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“The terms were precise, Dahlia, I’m sorry.” He stood as if to leave, gathering his papers, and I stopped him by slamming my palm down on the wood surface with a crack. It was so loud we both jumped.
“I don’t care about the terms. If the man is dead, doesn’t that make the terms null and void?”
“Get me a death certificate or produce Jack Lawrence, and then we can discuss asking a judge to void the will, but before then,” he met my gaze, and his was full of fury and matched mine. “Nothing changes.”
John’s voice had risen to a higher octave, and I decided it would be better not to push him. So, I left it alone. It was so hard not to reach across the table, grab Mother’s letter opener, and stab him with it because I was surely thinking about it. As John stormed out, I let my head sink in defeat and felt my tight muscles stretch. The pain from the stress was agony, but I deserved the torture. I knew better than to come here empty-handed, but I thought Jack Lawrence being dead would surely be enough. How could it not be?
Susan sauntered in with a smirk on her pretty face as she slid her delicate body into the chair next to where I stood, still leaning over the desk with my head down in defeat.
“Oh, Dahlia, it’ll be alright.” She began, scanning the red paint on her fingernails that matched her lipstick perfectly. A few weeks ago, I would have admitted how close she got the two shades. Today, I just didn’t care.
“What the hell am I going to do, Susan?” I side-eyed her, unable to meet her gaze; I felt like too much of a failure.
“Come on, child, you’re smarter than this.” She rose from her seat and leaned down, forcing me to meet her gaze. “You are your mother’s daughter.” With a quick pat on the back, she headed back out the door of Mother’s study. “So, start acting like it.” She sang to my back, and I groaned in frustration. She is not helping at all!
“Argh!” I plopped down into the chair and grabbed my hair with both hands. “I don’t know how!” I screamed at myself. Then my eyes landed on the self-portrait of Mother, and as I stared into her eyes, I got an idea.
Act like her.
You are your mother’s daughter.
Suddenly, it all became clear, and as I stood, I reached for my phone and dialed a number I never thought I would.
And it only narrowly and temporarily escaped my mind that I had five missed calls from a strange Strawberry Flats phone number.
A few hours and a few promises later, I strolled into John’s office with a manila envelope in hand. I had worn a suit and colored my lips and nails the same blood-red color I had seen Susan wearing earlier and silently thanked her for the genius idea she’d given me. I’d have to repay her later for the tip, in a big way. Maybe this was a scavenger hunt and not a wild goose chase, after all. Mother was surprising me at every turn, and when I’d called Carl, I knew immediately he was waiting for my call. Mother had this all planned out, and to my surprise, I’d passed the tests she left for me, at least so far.
John wasn’t expecting me so soon, and when I busted through his door without permission, he glared at me with annoyance.
“Back so soon.” He drawled slowly, with disinterest, never lifting his eyes from the stack of papers before him.
“Well, our last conversation occurred in Mother’s office, so no. Not back so soon,” I smirked. He glanced up and blinked.
“To what do I owe this honor, Dahlia?” Slouching, he finally looked up, and I could tell he was tired. Well, I was about to help his workload improve.
I slammed the manila envelope down before him, covering the papers under his hands. “One death certificate.” I grinned at the blatant look of shock that crossed his bland but usually kind features.
“What? How?” John questioned, and I decided I wouldn’t give him any details. I wouldn’t after how he’d acted earlier. I knew he was tired, but that was not my fault. Maybe Mother’s, but not mine.
“Now sign that will and give me what’s mine, John.” When our eyes met this time, I didn’t smirk, smile, or give anything away. I just stared straight at him.
He opened the envelope, pulled out the thick piece of paper that was fresh from the printer and glared at me. We stayed like that for what felt like hours, and I was beginning to panic a little when he hadn’t budged but sighed in relief when he set the death certificate aside and opened the drawer at the side of his desk. After a quick turn of a key, he lifted a large file, flipped through it, and set it down on the desk. My eyes widened when I saw my Mother’s name scribbled across the top. John picked up his pen, signed his name across the bottom section labeled Lawyer, and slid it across the desk to me. He didn’t say anything more. He just watched as I signed under the area that read executor. Once finished, I put the pen down, ran my sweaty palms across the thick fabric of my suit skirt, and turned to leave.
I hadn’t made it far when John finally spoke, “Dahlia, where are you going?” He called after me as he stood abruptly from the chair.
“You now have an immense fortune to manage.” But I didn’t stop at his words. I kept walking toward the exit. “Dahlia! Come back here. Where are you going?” he asked again as he came around the desk, his hands firmly in the pockets of his slacks.
“Back to the Redwoods, John,” I called back to him before I stopped in the doorway to his office. “Oh, and John?” I waited for his gaze to meet mine. When they did, I said, “You’re fired.”
I let the door shut in his face as he tried to stop me from leaving.
CHAPTER 8
When I finally checked my phone, I had twice as many missed calls as before, and I immediately knew who was calling. And to say I was pissed off was the understatement of the decade. I’d only get phone calls from the Marin County Sheriff’s Department if a very handsome biker called me from the jail. He promised he’d stay out of trouble.
You’re pathetic, Dahl. Did you really think he’d keep his promise?
No, but at least I’d hoped he would.
