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Chapter One
Ilya
The reading of the will was a surprisingly formal occasion. Everyone mentioned in the documents of either of our parents gathered around a conference table in their lawyers’ office, waiting to hear what part of their estate they could expect to enjoy.
My mom and dad had died exactly one week ago today, in the prime of life, in perfect health, and in such a violent way, I was still reeling from the loss. I’d wanted to allow a little more time before the funeral, but my brother wouldn’t have it. He said we needed closure, and since their wills specified they could not be read or acted on until after they were buried, putting it off would only make it hard for us to do.
With little strength to argue, I caved to his wishes and rushed the arrangements for their funeral and everything that entailed. Solo. He was never home and didn’t have time to come to the funeral home with me. Or the church. Or the cemetery. We had closed the company for the week, so he wasn’t working. But after what happened, it was hard enough for me to take care of what we needed to, and he’d never been good at facing upsetting things. When our grandpa died, he wouldn’t come out of his room to go to the funeral.
I suppose I should be grateful he’d come to our parents’ funeral—but then, he always was concerned about what other people thought. As we stood side by side accepting everyone’s nice comments about the nice service as if he’d had anything to do with it.
If I’d had any sleep in the past week, I might have been annoyed. Every time I closed my eyes enough to doze off, I snapped awake from nightmares of lights bearing down on me,screams and metal grating and grinding. Blood…always so much blood. I was far too exhausted and sad to worry about who got credit for anything right now.
The will reading taking place right after the funeral reception… I thought that was carrying getting things back to normal a little too far. Sitting in my chair at the table, it was all I could do to hold my head up and keep my eyes open.
I’d worked for my parents since I was a teenager, my whole life tied up in the plumbing supply game. Not glamorous, maybe, but how necessary. Everyone required pipes and faucets and needed them to work well. I liked the security and, unlike my brother, found the day-to-day routine pleasant. Not exciting but who needs excitement anyway?
The attorneys filed in and took their places at the table, and everyone shuffled their feet and tried to look as though they weren’t waiting to see how much of Mom and Dad’s loot they had inherited.
I leaned back in my seat. Most of those here would be getting mementos, maybe small amounts of cash for some of the employees as a thank-you, but my parents would have had no idea they’d be killed. So, who knew?
The lead attorney began with the small bequests, and there were more than I expected, but they were modest. One person after another left probably disappointed but all too good to say so. They patted my hand or cast me sympathetic looks. I’d known many of them my whole life, and it was good to know they’d be there for us in the coming years.
I’d miss Mom and Dad, but their employees and friends would be a comfort in the coming weeks and months.
“To our beloved son, we leave…” And that was when everything went black.
They left my brother the business, their home, the storefront—which included my apartment upstairs. I was going to beworking for my brother going forward, apparently. He would reap the benefits of my parents’ years of hard work. Of mine.
I did get some things. Mom’s jewelry and personal items. She had never been into fancy things, though, preferring modest items. The monetary value was low, but the sentimental was great. And a savings account that would not mature for a decade and could not be touched until then.
What were they thinking? Did they hate me? As the last few people filed out of the room, I forced myself to my feet and to the attorneys. “Why?” I didn’t know what else I could possibly say. “What did I do wrong? I get a copy of the will, don’t I?”
“Of course.” Mr. Sullivan passed me a manilla envelope. “Ilya, your parents wrote this will over ten years ago, when you were still in high school. Right before you started working here after school, I think.”
“So, Andy was already working in the business. But why…”
“Back then, they thought of you as a child, and they didn’t want there to be any fighting. I think your father believed Andy would take care of you. Your mother’s will read differently, but she left everything to your father, aside from those things you are receiving, if he was still living.”
“And he died after her.” The stolen semi being chased by police agencies from three counties had slammed into the passenger side of their car, and Dad lived long enough to get to the hospital. Mom was killed instantly.
“I had been after him to update his will, but he just didn’t find time to get in and do it.”
“Thanks for telling me.” My eyes burned, already swollen from a week of crying. “I just hope Andy is ready to step up.”
Mr. Sullivan patted my hand. “Me, too. If there’s anything I can do?”
“No, you have to follow the law, and I guess I have to swallow my pride.”
“Ilya, I need to speak with you?”
Speak of the devil. “Yeah, Andy?” I wiped the latest round of tears from my cheeks. “What’s up?”
“Outside.”
“No.” Mr. Sullivan gave me a look of pity before shaking Andy’s hand and offering him condolences. “You kids can talk here. I’ll give you privacy.”
Kids. I was twenty-five, my brother thirty-two. But I guess having watched us grow up, we seemed young to him.
