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That decision was reinforced when none of them even made an effort to suck up to him. They ignored him as if he was a complete stranger to them. He mentally shrugged off the insult even as it rankled. They’ll all be out of work soon enough. Vance didn’t worry about the weird-looking chick with the spiky reddish hair sitting at the other end of the table. She was likely some sort of law clerk or student because she had a pad of paper in front of her, a pen in her hand, and appeared focused on reading whatever was in the document before her.
Vance picked a chair with easy access to the door—he just needed to know the dollars and cents coming his way, and when he’d get them—and settled in for the reading of his dearly departed kin’s last will and testament.
This was a moment he’d waited for, for years. Anticipation bathed him in a sweeter scent than any cologne could have. He’d filed for bankruptcy on his latest business venture a month before and had practically maxed out all his resources. There weren’t any American banks he could borrow money from at the moment, and so he’d gone to an acquaintance for a personal loan.
Asshole’s a fucking loan shark, not acquaintance. It galled Vance that he had to do business with the likes of Brody Carp, but there it was. Desperate times, and all that shit.
This windfall was coming to him at the best possible moment.
Vance knew his great-aunt Amanda’s estate was worth, at the very least, five million dollars—and likely even a lot more. And if he decided to sell that fucking monstrosity of a mansion, who knows how much he could end up inheriting? He could pay Carp back fifty times over with that amount and still have plenty to spare.
Even after he cleared his line of credit and gambling debts, he’d be solid. No more looking over his shoulder everywhere he went. No more freaking out at moving shadows, afraid of some goon with a baseball bat finding him. Fucking bookies were sure as hell happy to do business when you were wagering, then turned into monsters when you needed time to pay them off.
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.
