AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My contract with him is up at the end of July, and it can’t come soon enough.
The NDA, though? That’s unfortunately forever.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
DORIAN
Present Day
“Right this way, Mr. Rothwell.” A perky paralegal with red-soled shoes leads me to a conference room at the end of a long hallway. When my father’s attorney reached out to me earlier this week about coming in for a meeting, I told him I’d have to Zoom or Skype or whatever the people are using these days.
There was no way I was going to set foot in the same room with my siblings only to watch them wipe the drool from their faces as they cash in on my third of the estate.
Unfortunately, I was informed that I was required to attend in person, that there were documents to sign, a video to watch, and a bunch of other legal-babble bullshit I didn’t attempt to understand, and this was the only way.
So here I fucking am.
“Would you like a coffee, sir? Water?” the paralegal asks before I go in. She bats her lashes at me, though in no way is she attempting to flirt. I literally rolled out of bed at 4:00 a.m. in last night’s clothes, brushed my teeth, finger combed my hair, and took the cheapest Uber to the airport to hop on some shitty commuter jet that didn’t offer Wi-Fi or snacks.
I look like ass.
And I feel like it too.
Good thing I have no one to impress . . .
“Coffee’d be great,” I tell her before shoving the door open.
I spot Nicola first—seated at the head of an extralong table, Dash at her side. Dash gives me a nod. Nicola, dressed in head-to-toe black, crumples a tissue in her hand. Either she’s still in mourning or she’s a typical New Yorker fighting a bad case of seasonal allergies.
Either way, I couldn’t care less.
On the opposite end of the table are Burke and his devoted fiancée.
I don’t bother turning my head in their direction. I can see them from the corner of my eye just fine. Though I can’t help but notice they, too, are dressed like they’re going to a funeral. Don’t they realize we already did all that?
Grabbing a seat in the middle of the table, equidistant from both couples, I stare at the plaques of various legal awards that adorn the wall.
“And here you are.” The paralegal places a mug of coffee before me along with a spoon and packets of sugar and powdered creamer folded inside a napkin. She takes the chair beside mine before laying out a yellow legal pad, a thick folder of papers, several pens, and a notary stamp. How she managed to haul all that in one armful is beyond me. “We’re just waiting for Mr. Giannotti. He’s finishing up a phone call, and then we’ll get started.”
They mentioned earlier there’d be a video to watch. Something my father recorded before his death. For some reason, I didn’t have it in me to admit I didn’t want to watch it. Not yet. I’m still processing the fact that I can’t call him up or that I’ll never wander up from the dock at Driftway to be greeted by a frail old man with Santa Claus hair and a smile as wide as his whole face.
Seeing him on video is something I’d rather not do—if given the choice.
“How’s everyone’s morning going so far?” The paralegal’s tone is far too chipper for a meeting about a recently deceased man’s estate.
Collectively we answer her with dead silence.
Before she can make another attempt at awkward small talk, a man with salt-and-pepper hair at his temples and who’s wearing an expensive suit strolls in.
“Apologies, all,” Mr. Giannotti says as he sets up camp across from me. Cracking open his laptop, he taps in a short password. “All right. Just pulling up my notes here. Natalie here has all the paperwork you’ll need to sign, but first, I’m going to read off the allocation of the estate per your father’s last will and testament—dated May fifteenth of this year.”
The silence in the room is deafening, though I’m not sure why everyone’s so tense. We all know how this is going to go. Nicola and Burke are in committed relationships, and I’m not. They’ll split everything fifty-fifty. Half of me wonders if he left me something to remember him by . . . his baseball-card collection or his prized fully restored 1957 Studebaker, which he only drove twice in his life.
“This should be fairly straightforward.” Mr. Giannotti slips a pair of wire-framed glasses over his nose and clears his throat. “First, your father has designated one percent of his liquid assets to be divided equally among the following individuals: Yvette Barstow, Maurice Barstow, Gladys Pimpernel, Debra Knox, Candace Kenworth, Tate Tucker, Ron Sandler, and Monte Redburn.”
