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Mr. Stryker has an assistant waiting for me in the lobby. We make the ride up to the thirty-third floor in silence, which I’m grateful for.
I’ve been in the high-end offices twice before today—once before we got married and once after. It isn’t until we arrive at Mr. Stryker’s reception area that I put two and two together when it’s none other than number ten waiting to greet me.
She’s William Stryker’s personal assistant.
I meant it when I told Tristan she was the most beautiful of his dalliances. We stand just a few feet apart, awkwardly unsure how to greet each other. I take the high road, reaching out my hand to address her first.
“Number ten. Nice to see you again. I missed you at the service yesterday. There was a whole pew reserved for you and your predecessors.”
She flinches. Okay, so maybe that isn’t exactly the high road. I’m not sure if the tears in her eyes are due to my insult or sadness over Tristan’s death. I’m fine with either.
After a few long seconds, she recovers enough to motion for me to follow her down the hall. “Mr. Stryker is expecting you.”
“Mrs. Miller, please… come in. I’m so sorry for your loss,” the lawyer says as I step into his office.
I wait until we’re shaking hands to correct him, making sure to look him in the eye and keep a firm grip, just like my father taught me. “You of all people should be aware that I never took Tristan’s last name. After all, you drew up our prenuptial agreement.”
“Ah yes… of course. My apologies, Ms. Belov. Please… come in and take a seat.”
I walk toward the round conference table we sat at during past visits while he goes and stands behind his huge oak desk. I raise an eyebrow to question why he’s not sitting where we can review paperwork side-by-side.
“Please, have a seat here in this chair.” He waves. “It’s much more comfortable than the chairs around the table.”
“While I appreciate your concern for my comfort, I’m not here to relax. I’m here to understand the current state of my husband’s estate, which I assume will require poring over documents.”
“Yes… about that. There will be plenty of time for that later. I think it best for us to talk for a few minutes first.”
William Stryker has always struck me as an overbearing chauvinist, which makes his attempt at polite niceties today raise my alarm level another notch. I’d spent hours last night digging through the paperwork Tristan kept at The Whitney and come up empty handed. Like it or not, I need Stryker’s help in sorting things out.
I take the seat as requested, deciding to save my objections for more important topics.
After he takes his seat, the lawyer wastes time, steepling his fingers and fidgeting until I finally have to press him.
“Since you’re having problems getting started, I’ll go first. How do I go about having you disbarred for allowing the sale of my property in Paris without my express consent?” I enjoy watching the blood drain from his face as I continue. “As the author of our prenuptial agreement, you of all people know that I am to retain one-hundred percent control over all property I brought into the marriage. Tristan also had a long list of assets that I would not have access to that I assume will now fall into probate until his estate is settled. Have I missed anything?”
My father had not raised a helpless dolt. While I may not be an attorney, I am a businesswoman who owns multi-million-dollar properties and businesses, all located in some of the most competitive real estate markets in the world.
“Unfortunately, what you seem to be unaware of is that Mr. Miller has had several investments fail over the past few years. I’ve been warning him for months that his expenditures were far outweighing his assets. He’s been forced to sell-off several properties that he was under water on, and even then, he has taken on increasingly risky debt that I’m afraid is going to come due within days.”
Tristan disappointed me in many ways during our short marriage, but never… not once… had I thought he was failing as a businessman. He’d maintained his millionaire lifestyle without even a hint of money problems, even with me. It only makes my anger brew hotter.
The only thing keeping me from running screaming from the room is that I know I won’t be responsible for any of his remaining debts thanks to our pre-nup. It isn’t an idle threat. I will see William Stryker disbarred if he allowed my assets to get mixed-up with Tristan’s illegally.
Still, I hoped that any inheritance from his estate would help with my own cash-flow problems. It was those cash flow problems that led me to forge my partnership with Tristan in the first place. Finding out I may not be receiving a windfall is a hard pill to swallow.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but as you know, I’m not responsible for his debts. Moreover, he did not have control over my Paris apartment or any other property for that matter.”
“You are named in his will as both heir and executor of his estate.”
“Okay. As his spouse that doesn’t surprise me. But what does that have to do with the question at hand? Furthermore, that doesn’t mean I’m responsible for any debts he incurred in his business.”
“For those assets he brought into the marriage, yes, but for those procured after your wedding, I’m afraid that is not true.”
My chuckle is forced. Nothing about this is funny. “Since we did not purchase any properties jointly, it is a moot point.”
The alarm in his eyes is the only warning I get of what’s to come. Mr. Stryker opens a folder on his desk and slides a single sheet across the wood so I can reach it.
My pulse spikes as I read the words ‘Power of Attorney’ at the top of the page. The tiny print filling the page is too much to read, but the signature at the bottom is large and clear.
