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Henry pockets his phone.
I take a centering breath. “Look, you guys. I’m not here to take anybody to the cleaners. Honestly? I came here because it was Bernadette’s deepest wish that Smuckers maintain his same lifestyle after her death…”
“And that’s all you want? And you’re willing to sign a piece of paper to that effect?” Brett barks.
“Only Smuckers can designate a new heir,” the lawyer says.
“The police are on their way,” Henry says.
The police. Smuckers starts fussing in my arms. I loosen up on the death grip of distress.
“How about you have Smuckers designate a new heir, then?” Brett rakes his eyes up and down me. “Then again, you’d look okay in orange. Malcomb, what does the will say about Smuckers’s regent reading his mind from a jail cell?”
Everybody’s talking at me or about me. “Make her sign something…affidavit…criminal background check…” Only Henry is silent, apart from the crowd, just like in that toddler picture, but his glittering gaze speaks volumes.
I cling to Smuckers, feeling like it’s us against the world. Even Smuckers is upset, though I suspect that’s more about being surrounded by strangers who are clearly aware of him yet who mysteriously have all failed to rush over to pet him.
“Let’s all take a breath.” The main lawyer, Mr. Malcomb, is next to me now. “This is all getting a little close to duress for my comfort. A contract created under duress isn’t valid.”
Everyone looks at Henry.
“I am an officer of the court, Henry,” Malcomb adds.
“Yeah, you’re an officer of the court who stood by while Mom was getting soaked by a scam artist,” Henry says. “That’s the problem I’m having here, Malcomb.”
“She was of sound mind, Henry,” Malcomb retorts. “It’s what she wanted.”
Malcomb and Henry go on to debate the concept of sound mind.
I have to admit that Henry has a point. A toy dog whose head fur is frequently groomed to resemble a large marshmallow seems a very poor choice to run an international corporation.
Lawyer Malcomb turns to me. “In the decade prior to her death Bernadette assigned a longtime officer of the company, Kaleb Rowland, to cast the vote of her late husband’s fifty-one percent along with his own twenty percent, with her son Henry acting as CEO. Kaleb and Henry have been excellent stewards of Locke Worldwide. Under their guidance, the firm has expanded enormously and created a massive amount of wealth. While we’re working all of this out, I’m going to suggest that Smuckers might see his way clear to allow Kaleb to retain his proxy while Henry continues on as operational CEO. You’ll stay on, Kaleb?”
Everyone looks at an older man with a thick pelt of shiny gray hair. Kaleb, I’m guessing. He crosses his arms and grunts.
I scratch Smuckers’s neck, trying to think when he last peed.
Breathe. Think.
Another thing I learned while a pariah is to understand things fully before making big decisions, because one of the ways people push you around is to make you think you don’t have time.
“Can you please explain the terms in a way I’ll understand?” I say to Malcomb.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Henry sighs. “Do we have to go through this charade?”
I turn to him. “Okay, I’m getting a little tired of your attitude.” I pull Smuckers’s little face closer to mine. It comforts Smuckers, but I kind of think it makes me harder to yell at. “Here’s the situation—an old woman who felt utterly alone in life left things in her will to her dog. You want somebody to feel angry at? Go look in a mirror.”
The room seems to still. Henry regards me coolly, like he’s totally in control, but a vein in his neck has become more defined, like a violin string tightened beyond factory specs. “You don’t know anything about this family,” he finally says.
“I know you’re all…a bit unpleasant.” Even Bernadette was unpleasant, but I don’t say that.
Henry undoes his one suit-jacket button, wristwatch glinting in the dazzle of the chandelier. And then it’s gone, back under his perfect sleeve. He says nothing, just undoes the button. I don’t know, maybe it’s the wealthy man’s version of rolling up his sleeves. He then turns and huddles up with Brett and Kaleb. Talking about me, of course.
Talking about charging me with a crime. Maybe paying me off. That’s how rich guys control poor women. Young women. Me.
Been there. Done that. Vowed never to do it again.
Back in Deerville, Denny Woodruff’s family went with paying me off—half a million dollars for my silence about what Denny did. My life would have been half a million percent better if I’d taken that money, but I was sixteen and idealistic. I wanted to make sure other women would steer clear of Denny.
