The next afternoon, I met with the lawyers of the Montebianco Estate.
Three men stood in unison as I walked into the room, Enzo Roberts and two men I had never seen before. They sat in a windowless conference room, some folders piled between them. An enormous bouquet of lilies dominated a side table, filling the air with a heavy, funereal scent. Aside from the morbid odor of the flowers, the atmosphere was antiseptic—impersonal, businesslike. Lawyerly.
The first lawyer, an elegant gentleman with silver hair who appeared to be somewhere in his early seventies, held out his hand. “Countess, my name is Francisco Zimmer. It is a delight to finally meet you.” He gestured to a short man wearing a bright yellow tie. “That is Mr. Murray Smith. You know Mr. Roberts already. We’re so very pleased you have come to Turin to meet with us.”
I shook each man’s hand and then took a seat. They sat across from me, hands folded on the table, an air of anticipation in their manner.
“I believe you received the estate’s letter,” Zimmer said. “And the list of assets.”
“Yes, I did receive it,” I said. “But as it was in Italian, I couldn’t read it.”
“You speak no Italian?” Smith asked, incredulous.
“‘Ciao,’” I said. “And ‘spaghetti.’”
Zimmer opened a folder and took out a sheaf of paper. “Let’s start with this,” he said. “It is an English translation of the Italian documents sent to your home. There is a long version and then a more simplified one.” He found the page he was looking for and handed it to me. It had a stamp at the bottom, certifying that the translation was authentic. “This is the simple version.”
I took the paper and read the following:
The Montebianco Estate is comprised of the following assets:
I read the list several times, my eyes climbing up and down the list of treasures. I had known about the title, which was probably little more than a nominal hereditary name, without value in the modern world. And I was aware of Montebianco Castle. But I had not expected family jewels and artwork and dividends. I had not expected a town house in Paris. There was no concrete amount attached to any of these items, but I could see that the Montebianco Estate was worth a fortune. Life-changing money, I remembered Enzo saying.
“Do you have the financial report?” I asked.
Smith opened another folder, searched through it, and gave me a fat document. I flipped through the pages until I found the family income for 2015. Scrolling down the endless columns of numbers, I found the total revenue for the previous year. It was negative fifty-three thousand euros.
“They are in debt?” I asked, stunned. I thought of the private jet, the fancy hotel suite. How on earth was the family paying for these things when they had negative income? “That is surprising, considering . . .”
“Yes, surprising,” Smith said. “But not so unusual. Like many old families, the Montebiancos amassed wealth for generations. Now there is nobody to take care of their assets. The forestry business, for example, could yield great profits, if it were managed correctly. As it is now, the family is without liquidity. I would suggest you start selling some of the assets in order to raise cash. Aside from the Paris apartment, there are parcels of land. We could begin there.”
I read the financial report again, unable to fully take it all in. “I don’t know what I expected,” I said. “But this is really . . . it is all really incredible.”
“It must be quite a surprise,” Smith said, nodding sympathetically.
“Quite overwhelming,” Zimmer added.
“You are in an extraordinary situation,” Smith said.
“What is extraordinary is that you found me at all,” I said. “My name is Monte, not Montebianco. It must have taken more than a Google search to locate me.”
Zimmer and Smith exchanged a look. They had been waiting for that question.
“It was not as difficult as one might imagine. Our research team found your location based on your online profile,” Zimmer said. “They looked at photos of you via your social media, pulled up your home address and phone number via the White Pages database online, and determined that you were the person we had been seeking. All told, it took a matter of hours to make a definitive match between you and the Montebianco family.”
The silence was thick, stultifying, almost as funereal as the odor of the lilies. I could feel the lawyers’ eyes on me, awaiting my response. I didn’t like that they knew so much about me, and I hated that they had hunted me down online. But then, if they hadn’t, I would not be sitting there trying to work out the value of my inheritance.
“Are you feeling well, Countess?” Zimmer asked. “It is rather hot in here. I could order you something to drink?”
Countess. I looked at them, all three of them, staring at me from across the table. The countess was me.
“All of this has happened really fast,” I said. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“Your feelings are perfectly understandable,” Zimmer said. “As Smith said, such news can be quite overwhelming. A shock to the system. But I daresay, this will all feel less unusual with time. Once you visit Nevenero, and take control of the estate, you will become more comfortable with your situation.”
“I’m not sure about that,” I said.
“You would be surprised,” Smith said, adjusting his yellow tie, “how well one adapts when a fortune is at stake. Now, if you don’t mind, we will move forward with the legal formalities.”
Something about his tone—so smug, so confident—irritated me. Who did he think I was, a treasure hunter? “I really need some time to think about this,” I said, digging my nails into the palms of my hands and wishing Luca was there. Having an ally on my side of the table would have made it all easier to take in. But he hadn’t returned my messages. I could only assume he was back in Milton.
“It is only natural that you are a bit turned around,” Smith said. “Perfectly normal.”
“Smith is right. Such things don’t happen every day,” Zimmer said.
“They don’t ever happen,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
Smith and Zimmer exchanged a look. “Countess,” Zimmer said. “You are young, and—forgive me for saying so—rather too naïve to navigate such a complicated situation alone. Of course you need time to think. Of course we will give you as much time as you require. But I think it will relieve you to know that you will have some guidance from a member of the Montebianco family.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “The Montebianco family has died out. I’m the last one. Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“The letter you received regarding your inheritance stated that you are the sole living heir. That is true. You are the last surviving legal heir to the Montebianco title. But there is, in fact, one other member of the Montebianco family still living. She is quite ill and will not be around for much longer, I’m afraid, which is why we sought you so urgently. She is the wife of your grandfather Giovanni’s late twin brother, Guillaume Montebianco, your great-uncle. Not a blood relative, but a relation by marriage. Her name is Dolores. She is not strong, but healthy enough to meet you.”
I stared at him, sorting out the relationships. My grandfather Giovanni had a twin brother. And this twin brother, Guillaume, was the great-uncle who had remained in Nevenero.
Zimmer, seeing me struggle, said, “When Giovanni left for America, Guillaume stayed behind. He took over the responsibilities of the family. He died last summer, leaving no heirs, at the age of eighty-four.”
“It was his DNA you matched with mine,” I said, remembering what Enzo had told me the other day.
“Exactly,” Zimmer said. “Your great-aunt by marriage gave us that sample. She has managed things at the castle for the past six months. She and Guillaume had no living children, but she knew that Giovanni may have had descendants. It was Dolores who hired professionals to find you.”
“And my great-aunt by marriage,” I said. “Dolores. She is in Nevenero now?”
“She is there,” Zimmer said. “Waiting for your arrival.”