8. Chapter 8
A week after the funeral, Graham waited in his father’s study amid the dusty books and faint aroma of wood polish while Aldus Whitlock, the family’s longtime attorney, organized the papers in his briefcase with what seemed like exaggerated difficulty.
Graham hated this room. He could feel his father’s eyes on him for breaking the one house rule: stay out of my goddamn study.
It wasn’t Graham’s fault, but the truth didn’t excuse the infraction, and he shifted uncomfortably in the chair across from the desk, hoping the sound of his legs against leather would remind Whitlock the clock was ticking.
The bony man was finally settling into the high-backed throne reserved exclusively for Graham’s father when the study door opened and Jase rushed in, breathless, wearing a gray button-down shirt.
Graham loosened his slim black tie for room to breathe around the clenching in his chest. “The asshole lives.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Jase said.
“By a week.” Graham turned away from Jase, who sat in the matching chair beside him.
“Okay, boys, now that you’re both here, we can begin,” Whitlock said.
“He can wait outside,” Graham said.
“You really want to do this now?” Jase asked.
“When else would we do it? You can’t even show up for your own father’s funeral.”
“I told you to wait.”
“But you’re here for a cut of his money. Typical.”
“I told you I couldn’t be here last week. If you could’ve waited a few days—”
Graham looked his brother square in the eye. “What could be more important?” Jase didn’t answer, which was no surprise, and Graham added, “I guess your inheritance was worth your time.”
“You don’t know half of what you think you do.”
“Boys—Jesus H. Christ. For your father’s sake, knock it off,” Whitlock said with surprising force for such a petite man.
“I need you both present, as this concerns a fairly significant amount of money. If your dad was here to see this ridiculous display, I’m sure he would reconsider giving it to you.
God knows I tried to talk him out of it. ”
The Young men were silent.
“Now, as I was saying,” the attorney continued, “your father planned ahead well for you boys, but there are certain conditions you must meet before a single dime is paid.”
“How much are we talking about here?” Graham asked.
Whitlock pushed the wire-rimmed spectacles up his nose and read from a paper he held in front of his face. “Most of his estate, minus the house and the five acres it sits on, and some other odds and ends. So…three million.”
Graham momentarily blacked out, and Jase leaned closer to the desk, asking, “Come again?”
“Three million.”
“He left us three million dollars?”
“Apiece. Approximately.”
“Jesus.” Graham rubbed his sternum as the room slowly came back into focus. “I knew he had money, but not that much. He made me take out student loans. Six million dollars…”
“It’s three million to you, and not a single cent if you don’t meet his conditions,” Whitlock said, his chest puffed as if he took great pleasure in scolding them for his old friend’s sake.
“What conditions?” Jase asked from the edge of his seat.
“A trip. I helped your father draw up the particulars. He wants you—the two of you, oh, and that girl of yours—to take a tour of the country.”
“Whose girl?” Jase asked.
Whitlock gestured his wrinkled fingers in Graham’s direction. “Your brother’s lady friend. She made quite an impression on your dad, and he expressly requested she accompany you on the trip.”
Jase shook his head and ran a hand through the scruff on his chin. Graham was still hung up on the money. He was a millionaire. A fucking millionaire.
“So, what is this trip?” Jase asked. “Where are we going?”
“All in good time. There are rules. I will give you the first envelope. You are to open this on the first day of your trip, and not before. The rest of the maps are in here.” Whitlock disappeared behind the desk and came up with a small leather-bound trunk.
“Once you reach your first destination, then—and only then—you can open the next map. And so it goes for each map, in turn.”
How would anyone know if they opened the maps early? Why all the secrecy? The tedious task standing in the way of Graham and his millions—which he was already very attached to—was starting to sink in.
As if reading his mind, Whitlock warned, “There is a fail-safe against looking ahead. Your father and I spent a lot of time plotting this trip and the time it should take to get to each place. I will require a time stamp showing the next envelope sealed before you break it. This way I’ll know if there’s any funny business. ”
Jase snorted. “You’re kidding.”
“Not in the slightest,” Whitlock said. “You can take as much time as you want, go out of the way for as long and as far as you want, as long as you get back to his route, finish each map, and send me a picture of the three of you at each destination. No skipping ahead or cutting corners. If you do, I’ll know, and neither of you will get the money. ”
Whitlock sat back in the chair with a smirk.
“In case you were wondering, there’s a charity for the protection of wild dogs in the Australian Outback that desperately hopes you fail.”