Chapter Three - Shay
Who served shrimp puffs at a funeral?
The Franklin family.
White linens in a reception hall? A lowered disco ball that played the Funky Chicken during the invocation?
The Franklin family.
The DJ pumping mad hymns while the choir two-stepped?
Yep. Franklins.
Or what was left of us.
The last few members of my family now included two cantankerous great aunts, a couple distant cousins who let their kids play tag around the coffin, and my sketchy uncle who liked to give people hugs for a few seconds too long.
At least they were distant relatives. Ever since Momma died, I survived on my own, without gossiping cousins or the wrath of Great Aunt Ruth’s cane. I managed so far alone, and I handled myself perfectly fine. The only tough time was Christmas, but it wasn’t like Dad had been around anyway. The gift delivered by his secretary didn’t count, not while he was off enjoying his new family.
To make it easier, we split the unused reception materials between the funerals. Dad’s bride-to-be, a woman I never had the chance to meet, was laid out the day before him. Her sisters arranged everything, including first dibs on the wedding supplies. She got the flowers and coffee. Even worse. They swiped all the cutlery too.
We, of course, had the wedding soup.
So, after an hour of slurping through mugs of reheated broth and meatballs, the funeral director ran to Walmart, found spoons, and we cut the wedding-turned-wake cake.
Which was weird.
We removed the little figurine toppers at least. And, in someone’s foresight, they tugged the fondant off and scribbled condolences on the top layer in the darkest aqua-marine icing gel they could find.
Sorry For Your Lots Loss
It worked for our purposes.
Champagne wasn’t appropriate, but neither was the extended family dropping wedding gifts by the casket like Dad was some sort of Egyptian Homeware Pharaoh taking toasters and expresso machines to the afterlife. Just another headache to send back with ridiculously involved explanations. Yes, we’re having a funeral…I guess you can bring your +1 if you really want.
About the only thing that kept me level-headed and calm during the whole ordeal was the one completely wild and unpredictable night I had earlier in the week.
Zach Harden.
Oh, sweet merciful Jesus, he was a beautiful mistake.
I knew he would be a perfect blending of pride and shame. I realized it as soon as he flashed that bad boy grin. I felt it in my core when our hands brushed. The mistake seared forever into my memory the instant our lips touched in that bar.
We crossed six blocks to his apartment in record time, collapsed on the bed, and our instincts took over. Our night was one animalistic, wild experience so crazy I didn’t recognize half of the things I demanded of him. Kiss me here. Touch me there. Fuck me where?
When I was little, Gran used to swoon and beseech Jesus’s mercy when she came across something that offended her sensibilities. I wished I had the luxury of fainting to avoid thinking of the contorted and sinful acts we committed.
Instead, I had to look myself in the mirror and admit—yes, I did love every minute of it, even if I could never tell another soul what a freak I was.
At least my first and last one-night stand was the best night of my life. And thank God it’d be the last time I saw him.
I didn’t get his number. I could never face him again. Not after what we did. How he took me. How I reacted…multiple times, hoarding orgasms like I stockpiled canned goods for an apocalypse.
I exhaled. I didn’t have time to worry about my wild indiscretions…of which there were many. The wake concluded, and my relatives claimed their centerpieces—won from a very morbid game of who has the birthday closest to the funeral. My feet ached, but I had one last errand before I could plunk them down in a bubble bath.
I buzzed over my apartment, grabbing a respectable skirt, sensible pantyhose, and a modest blouse. They cloaked me like a schoolmarm but the outfit did not reveal that I was a wide-eyed harlot who let a stranger have his way with her.
Three times. Or was it four?
Well, one of those ways couldn’t be classified like the others.
But people couldn’t tell that a nice young lady did those sorts of things.
…Could they?
It wasn’t like I was wearing a sign that read Ask me where I put a stranger’s penis. No one ever had to know. Still, I styled my hair in a low ponytail to manage the curls that took too much influence from my newfound free-spirit. Then I changed into a pair less-racy panties. Once I felt innocent enough, I head to the last place I wanted to go so soon after the funeral.
The family lawyer’s office.
I was only twenty-one. Sometimes I forgot it, especially after taking care of Momma when she was too traumatized by her and Dad’s separation to function. I loved her to bits, but I’d never let a man rip out my heart like Dad did to her.
All his money and gifts didn’t help heal me or Momma. I saw how it ruined a good wife, and I experienced how it hurt a daughter. I wanted nothing to do with Dad after he left us, and where did I end up?
Front row and center to his will, earning a posthumous apology from a cold letter. Too little too late. My family wasn’t just broken. We voided the warranty.
“Come on in, Shay.” My father’s accountant shook my hand. William was an older man with a waistline that grew as quickly as the hair in his eyebrows. He sported a gold Rolex on his wrist. No doubt one of Dad’s gifts. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. The sooner we get this settled, the better.”
“Of course.” I agreed even though I didn’t have a clue what to expect. After Momma died, the only things of hers I settled was finally throwing out her creepy little salt and pepper shakers in the shape of demonic-looking children. I never dealt with wills or trusts or money. “Let’s get started.”
“Can I get you coffee?”
“No thanks,” I said. “I think we’ll be in and out pretty quickly.”
At least I knew how to bluff, even when I was supremely uncomfortable. I didn’t want any of this. My goal in life was to make it through college, find a nice teaching job, and be a force of stability for the kids I taught. I’d be that someone who would listen to them, help them, and comfort them, especially if they didn’t have it at home.
Instead? I faced the attorney instrumental in my parents’ divorce. Still, I smiled as I stared at the listing of assets Dad hid to avoid alimony.
To my surprise, most of Dad’s fortune was in a trust for me. I never asked how much I was set to inherit if only because it sent Momma into a spiral, calling on the Lord to cast the devil of greed out of me. But I knew I’d be more than comfortable, especially since Dad was good with his money and investments.
“Shay,” William took my hand, though the southern gentleman was just consoling himself. “Let me tell you, I am so sorry for your loss.”
This particular one, or when Dad originally ran out on us when I was thirteen?
I nodded anyway. “Thanks. I know he was your friend.”
“A good one. The world lost a good man.”
If he said so.
“So, uh.” William shuffled a couple papers on his desk. “I don’t know how much your dad told you about his estate and how he planned to have it managed after his death.”
“I know he has a trust for me.”
“Oh, yes. The trust is set to release on your college graduation. That is definitely secure.”
I frowned. Why wouldn’t it be secure?
“But I’m talking about the rest of your father’s assets. His personal fortune, investments, land holdings, new house.”
“New house?”
William folded his hands. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. “Okay, Shay, I know your father hasn’t really…been in contact with you lately. But believe me, he meant for this to be a second chance. He wanted to start a new family and include you in it. He loved you very much. He made sure you would be entitled to so much. And, Shay…there’s more than you think.”
“Okay,” I said. “What exactly are you talking about?”
“Your father recently purchased a new estate just outside of Atlanta.” William shifted. “A rather…large estate.”
“How large?”
“About twenty-five million dollars’ worth.”
Oh.
My.
God.
“Dad had that much?”
William cleared his throat. “Your father had some considerable holdings. A couple very recent investments that worked in his favor.”
“O-kay?”
“Just before his death, he was worth over a billion dollars.”
And now I knew what Gran meant about swooning. I gripped the chair, but even its arms couldn’t hold me up.
First the best sex of my life and then I inherited a billion dollars?
Jesus, I had good weeks before, but that was the result of a nice haircut and no eight AM finals, not becoming a modern day princess!
My stomach did a victory dance…but the rest of my body didn’t recognize the steps. I leaned over and gulped as much air as I could get. That only made it worse. William panicked, raking through the mini-fridge beside his desk until he found his lunch. He cast the Chipotle burrito aside and handed me the paper bag.
I breathed in, crinkled the bag, spat out the receipt, and tried to calm down.
A billion dollars.
Dad had a billion dollars.
I’d pop the damn bag and rip it to shreds if I didn’t breathe fire first.
“Dad had a billion dollars and my mother lived downtown alone in a two bedroom apartment for years?”
William grimaced. “He offered your mother quite a bit of money—most of which she refused. And he made sure you had everything you needed while you were growing up.”
Sure, everything I needed except a father! Someone to hug me after school, to ground me that one time Momma found a pack of cigarettes stuffed under my mattress, to teach me to drive the car he gave me. He sent me to a fancy prep school but never once came to a play, science fair, or graduation. Dad never remembered my birthday either, he was always a year and two weeks late.
I spent my teenage years hating him, but he only cared when he decided to edge into my life. By then it was too late. I created excuse after excuse not to see him. College homework. Finals. Group assignments. Rush—and I wasn’t even in a sorority.
Now he was dead.
And I was inheriting the vast fortunate of a man I hardly knew.
Did I deserve it? Hell no. Did he deserve me? Absolutely not.
“Shay.” William pushed a pair of glasses up his nose and studied the paperwork. “I know things were tense within your home, but your father wanted the best for you, always did. That’s why he made sure the family would be taken care of after he was gone.”
“My father never wanted a family.”
“That’s not true. He very much wanted a family. And he loved you with every beat of his heart, but he never knew how to show it. And, with what happened with your mother…well…”
“Yeah.”
I exhaled. It did nothing. Something had to give. After the hangover and crazy sex a few days ago, I didn’t trust myself to have a drink. Good thing a piece of wedding-funeral cake awaited me at home. I needed to eat about five pounds worth of icing and figure out what I was supposed to do.
Investments? No idea.
Find an accountant. That was a good place to start.
Get a yacht? That’s what rich people did, right? Probably needed to learn to swim first. Hell, I’d purchase a whole lake. My stomach flipped.
Maybe I’d start small. Buy a pint of the really good ice-cream on my way home.
Except I only wanted one flavor.
Vanilla.
Oh, man did I need something vanilla. With dark swirls of ink and enough power to knock me on my butt and keep me there. Another night with a man like Zach would definitely take my mind off of this insanity.
“Before you get too excited, we have a couple particulars to discuss,” William said. He cleared his throat, harumping over some of the fine print on the contract. “Because of the…enormity of your father’s resources, the actual liquid assets and investments were combined into your trust. You will receive the money with your scheduled inheritance when you graduate. In…six months.”
“Five.”
“Oh.” William squinted at the paper. “Uh, I think your father mistyped your information.”
Not a surprise.
“In any case, Shay, the estate and his immediate belongings—car, home, material possessions—will be divided between his living heirs.”
His what now? Heirs?
Plural?
The hair on my neck prickled. I held up a hand, gesturing for William to explain what the hell that meant. He cringed.
“I see your father and you…haven’t spoken for some time.”
“What heirs? I am his living heir.” I stiffened. “Oh, no. I knew he was playing around while he was still with Momma. He has a secret lovechild somewhere, doesn’t he?”
“No, no.” William paused. “Well, not quite.”
“Oh, Lord. What did he do?”
“It’s not what you think. You know your father was in love with Emily Brewer. She was a lovely lady. You would have liked her.”
I wasn’t going to disparage a woman I didn’t know, especially one who was tragically killed in the same car crash that took my father. But even when I learned of the engagement, I wasn’t ready to get mani-pedi’s with my new step-mother. My father had his life. I had mine. If we only wanted to meet up for the holidays, all the better.
“Your father’s wedding…” William folded his hands. “It was just for the family. A nice celebration to bring everyone together.”
“Aren’t they all?”
William’s eyebrows furrowed. “It wasn’t the official ceremony. Shay, your father married Ms. Brewer over a month ago. Completely spontaneous and romantic. He flew her to Aruba—”
“They got married?”
“And his will was updated to reflect it. You see…Ms. Brewer has a son…”
He didn’t tell me.
Why didn’t even tell me? Not an e-mail. Not a call. Not even a damn postcard from his wedding! I paced, clutching my stomach.
“Are you kidding me?” I slammed a hand on the window. “My father marries some woman, dies a month later, and her kid is named in his will?”
“Shay, I told you, he thought of her family as his.”
“Well, at least he remembered them!”
“You were given the bulk of the inheritance, I assure you.”
“It’s not about the money!” I pointed to the paper in his hands. “It’s about his will! For the past seven years, my father pretended I didn’t exist, and now he’s claiming some other kid as his own! That’s not right. He never even wanted his own biological child.”
“I understand this will take some…adjustments. But your step-brother—”
“—Do not call him that—”
“—Is entitled to half of your father’s new home, and the same material goods I mentioned previously.”
“Jesus.”
“We might be able to work something out—especially if you wish to live at the estate. But first we should meet with him and work out an arrangement.”
“Meet with him?”
William motioned for me to sit. He buzzed on an intercom for a secretary nearly as old as the crackling electronics.
“Sandy, could you send Zachary in?”
Zachary?
“You brought her son here? Now?” I groaned. “William, I can’t have a freakout in front of a kid. Please tell me he’s not some ten year old grieving orphan.”
“No, no. He’s not a child. He’s older than you, actually.”
Well, that didn’t make me feel better. Not at all. Instead of a kid who might have needed help, I’d be dealing with some adult ready to bolt from their day job and spend all my father’s money on a Caribbean beach house.
William stood as the door opened and an elderly secretary hobbled within the room. She gestured the man through.
My stomach dropped. So did everything else.
My pride. My dignity. My rage.
Zach Harden gave me a cocky grin and shrugged.
“Hey, sis.”