. Then you missed out on a lot. Walter turned the ranch into something special and a very profitable corporation. But as I mentioned and anticipated, I’m certain you’ll want to sell it, so I’ve taken the liberty of securing several potential buyers. One in particular is willing to pay top dollar in an all-cash deal. The transaction can be completed in days instead of weeks.”
“Whoa. Hold on. I’m a consummate businessman, Hank, which is something I’m certain my grandfather told you.”
“Unfortunately, he said very little about you over the years, which is why quite frankly I was shocked he left you almost everything.”
I rubbed my jaw. “I haven’t gotten to the pinnacle of my career without doing my due diligence on every business transaction. How much is the ranch worth?” I could tell he was irritated at my push back. Well, too fucking bad.
“He acquired a little over a thousand acres and built an entire horse facility including several new buildings. He boards and trains horses and their riders. He even has a veterinary facility on site. Early estimations are fifty million. Granted, a formal assessment has yet to be made but at least that. And again, I’m certain I can persuade the all-cash buyer to pay more than that.”
What. The. Fuck? A red flag was raised when I realized that either my grandfather had been intending to sell before he died, or the man had been dead for several days. “When did my grandfather die?”
“Six days ago. As I said, I did try and call but given my close friendship with Walter, secondary options had already been established in case I couldn’t get in touch with you.”
Why did the entire situation sound like a masterful railroading job?
I bristled with anger but realized there were many legalities that would need to be sorted through. I was no attorney, but I certainly knew my way around contracts.
As well as liars.
Something about his timeline and story already bothered me.
“Would you like me to email you the proposals? We can handle the business without you coming here if you’d like. I can handle all aspects of the sale, including sending you whatever documents that will need your signature.”
It was obvious the man considered me naïve or stupid. I had no intention of selling the property without seeing it first. “I’m coming to his funeral, Mr. Barclay. Please have the particulars of the estate and grounds emailed to me, including all financial records. I want to learn everything about the operation as possible post haste. We’ll discuss opportunities when I arrive. Make certain you attach all your contact information as well. And make no mistake, Mr. Barclay, I will take over as executor as soon as I arrive.”
I could sense the man was put off. What the fuck did I care? Why did I have the distinct feeling the man was hiding something from me?
“That’s not how it works here in Colorado.”
“Well, that’s how it’s going to work, Mr. Barclay. So you’re aware, the law firm that handles my billion-dollar business has a subsidiary in Denver. I’m certain you’re heard of it: Washington, Hills, and Thompson, LLC?” I could tell I got him with the name alone. They were considered the most respected attorney’s firm in the United States.
His breathing suddenly became more labored.
“I understand, Mr. Cawthorne. I will have the desired information in your inbox within the hour.”
It was fascinating how his tone changed completely.
“See to it that you do, Hank. I’m certain you don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot. Now, do you? I’ll call you when I arrive.” There was no reason to give a shit about his answer.
I held the phone against my forehead, closing my eyes as I remembered some of the good times I’d shared with the man. Walter Cawthorne had always been a character. I’d experienced that while living under the same roof. He could drink almost any man under the table and still be up at four in the morning, prompting me to get my ass out of bed and do my chores, which had consisted of feeding the three horses he’d owned back then. Up until that experience, I’d never done a lick of hard work in my life.
As soon as my father could hire a staff to do everything for him, including running his errands, that’s what he’d done. I rubbed my jaw, finally opening my eyes after visions of my grandfather’s face faded into the ugly shadows in my mind.
Another knock on my door not only drew me out of the bittersweet memories but also pissed me off. At this point, I wanted to spend time reflecting on a life I’d been forced to give up, a decision I’d questioned more than once. To sell or not sell the ranch already weighed heavily on my mind.
My father waited for no man, including his own son. He rushed into my office with a look of victory firmly planted on his face. “I noticed Casper was in a hurry to leave your office.” He eyed the signed contract before I had a chance to tell him what had gone down in the meeting. He picked it up, nodding even before he read the contents. “You did good, son. Really good. I’m proud of you.”
It was funny how when my father said he was proud, it was tough to believe.
Or give a shit about.
I sat back, kicking my feet up on my desk, bringing the drink to my lips as I studied him. Not only had my father taught me about ruthless behavior, he’d also ensured I had a firm hold on dressing for success. My nineteenth birthday present had been a suit handmade in Italy. I’d flown out for the fitting, losing my virginity at the same time. I’d used nothing but Italian tailors since then.
“Grandpops is dead.” I issued the statement without emotion, studying his reaction. It was just as I expected. My father clenched his lips, barely glancing up from his glee in studying the contract. As if he didn’t know what had been checked and rechecked by our piranha of an attorney.
