Currents of the Heart (Haunted Hearts: Season of the Witch #3)

~ Chapter One ~

R egan glanced up at the office building, a cool blast of air hitting his face from the car’s AC pulling his attention to his driving.

As he passed the structure to make a U-turn on San Fernando, memories rushed to him.

His last visit here he had to finalize the updated trust and sign the last of the documents regarding Max.

Since that day, Regan avoided coming this way.

Unfortunately, when the lawyer’s office called telling him he needed to meet with them, he pushed his sorrow aside, took Friday afternoon off, and drove downtown.

The polished tan and glass high rise in downtown San Jose wasn’t a bad looking building; in fact, the structure was one of the more attractive office buildings on Almaden.

He appreciated the sleek stone and how the polished material complemented the glass window bands.

Still, coming here brought up too many memories.

He turned on Post Street and pulled into the building’s connected parking garage, leaving the gray cloudy day behind.

At least I don’t have to find parking.

Pushing the ignition button, he killed the engine and glanced into the rearview mirror.

Running his fingers through his wavy hair, he saw more gray than he liked.

He rubbed the black graphite hoop earrings that Max gave him on their first Christmas together.

He hadn’t taken them off since. “That was a great day.”

He pushed the thoughts of Max aside and snatched up his cell and wallet before opening the door and stepping out onto the concrete.

Scanning his surroundings, he stuffed his phone into his right front pocket with his keys and pushed his wallet into the opposite pocket.

Regan popped open the passenger door and grabbed his jacket and pulled the lightweight covering on, to help fight off the damp and chill in the air.

He sniffed at the cool oily musk surrounding him.

His nose crinkled at the aroma. He tapped the door handle to lock the vehicle, and a spark shocked him.

“Dammit!” He shook his hand. With a sneer, he pulled his hand away and headed into the lobby.

The foul scent of the garage was replaced by the bleachy sweet scent of floor cleaner. Regan wasn’t sure which scent offended him more. At the elevator bank, he pushed the button… and nothing happened. He pressed the button a second time, again with no result. “What the hell?”

I don’t need this frustration. Not today.

“Oh, that happens.” A young woman in a fitted deep plum business suit pushed the call button, and the panel instantly lit up.

“I swear…” Regan huffed, avoiding eye contact with the woman. “I think electronics hate me.”

The woman glanced him up and down. “I doubt that’s the case—you’re probably having one of those days.” She beamed as they entered the lift together. “What floor?” she asked, pushing the button for the fourth floor as the elevator doors closed.

“Eleven, please.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets as his shoulders hunched.

“Oh…” She nodded as she pushed the button.

Quickly the elevator moved up the shaft and the door opened. “Good luck.” The woman nodded with a smile.

“Thank you.” Regan tried to push a smile through his tight lips, forcing himself to make eye contact however briefly.

Alone in the lift, he waited quietly the rest of the way to his destination, doing his best to avoid his reflection and failing.

He needed a shave, but hadn’t been motivated.

Who was he trying to impress? His appearance didn’t much matter for work, and unless he was going out, it was only him, so who really cared.

With a ding, the door opened and he walked over to the receptionist.

A mix of muted warm colors complemented by a wood-toned reception desk greeted him.

A 3D graphic sign announced the name of the law firm with stylized letters.

Off to the sides were hallways and doors leading to different areas of the firm.

By the windows with a view of the city, a couple of couches sat empty.

If I were to design this space, I wouldn’t have made these choices. Where’s the life? Where’s the personality? Where’s the color?

“Good afternoon,” the youngster in the light gray suit with white opened collar shirt at the receptionist desk greeted.

“Hi. I’m Regan Cruz; I have an appointment with Sandra Bishop.” He fidgeted with his hands as he spoke, trying not to frown.

“Right, Mr. Cruz. Have a seat and I’ll let Ms. Bishop’s assistant know you’re here.” The polite young man gestured to the sofas with too bright of a smile and too perky of a disposition.

“Thanks.” Regan tried to sound polite, but to his own ears he came off as rough and curt.

Without another word, he moved over to the lounge and sat.

He tapped his knees with his hands, unsure what to do with himself.

He could pull out his phone and doom scroll, but he had enough of all the trauma and drama the world had on offer these days.

Instead, he watched all the suits rushing about him, like trapped animals in a glass and concrete cage.

Why would anyone want to work like this?

Moments passed as a woman around Regan’s age appeared from a glass door.

He knew the bright smile and tan-colored pantsuit with cream blouse at once.

Helen was a bigger woman whose attire suited her as she understood how to dress her body and her shape.

Regan noted how pretty she was. “Regan, it’s been a while,” Helen greeted.

He stood, forcing himself to extend a hand. “You know how much I love coming here.” He lifted his cheeks in what he hoped to be a pleasant expression, meeting her gaze momentarily before he peeked out the windows again.

“We were all sorry about Maxum.” Helen took his hand. “Much too young.”

He caught whiffs of her floral perfume. “I know it may sound harsh, but I’m glad the drunk driver died as well. I don’t know what I’d have done if she survived and Max...” He shifted his stance. “Anyway, two years is a long time.”

“It’s not harsh, it’s honest,” Helen assured him. “Shall we?” She gestured toward the inner office. “I like the scruff, by the way. It suits you.”

“Thanks.” Regan’s cheeks warmed as they walked.

She led them from the lobby.

“Why am I here?” he asked as they moved to the double glass doors, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “I thought we took care of everything with the trust and all that already?”

Helen lifted her ID for the door and instead of unlocking, the door buzzed. Helen pursed her lips and peeked over her shoulder to the youngster at the reception station.

With a beep, the door opened and the two walked through the double glass doors. “Gonna have to have facilities check my badge.” Helen smiled.

“Seems to be the theme of the day,” Regan commented as he stepped down the hall. “So, why am I here?”

“I can’t say.” Helen continued to guide them through the office.

“Can’t or won’t?” Regan grinned in her direction.

She smiled at him as she opened the conference room door.

“Can I get you some water? Coffee?” She motioned to the credenza along the side wall of the conference room where several bottles of water sat, along with a basket of treats, cups, napkins, and three fancy silver thermoses that he assumed contained coffee, decaf, and hot water for tea.

“No thank you.” He walked over to the large window looking out at the city. Their home. His home. The place he made a life with Max. The view wasn’t great today, the hazy sky blocking the foothills, but he saw San Pedro Square.

When was the last time I was there?

A month after Max’s death, the police investigation finished and he stood in this same spot waiting to sign off on all the documents for their living trust. Since he and Max were only children and both their parents were gone, he needed to update the trust to ensure that all his wishes were reflected in the updated documentation.

He didn’t want to leave anything to chance, or god forbid, the government.

So much paperwork. And for what? I’ll be dead… who cares.

He remembered all too well his mood that day. He tried not to take his anger and sadness out on Sandra, but Max was better at handling emotions than him. It didn’t help that his car battery was dead and for whatever reason the water heater decided to burst. It was a mess.

At least Sandra didn’t hold my shortness and frustration against me.

The door opened and pulled him from the images of the past, and he turned to greet Sandra, keeping the conference table and chairs as a barrier between them. “Hello, Sandra.” He again pushed what he hoped to be an amiable expression to his face.

“How are you, Regan?” she asked as she crossed over and greeted him with a hug.

Sandra was a hugger, much like Maxum, and her gesture was now something Regan was grateful for despite making him uncomfortable.

Given all she had done for them, and him, he returned the hug as sincerely as he could muster.

He stepped back. “I’ve been good, actually, better than the last time.”

She pointed. “Please sit down.” He noted the files stacked on the conference table.

“What’s all this?” He nodded toward the folders.

Sitting, she interlaced her fingers on top of the files, waiting for him to join her.

He found a chair across from Sandra and took his seat, his gaze not moving from the files. “Did we miss something?”

“Regan, as you know, I assisted you and Maxum with your living trust and estate planning.”

“Yeah, you worked with Max’s parents, they referred us to you. So?” His heart sank and his legs began to shake as he waited for the hammer to drop.

“And you know that I take client-attorney privilege seriously, as we all do.”

He licked his lips, unsure what to say as his hands began to silently drum on the table.

“To that effect”—she opened the folder in front of her—“Maxum had a personal estate and trust that you were not privy to?—”