6 - Lane
Lane
Bear's words pulled me up short, right as I was walking out the door..
“I’m sorry, can you please repeat that?” I asked, certain that I’d heard him wrong.
“My office coordinator called from the main desk.
The tile pallet and the custom fixtures just arrived from the showroom, but the final materials draw was completely blocked by a legal hold on your account.
The drivers won't unload the crates without a cleared payment,” he repeated, his voice as calm and smooth as ever.
His eyes held on mine with a tentative curiosity, as though he was looking to see if I knew about what was going on or if I was just as blindsided as he was.
“That’s weird,” I said, torn between trying to figure out what happened and needing to get to work. With two early court dates, there was really hardly a choice at all. I reached into my bag and pulled my credit card from my wallet.
“Here,” I said, handing it over to him. “I’ll call you guys a bit later to get this fixed once I’m at work.”
He nodded. “Have a good day in court.”
“Thank you. Good luck with the schedule,” I replied.
There was a beat of awkwardness in that exchange, the type that echoed something else. That something else was decidedly less palatable than awkwardness.
We hadn’t addressed the conversation I overheard between the three of them at all. In fact, we’d all seemed to fall into a unanimous agreement to pretend that it never existed. We were doing a pretty good job at it too, except for moments like these.
I gave him a nod of my own and left.
The train ride to the Daley was a sort of transitional period. I could piece my armor back on, get my mind into gear for the day and prepare myself for what was to come. Which was a good thing because my schedule for the day was packed.
I finally slumped into my desk around lunch time, which was perfect timing for Nance to waltz in with her usual debriefing. But instead of the normal, eager smile she wore when she would update me on any new developments, she looked uncertain. Even a bit nervous.
“Nance?” I asked, immediately sitting up straight in my chair. “What’s up?”
She clicked her pen, her eyes shifting with what looked like pity.
“What is it? Come on, you can tell me,” I told her, steeling myself for whatever words were going to come out of her mouth next.
“Lane, I flagged an emergency petition to freeze your estate assets. It was filed in Cook County Probate Court and the filing attorney’s signature matches Rose Whittaker's personal lawyer.”
Now it all made sense why Nancy had been so reluctant to tell me what was happening.
It also made sense why my Cornerstone account would’ve been frozen.
My mother had been dicey about Uncle Ricky’s will since its reading.
It shouldn’t have surprised me that she’d be poking around its validity, or that she would sic her lawyers to try and find a loophole wherever they could.
Logically, it made perfect sense. I knew the kind of person my mother was.
But I wasn’t prepared for the sting that hit me when it truly sunk in. I leaned back again, swallowing hard and trying to rally my thoughts into action. “I knew she was trying to work her way around my uncle’s will but this is low even for her. Things are getting out of hand.”
“They don’t have to,” Nance said, walking up to my desk and placing her palm flat on the surface.
Her mouth was set in a determined line. “I’m already working on an immediate Motion to Dismiss.
There’s a lack of standing and for good measure, we can even throw in a counter-claim for a frivolous pleading penalty.
That should get her lawyer to back down.
Try not to let this get to you, okay? You have enough on your plate as is. ”
I looked at Nance and tried to smile. For years now, she’d been one of, if not the only, person in my corner every time I needed someone. Not even my own blood had offered me that, but she was always ready to fight.
But even with Nance on my side, this was going to be a lot easier said than done.
I called Rose the moment I had an open window. She picked up on the second attempt.
“So now you finally call me back. It’s about time, Lane.” Not a greeting, no questions of how I’ve been doing or anything else that even resembled maternal warmth or care. Just a condescending tone and audible sneer.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she replied, the cold indifference tightening my grip on the phone.
“I’m not playing these games right now, Rose. You know that I’m in the middle of renovations. Why would you have your lawyers freeze my account?” I said, the lump in my throat growing thicker because I already knew the answer. But like a child, I was hoping she’d tell me I was wrong.
“I am your mother, Lane. You should address me as such,” she replied.
I barked a laugh. “I’m surprised you even remembered. Call your lawyers off and unfreeze the account or I’m filing a counter-claim.”
“You can use the little Public Defender voice with me all you want, it makes no difference. I’m trying to save you from yourself.
That house is a money-sucking pit that is having you currently living like a squatter,” she said.
“There’s no need to try and prove a point, anymore.
You should sell like I advised from the start and use it to build a—”
“You’re dangling access to my own money just to get me to change my career? That’s your big game plan?” My eyes instinctively flickered around my empty office, looking for anyone who might overhear the shakiness in my words. I lowered my voice, closed my eyes and tried to ground myself in reality.
Rose hadn’t had a hand in my life for most of it. I’d built everything I have now on my own, and I wasn’t going to let her make me feel small for it. Not again, not anymore.
“I know that you think little of what I chose to do with my life. But at some point you’re going to just have to accept it or stay out of it,” I ground out.
“My. You sound just like your father,” she said.
The words were a sucker punch. I wished more than anything that I could know what that even meant, whether an insult or a compliment and I knew that coming from my mother, it could honestly have gone either way.
“Dreams are fine when you’re just starting out and have the safety net of naivety. But you’re twenty-eight, Lane. I think it’s long past due you start taking yourself more seriously,” she said.
“I do take myself seriously. You don’t, don’t get that mixed up,” I reminded her.
Despite my attempts at trying to remain calm and impassive, I couldn’t do it.
I couldn't let this woman talk and drag me back to that insecure little girl I used to be but as always, when it came to Rose, my spine just seemed to dissolve. I could wrangle men twice my size and three times my weight who’d been caught up on battery charges, and yet I couldn’t stand up to my own mother.
I hated this part of myself.
“I’m not quitting my job. I’m not going to change my life just because you’re ashamed of me. Drop the probate petition, I mean it,” I said.
There was a brief pause.
“We’ll see what the judge says about your uncle's state of mind, Lane. Eat a proper lunch. You sound hysterical.” The line went dead in my ear.
I threw my phone down onto my desk and dropped my head in my hands, trying to steady myself.
There was a sinking pit in my stomach, a slow-rising panic that I’d thought I’d managed to smooth out over the years of hearings and depositions.
But despite my title, I could never defend myself against her in a way that held weight.
I would always be on trial when it came to Rose Whittaker.
*
The walk home felt ten times heavier than the morning commute had and it didn’t help that the weather was still as shitty as expected.
Everything was tainted in slate gray—relentless, ugly, depressing gray.
Not to mention the slush left behind the snowbanks that melted into dirty, toxic icy puddles.
It was like I had pounds worth of mud and cement tracking in my boots as I dragged them across the threshold and shrugged off my coat. I was immediately greeted by unexpected warmth from the heart of my living area, evidently coming from the brick chimney heart that anchored the space.
Someone had lit a fire inside, and there was a small pile of waiting logs at the base of it. It didn’t take long for me to figure out who’d done it because Silas walked out, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw me, then lighting up as he beamed.
“Lane!” he said, wiping down his hands on his work pants. “You’re home. I hope you don’t mind, I thought the house could do with some heat. I checked the flue parameters first and cleaned the grate on my own dime so it wouldn't back-draft into Sandy's place. One less thing for you to worry about.”
“Thank you, Silas. I really appreciate that,” I said, hanging up my coat and instantly moving to the fireplace. I held out my palms to try and soak up as much of the warmth as I could, staring into the flames.
Silas came up to stand beside me, a respectable distance away. Even though I wasn’t looking directly at him, my peripheral view caught his hands fidgeting at his sides, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.
Ironic for the man who was essentially the do-it-all fixer of the crew.
“Uh, I don’t mean to push for information that’s none of my business. But are you alright? You don’t sound like yourself tonight,” he said softly and I finally turned to look at him.
His blonde brows were knotted in genuine concern, his face looking softer and younger in the flickering firelight. My heart clenched at the gentleness in his voice, but even his kindness felt blunt against what I was wrestling with.
There wasn’t an easy way to explain everything, and honestly, it wasn’t even something I’d shared in detail with Nance. She knew just enough to mark out which parts of my life were to be sealed up entirely.