The next morning Paul called. “I know you have an appointment with Breanna’s attorney. Do you want me to go with you?”
That was his father’s way of apologizing for yesterday. “No, Dad, but thank you.”
He didn’t need his father to accompany him. He was forty-one years old. He had an established career, a byline that people recognized, and some measure of respect as a journalist.
He was also fantastically wealthy, a discovery he made two hours later.
Sitting opposite Roger Herron, his finger traced the words of Breanna’s will as if touching them could make them any more understandable.
“Breanna told me that she’d set up a trust, that she’d apportioned the majority of her inheritance to various charities. We discussed it. She wanted to make sure it was okay with me.”
It had been. He hadn’t married her for money, had signed the prenup without hesitation. He was in love with her, not her fortune. On three separate occasions she’d brought up the disposition of her assets, wanting to make sure that he had no lingering resentment.
He had a good career, making an acceptable living. He certainly could have supported them both. When he said he would have been happy if she was poor as a church mouse she’d smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
He thought it was all settled.
“Well,” Roger said, “she must’ve changed her mind, because we redid her will two months ago. She gave the shelter and various other charities a considerable amount at that time.”
He’d known that Lionel had been close to a billionaire, but he’d assumed that some of his fortune had gone to taxes or other disbursements. He had no idea that Breanna had increased her wealth and that she was a genuine billionaire. Now he was.
“Maybe she expected you to do more charitable giving in her name. Wouldn’t that be feasible?”
Derek nodded. He was having difficulty wrapping his head around the amount, especially since Breanna had rarely discussed her money. She should have given him some kind of warning.
“Just don’t tell me I’m Susan’s trustee, too.”
“Susan?”
“Breanna’s sister.”
“Breanna didn’t have a sister. She was an only child.”
“What do you mean, Breanna was an only child? Breanna administered a trust for her sister because Susan had a drug problem.” There, his voice sounded reasonably controlled.
“Breanna didn’t administer any trust. The money came to her directly from her father, with no restrictions or codicils. I admit, it was rather unusual, given the amount, but father and daughter were very close. Lionel Adams had no reservations about leaving his daughter everything. Evidently, Breanna felt the same trust in you.”
“You’ve never heard of Susan Adams?”
“Never. It’s possible that the woman was not officially recognized, but I have some difficulty with that idea. Lionel was very careful not to produce any…” The attorney’s face reddened. “Illegitimate offspring,” he finally added.
“Susan existed. So who the hell is she?”
Roger shook his head. “I can’t help you with that, Mr. McPherson. I’ve never heard of the woman. My obligation is to ensure that Breanna’s wishes are carried out.”
Derek stood. “You’ve done that. Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say. He thought his world was upended when Breanna had died. He didn’t realize that that was only the beginning.
He left the suite of offices without another word. At least now he knew why everyone had practically genuflected to him when he arrived. Would you like any coffee? Was he hungry? They could provide sandwiches or nibbles or a vegetable tray.
Funny, he didn’t feel any different. He wasn’t suddenly glowing because of all that money. He wasn’t lighter than air.
He remembered something Breanna had said once. “It’s a tremendous responsibility. I want to make sure that everything my father worked for isn’t wasted.”
He felt some of that responsibility now and it weighed him down. What the hell did he do with that much money? For now he would keep it all where it was. Everything he’d signed had simply transferred the ownership of all of those accounts to him. In his pocket was a check Roger had given him for discretionary items. It was five times his annual income at the paper.
Evidently, the very rich are very different.
He felt like he was coming out of his skin, like it was growing too tight and all of his organs would fall through the seam splitting down the middle of his body. Everything about his life felt wrong, in a way that couldn’t be fixed.
Even if he got the answers to the mysteries surrounding him, it wouldn’t do any good. If they caught the guy who killed Breanna what would that accomplish? It wouldn’t magically restore her to life. If Susan finally showed up and told him who she really was, so what? What did it matter in the great scheme of things?
Nothing would ease the paralyzing grief he felt.
The next morning Ellie made her daily report to the Elder, carefully leaving out what had transpired outside the coffee shop. She told herself it was because she hadn’t been certain about what she’d seen.
Mr. Woods still sounded annoyed about Derek going to Susan’s house. She could have told them that Derek was very proactive. If something didn’t make sense to him or he sniffed out some deception he was the first to check it out.
They should have done something better about the Susan situation than have her disappear without a word.
However, it was unlikely that the Elders would ever ask her advice. She was young, female, and compared to their individual — not to mention collective — talents, she was a neophyte.
She also didn’t tell them about the feeling she was getting. Something akin to a vision without seeing anything. Derek was changing, but she wasn’t sure exactly how. The feeling was difficult to describe. That’s the reason she gave herself for not telling the Elder what she’d sensed last night or felt this morning. It was like a gathering of power, like a cumulus cloud on the horizon. As it grew closer it became larger, more impressive. Darker, perhaps, and holding sparks of lightning. That’s what she sensed around Derek.
How could she possibly explain that?
“He didn’t stop anywhere else?” the Elder asked. “Didn’t speak to anyone?”
He probably knew who Derek had spoken to better than she. She didn’t doubt that the Elders could listen in to anyone’s phone.
“He didn’t stop anywhere else. Nor did I see him use his phone in the car, but he might have with a Bluetooth device.”
There, as honest as she could be. He didn’t ask her if she had seen anything else. If he had, she would’ve had a moral dilemma: to tell or not to tell about the word Mother on the windshield.
Thankfully, he didn’t question her further, merely told her to continue her assignment.
Derek made following him easy. He drove a large dark blue SUV that she could follow effortlessly in traffic. He didn’t go anywhere that was overwhelmed with people. Even today, when he pulled into a parking garage he didn’t go to the top but parked on the second floor. She followed him at a safe distance, but nearly lost him in the building’s lobby. She waited to see what floor the elevator went to before using the stairs. There was only one company taking up the whole of the third floor: a law firm. She saw Derek follow a woman behind a door and retraced her steps to the parking garage.
She sat there for over an hour, taking advantage of the time to practice an incantation. This one required a subject, but at least she could memorize the words. It would be embarrassing to forget the steps of a forgetfulness spell.
Twice she thought she saw Derek coming back to his car and twice ducked down. Both times she was wrong. When he did return to his car she almost missed him.
Halfway back to the Crow’s Nest she figured out that he was going home. Certain of it, she dropped back a few more cars. When he pulled off 281 she did as well, but took the precaution of staying at least half a mile behind him. Once he started up the spiral drive to his house she hung back, turning onto a side road where she often parked.
He was probably home for the day which meant that she had more time to practice her spells — and wonder what was happening in the big black house on the hill.