Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
I was elbow-deep unpacking old boxes when the doorbell’s melodic chime echoed through the chateau.
I was caught off guard when I saw Jean Allard standing at the door.
"I hadn't expected you today," I said, ushering him in. As he entered, the scent of his cologne, a subtle mix of citrus and cedar, wafted past.
"I have the final paperwork regarding your father’s trust for you to sign," he replied, his briefcase gleaming in the afternoon light streaming through the foyer's stained-glass windows.
"Oh. Right." I blinked, memories of unfinished business flooding back. "I almost forgot there were things outstanding." So many things, I thought. My mind was a whirlwind of unresolved issues.
Jean’s lips curved into a brief smile. “I imagine it's been all very overwhelming. How is everything coming along?”
"Something like that. But I’m settling in. Getting my bearings.” I gestured toward the interior. "Please, come in. Can I get you anything? I'm not actually sure where anything is at this point, but I do know we have a kitchen, and it has things." I cringed inwardly at my awkward attempt at hospitality.
A chuckle escaped him, warm and rich. "I am fine, Merci . I can't stay long."
We settled into the study, sinking into opposite sofas that smelled faintly of leather and history. Jean produced an envelope from his briefcase with a flourish.
"Here you will find the final details of your trust," he explained, handing it over. "Your father set it up quite a while ago, so it has had the chance to grow quite nicely. I think you will be most pleased."
My fingers trembled slightly as I broke the seal, the crisp paper whispering as I unfolded it. My eyes skimmed past the legal jargon, zeroing in on the account statement at the bottom. I blinked hard, convinced I was hallucinating.
"This can't be right," I breathed, looking up at Jean.
His smile widened. "It is correct, I assure you."
I glanced back at the page, the numbers swimming before my eyes. "And it's all mine? I mean, this isn't the total to be split up?"
“Your brothers and sister have their own trusts," he confirmed. "Your father invested well and was able to provide a nice nest egg for all of you."
My eyes scanned the numbers again. Five hundred thousand Euros. Just sitting there in an account with my name. The figure danced in my mind, dizzying in its implications. I was... well, I was kind of rich! At least by my standards. After the disaster with my failed business, my savings account had been a shadow of this.
"Now I can pay for the renovations," I murmured, more to myself than to Jean.
"What's that?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.
I met his gaze, a spark of excitement igniting within me. "The house. I want to fix it up. I want it to be loved again."
Jean's smile softened, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "Pierre would be very grateful for that. He wanted to do more, but it was hard as he got older. So many things lost their shine over the years."
"Hopefully, I can bring some of that back," I said. Excitement and determination swelled within me.
As Jean stood to leave, the weight of yesterday's confrontation with my newfound siblings settled on my shoulders. I cleared my throat, my voice tentative.
"Jean, before you go, there's something I wanted to ask."
His eyebrows arched in curiosity. "What is that?"
I fiddled with a pen, its cool metal grounding me. "Could—could someone contest any of this? With any legal ground?"
"Your trust?" he asked, confusion furrowing his brow.
I bit my lip, tasting the faint remnant of my morning coffee. "Well, not so much the trust money. But the house. Could someone fight me inheriting the house?"
Understanding dawned on his face.
“Ah, I see. There are nuances with the law, as always. It is possible one could claim the will does not accurately reflect Pierre's intentions." Régis' words about Pierre's mental state in his final days echoed in my mind.
"Or they could claim there was undue influence or manipulation, which I do not think they would have any claim there. The most likely way one might contest is to claim the house has greater value, making the inheritance unequal. They could request a reevaluation of assets." He shrugged, the gesture casual but laden with implications.
I twirled the pen nervously, its weight a poor substitute for the heaviness in my stomach. "And would they have a claim?"
Jean stroked his chin, his eyes distant. "Like I said, nothing is certain. But as the person who saw Pierre through the process, I would say non. These claims would have no merit. I think, Madame Baker, you are protected. But, to be sure, you could consult legal counsel of your own. I am, of course, on Pierre's side, but I would want you to have fair representation."
I forced a smile, hoping it didn't look as brittle as it felt. " Merci . Perhaps I will. But like you said, hopefully, it won't come to that. Thank you for coming by."
"Please do not hesitate to call my office should you have any questions. But I think we are all settled. Condolences on your losses, but also, I wish you the best on this new adventure."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a house full of possibilities. The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting the room in warm, golden hues. I breathed in deeply, the scent of old wood and new beginnings filling my lungs. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I was ready to face them. This was my home now, and I was determined to make it shine again. And I was determined to bring the family to my side.