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With a nod of thanks, I pat it gently, waiting until I’m alone later to look at it.
Whatever is in there, they’re just memories that are pale reminders of my mentor.
When he seems to realize I’m not going to actually look at the folder, he reaches over and opens it, flips over some of the pages until he comes to a sealed envelope, and pushes it toward me.
“Kingsley, this one… is a little different. I need you to read that.”
Gingerly, I reach for it, the apprehension from before thick and leaden in the pit of stomach back as I pull out the single sheet.
“Dear Kingsley…
I scan the four paragraphs, handwritten by Ernest. His final words to me.
My body inches to the edge of the seat with every word.
Disbelieving what I’m reading.
I scan the letter again, just in case I’m imagining the words, and when I’m sure I’m not, I jump to my feet, dropping the letter onto the table.
“What is this?” I ask, my voice calm but the blood thundering in my ears.
He grimaces, face glum. “Just a minute. I’m waiting for two more people to arrive, and I don’t feel comfortable talking about it until they’re here.”
“Alex. What is this about? Did you know about this? Have you read the letter?”
He pales and gives the slightest shake of his head. “Look… I haven’t read the exact letter he wrote you—that was sealed—but I know, more or less, what was in it.”
I shake my head. I need time and space to process what I’ve just read. But I also need more information. I have questions. So many fucking questions.
“Alex. I’m going to ask you again. Did he talk to you about this? And don’t even think about lying to me.”
He runs his hands through his hair, lips stretching tight against his teeth as he considers every word. “He said something the night before he died. But not the whole plan. Not everything. I’m just finding things out the same as you.”
“God,” I exhale, picking up the letter and reading it one more time. This has got to be some kind of sick joke he’s playing on me. Before I can round the desk and shake an explanation out of Alex, his office door opens.
Alex stands up, still pale as he says, “Kingsley, you know Ernest’s personal lawyer, Jarvis.”
I nod at the older man who’s just joined us.
And then a woman, a short Asian woman with fiery brown eyes and long black hair, in a mismatched outfit of a denim skirt, white shirt, and my favorite blue tie around her neck, steps into the room.
What the fuck is she doing here?
Before I can ask her, Alex walks over to her and touched her shoulder gently as he says, “Luna, this is Kingsley Baxter. He’s going to be the trustee of your inheritance. Kingsley, this is Luna. Luna is Ernest’s daughter. And the heir to his estate.”
Ten
Luna
The room is so quiet, I can hear my own heartbeat.
He’s staring at me, or I’m staring at him—I don’t know which.
Both. Neither.
But we stand there in total shock for a minute until Alex clears his throat and gently presses his hand against my back, leading me into an empty seat.
I finally tear my eyes off Kingsley and instead focus on a spot on the painting behind the desk.
