Page 195 of Playing By Ear

“Outwith Hollywood films,” Norma said, “there is typically no dramatic reading of a person’s last will and testament. Beneficiaries are notified in good time, usually separately.

“But my brother Martin was no typical man, and he always had a flair for the sensational. He asked me to give you these letters while we’re all together so I could answer all questions at once, and so no one would have advance warning.” She opened the file folder and started handing out envelopes. “The letters are individually personalized, but they all explain the changes to his will made a week ago Monday. Mind, the signing of the will was witnessed by disinterested parties, and a doctor was present to attest that Martin was of sound mind. I repeat, Martin was of sound mind, so any challenge to his decisions will be met with the facts, the law, and no small amount of resentment from the family.”

Jamie exchanged a curious glance with Belinda as they opened their envelopes.

The letter was typed, with his father’s shaky signature at the bottom.

Jamie,

I love you and your sister more than life itself—which is fortunate, as I’ve not got much of that left.

Enough fucking preamble. A wee birdie told Stuart, who then told me, about the changes Belinda planned to make to the company after my death, with your encouragement.

Jamie’s audible gasp was echoed by several in the room. Belinda turned to her husband, who was trying to read over her shoulder, and pushed him away. “I can’t believe you!” she whisper-shouted.

“What?” Stuart held up his hands. “What did I do?”

Jamie focused on the letter, trying to take it all in before the fighting erupted.

At first I was pure raging, partly because my own children wanted to take my legacy in such a (frankly bizarre) direction, but mostly because you conspired behind my back.

Jamie kept reading, the paper in his hand beginning to shake. How many times had he urged Belinda to tell their father the truth? Now all hell was breaking loose.

Then there were the Coyles demanding I split the business between all three associate families, leaving my kids with a cash payout to make a new start. That idea enraged me even more.

But once in a wee while, two wrongs can make a right.

I told you and Belinda a million times that everything I did was for you. You never believed me. You believed it was about money and power. And, if I’m honest, you were probably right.

Until now.

“…the fuck?” Jamie whispered.

Like you, I hate the thought of our Lucy growing up in this cutthroat industry. Maybe someday she’d up sticks and leave the family like you did. Maybe someone she loved would be…damaged.

So, on 1 June 2016, MacKray Enterprises will cease to exist. Its assets will be liquidated and the cash split between family members, with the lion’s share left to Belinda to form whatever new business she wants. You will inherit both sides of the semi-detached villa, as there will no longer be a business to headquarter there.

Jamie steadied himself on the arm of the pew, wishing Perry were here to hold him up as the world turned upside down.

The Coyles and Gilchrests will receive the territories, contacts, and client lists, as suggested in the Coyles’ proposal. It’s not as much as they wanted, but after all their conniving, they should feel lucky.

As for the Wilkies, they have my son-in-law to thank for receiving fuck-all. Instead of asking Belinda about her plans, Stuart came running to me, hoping to win favor and plot against her with her own father.

Nobody likes a grass.

Jamie covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. Stuart’s father, Wayne Wilkie, stood and brandished his version of the letter. He released a torrent of obscenities despite the demure presence of the Virgin Mary statue.

I trust you and Belinda will make good use of the fortunes I’ve earned with my blood, sweat, and tears (you might say it was mostly others’ blood and tears). Turn my legacy into something good. Not for me. For you. For Lucy.

With love from the next world,

Your da,

Martin MacKray

“This cannae be real,” Uncle Pete said. “Everything we built for decades, he just threw it all away?”

“Thank God,” Rosie exclaimed. “Now you might live to see sixty, Peter.”