Considering the complexity of my dad's business affairs there was very little paperwork left to deal with. He had taken care of everything. Though, I was convinced he'd done it not to save me the headache but to show he'd had control until the last minute. That revelation made me smile. It really summed the man up well.

James Sheffield had been my dad's lawyer since I could remember, or at the very least, since I'd learned the word lawyer. He was a man whose fine dining and whiskey sours had caught up to him. His stomach strained the fabric of his vest, and his multiple chins were giving his shirt collar a workout too.

He lifted the stack of papers I had signed and tapped them on the dining room table to straighten them. "That should do it for now. The deed to the house will be transferred to the charitable trust until it can be sold. In the meantime, you'll probably want to make a list of all the things you are taking with you and what you'd like to be sold at auction. As I'm sure you know, some of the art your dad collected is extremely valuable."

"Yes, my dad didn't hold on to anything unless it was extremely valuable. There are a few items I want. I'll make a list next week. Could you also see to it that Mr. Pruitt receives one of the paintings at the top of the stairs as a gift."

Sheffield's eyes bulged. "That's extremely generous of you. Are you certain?"

"Trust me. He earned it."

Sheffield wrote a reminder on his phone and pushed out his chair to stand. "Your father took care of everything and got all his affairs in order. All that's left besides his funeral are the legal details on the trust. I'm sure you'll need time to decide which financial institutions you want to use. Will a week be enough time?"

I pushed up from the chair to see him out. "I think you might be ahead of the game, James. My new company doesn't even have a logo yet, let alone a seven digit profit. Could be awhile."

James rubbed his many chins between his forefinger and thumb. "I'm not following. What does your inheritance have to do with your new company?"

"The new addendum? I'd already reached the first one by making ten million without him, but he was so angry about my fiasco with MG Enterprises, he told me I had to get my company up and profitable before the trust could be turned over."

Dad's lawyer looked at me as if I was talking in a foreign language. His bushy brows did a little dance on his forehead. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about, Nash. There is no such addendum. And there was never a stipulation that you had to earn ten million on your own first. The trust has always been signed over to you, David Nash Archer Junior, his sole heir. Of course there is a chunk of money set aside so that Miss Odenkirk can continue to receive her monthly stipend." His mouth rolled into a thin line as he finished speaking. It seemed he wanted to take away the last part.

"Miss Odenkirk?" I asked. "Just who is this elusive Miss Odenkirk?"

His face turned red, and his tongue seemed to be tied in a knot. "My lord," he stuttered. "I was sure you knew about her."

"It seems there are a lot of things I didn't know about. My dad never stopped treating me like a kid. He was a private man, as you know. Who is she?"

He paused. "I'm not sure it's my place to say."

"James, you are probably the only person on earth who knows everything about my dad. More than me. It's your place."

His big barrel chest expanded with a deep breath. "Lydia Odenkirk is your mother."

I stared at him, not sure I’d heard him correctly. "That can't be right. My dad paid some woman to have his baby and then he sent her off for good. He never even told me her real name."

"I think it was his way of keeping complete control of you. Yes, he paid a woman to have his baby, but he kept in contact with Miss Odenkirk. And he made sure she lived a good, comfortable life." He pulled his briefcase off the chair. "I'm sure this is a lot for you to absorb, Nash. I'll leave you alone. I'll see you tomorrow at the funeral."

I walked along with him to the front door. My steps felt heavy with the new information weighing down my thoughts. A lot to absorb was an understatement.

I saw James out and then headed up to Dad's room. As a kid I was never allowed inside his room on my own, and I was certainly never allowed to crawl into his vast bed with him on a stormy night or after a bad dream.

The whole house seemed eerily quiet. I stepped inside the room. The medical equipment and leftover medicine had been taken out and the room looked back to normal, except it wasn't. I'd never see him standing in the room looking imperious or angry or deep in thought again.

I walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. His reading glasses were sitting on the nightstand. I picked them up and slipped them on, blurring my own vision with the prescription lenses. I opened the nightstand drawer. He had aspirin and notepads and pens tucked inside. I shuffled past the notepads and pulled out a stack of pictures. I pulled off the glasses.

My ten-year-old face stared back at me. They were my school pictures, one for each year. Dad had written my full name and the date on the back of each one. I shuffled through and found the picture with his parents in front of their van. The last picture was of a woman, a pretty woman with green eyes standing in a summer dress and floppy straw hat. Her smile was gracious, and she looked like she had a good sense of humor. I turned the picture over and ran my thumb over my dad's writing. Just as he had done on my school pictures, he had written down the name and date for the woman in the picture. Lydia Odenkirk, 2003. It was taken when I was thirteen years old.

I was looking at a picture of my mom.