Something about her makes me feel like she’s never been in a situation she’s not in control of.
“Please, sit.” She gestures to the old seat I used to occupy with PopPop. The memory briefly tightens in my throat, but I smile past it. “I appreciate you coming all this way,” she adds.
“Oh, it’s fine. Had to happen, I guess. You said my inheritance was released, so of course I’m curious.”
“Yes. I truly regret the red tape and delays.” She takes her seat again, where PopPop used to sit, leaning back in the leather chair.
There’s something unspeakably efficient about the way she moves. If I sketched her, she could only be clean, formidable lines.
Now I feelreallyunderdressed for today.
We just went from whispering at ghosts to job interview vibes in sixty seconds flat.
Still, life’s too short to be anything but myself.
Wilkes opens a folder and pulls out several papers clipped together. The good paper, heavy and thick, not quite white.Almost compulsively, I reach out to brush my fingertips against it.
“This is Mr. Blackthorn’s will,” she says. “Again, I apologize for the delay. There’s been some… other drama in the family inheritance, as you may know. We also had to ensure all the pieces were in place legally to distribute your portion.”
My portion?I wrinkle my nose.
That makes it sound like I’m being served a slice of prime rib rather than table scraps. But that doesn’t make sense.
I’m an adopted granddaughter. Technically, Leonidas’ great niece by blood, even if he never treated me like anything less than his beloved munchkin, no different from Ethan and Margot.
Wilkes smiles at me.
“Um, okay. I didn’t think I was getting very much,” I say. Might as well be upfront about that. “What ‘portion’ are we talking about?”
“Three items. Simple enough on the surface, with one large caveat.” She opens the will and spins it to face me, pointing out the pertinent points in the sea of legalese with her pen. I blink at the maze of words. “First, you have a trust worth three hundred thousand dollars.”
Heart spasm.
“Three hundred—holy crap. You’re kidding, right?”
She gives me a tight-lipped smile.
“I’m pleased to say I’m not. There are a few stipulations. The legal protections mean you can only withdraw this money for housing or living expenses until you turn thirty. Nothing else.”
Oof.
Nothing else like bailing Dad out, she means.
PopPop reallydidthink of everything.
I’m glad Dad can’t pressure me for a “loan” into paying off his debts, or whatever get-rich-quick scheme he turns to next.
Almost a relief.
Three hundred thousand could go a long way to helping me land a decent place, when the time comes. And all the time it’ll stay in the trust, safely invested and growing, if I’m reading this right.
A seriously generous gift. But what else?
I nod at the lawyer.
She turns a page and points to the next pertinent part. “Here’s the desk we’re sitting at, plus a stipend for transporting it back to Boston.”
Oh.
