Chapter 4
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I walk into Myrna’s lawyer’s office the next morning, not knowing what to expect.
“Banner Regent to see Gregory Lowenstein,” I tell the receptionist when I walk up to the desk.
“Of course, Ms. Regent. He’s expecting you. Let me tell him you’re here.”
As the young blonde picks up the phone to call to announce my presence, I take a few steps toward the window, staring out at the New York skyline. It’s gray and cloudy, which fits my mood perfectly.
“Ms. Regent?”
I turn, and the receptionist indicates that I should follow her. I trail behind her to a nondescript conference room with a large wooden table matching the paneled walls. It’s also empty.
“Mr. Lowenstein will be right in,” she says. “Just one moment. Can I bring you something to drink?”
“Espresso would be great.”
“Of course.”
Moments after she shuts the door behind her, it swings open again.
“Well, Ms. Regent, somehow you charmed my client. I’d love to know how you did it.” A man of average height wearing glasses, with a shiny spot in the middle of his gray ring of hair, smiles and holds out his hand. “I’m Greg Lowenstein, and I’ve been Ms. Frances’s lawyer for twenty-some years.”
Twenty years of being at Myrna’s beck and call? I’m not sure I could handle it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I wouldn’t exactly say I charmed her. More like I drove her absolutely insane.”
Lowenstein holds up a hand. “For her, it was kind of the same thing. She was a great old lady, sharp as a tack, but her tongue was too, as I’m sure you well know. I heard everything about everyone because she called once a week to change her will. That vibrator incident almost cost you a chunk of change.”
Oh my God. She told her lawyer about that? Peeking at the conference room table, I wonder if there’s room to crawl under it.
“As much of my time as Myrna took up, I’m sincerely going to miss her. Well, my billable hours are going to miss her, and my secretary is going to have to find a new source of entertainment. So, how about we get started?” He opens a file and starts running through the estate plan and how things work.
I zone out almost immediately at all the legal jargon. Why don’t lawyers just use regular words? Do they get paid more for using the big ones?
I raise a hand like a second grader to stop him. Please, God, stop.
Thankful when he takes a breath to pause, I jump in. “I get it. Myrna’s estate plan was super fancy because you charged her a crap ton of money to work on it and keep changing it. But bottom-line it for me, Greg. What do I really need to know?”
He takes off his glasses and lays them on the table. “Thirty.”
“Thirty what?” I ask, wondering if there’s some legal definition for it that I’m not aware of.
“Thirty million. That’s what you’ve inherited in various investment accounts, not including the apartment or other property. For those, we can only go from market-value estimates—”
I raise my hand again, this time like a really rich second grader.
“Are you shitting me?” I say as I lower my hand.
“No, Ms. Regent, I’m not, in your vernacular, shitting you.”
“Holy fucking shit.”
“Indeed.”
I discreetly slide one hand under my arm and pinch myself. Crap, that hurts. Not dreaming. Okay, then . . .
I whip my head around to check for cameramen jumping out to surprise me.
None.
“You’re not joking.”
Mr. Lowenstein shakes his head. “No. I don’t joke about lunch or money.”
I hope he meant love and money, but I don’t ask. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Myrna’s daughter wasn’t completely full of it when she told me Myrna left me everything.
“Why would she do this? It makes no sense at all.”
“She liked you.”
I meet his gaze. “She liked her dog. She tolerated me.”
“Speaking of the dog, you’re the trustee of the Jordana Frances Pet Trust, although you did not inherit her.”
“Please tell me it was Sofia.”
“Indeed.”
So I didn’t inherit everything, but holy shit.
I pay a lot closer attention to what Lowenstein says for the rest of the meeting, which means my brain feels like it’s going to explode by the end of it.
Part of me expected Dee Booker was exaggerating, so even though I was ready for some kind of inheritance from Myrna, I wasn’t expecting this.
I walk out of the office and barely notice the crowds of people around me as I wander in the direction of my hotel, still reeling with shock.
Out of habit, I pull out my phone to call Greer and tell her the news, but she doesn’t answer. Her new life is taking off in LA, and while I couldn’t be happier that my friend has found happiness, I selfishly miss having her around.
I miss Myrna too. Last night, I couldn’t handle staying in her apartment surrounded by her things, so I hauled my suitcase to the Parker Meridian and sank into the bathtub . . . and cried.
Grief battered me as I recalled our exchanges, and how much it bothered me that I didn’t clear the air with her on the phone. She had no clue I left New York upset with her. Maybe it’s a plus that she didn’t die thinking we had unfinished business. Although, if she’d known, maybe she would have hung on a hell of a lot longer.
Why did I jump to conclusions? I should have just asked her. Myrna was nothing if not brutally honest with me.
I toasted her with almost the entire contents of the minibar, which she’s ironically now paying for, and passed out on a tearstained pillow.
When I woke up this morning, my head hammering, I rolled over looking for Logan, but the hotel decor reminded me I was a long way from Gold Haven. I left Kentucky a broke-ass CEO, and now I’m a legit baller.
Well, I will be after who knows how many more meetings with lawyers and financial people who will finalize all the details and wind down Myrna’s affairs.
Not to mention, I have to figure out what to do with all of her stuff. She was a pack rat of the first order, and to say I’m overwhelmed by the thought of digging through all of it is the understatement of the century.
I wrap my coat around me tighter as I pause on the corner of Fifth Avenue. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I have zero urge to go inside any of my favorite stores and shop.
Which is ironic, considering I could snap my fingers and demand one of everything now. My new bank account wouldn’t even blink.
Two women burst through the doors of a store, laughing and carrying armloads of bags. I step out of their way, but can’t help but overhear their conversation as they turn toward Starbucks.
“That top you got will be perfect for the club opening tonight. Your tits will look amazing. I can’t wait to post pictures so everyone who can’t get in will be jealous.”
They both giggle—annoyingly, I might add—before the other responds. “God, I’m due for a good fuck too. I’m taking home the hottest guy I see.”
“Damn, girl. Get it. But buh-bye in the morning, right?”
“Obvi. You know how I am.”
The two women disappear into Starbucks, and someone knocks into me from behind. The signal has changed, which means I need to move my ass across the street. Shaking myself out of my momentary eavesdropping session, I stride forward, but their words stay with me.
Not so very long ago, that was me.
How cringe-worthy and superficial.
Who would have thought a guy from Kentucky I was never supposed to meet would change my life.
I haven’t been gone long, but I legitimately miss Logan. I step into a doorway and pull out my phone to text him. He’s busy working on Boone Thrasher’s car, but I can’t help it. Other than Greer, he’s the only person I want to tell about all of this stuff. In fact, I wanted to tell him last night, but I kept my message vague in case Myrna’s daughter was full of shit.
But she wasn’t.
BANNER: You know how I said I had big news? I really need to tell you about it.
Not expecting an immediate reply, I slide my phone into my purse, but pause when it vibrates.
Except it’s not Logan. It’s my ob-gyn, who also happens to be my college roommate’s older sister.
DR. LADY LIPS: Do you have any questions about anything?
I don’t claim to be mature when it comes to my contact-naming skills, but at least I’m not confusing her with anyone else. Also, shit.
BANNER: Crap! I left before it came, but I’m in NYC right now.
DR. LADY LIPS: I can squeeze you in at noon tomorrow, but you better bring me sushi.
BANNER: I’ll be there. BTW, I still laugh every time you text me.
DR. LADY LIPS: YOU TOLD ME YOU CHANGED MY CONTACT INFORMATION.
BANNER: I lied.
DR. LADY LIPS: No sushi for you.