2. Kaylor
2
KAYLOR
I swallowed, unsure if I was prepared to hear what he had to say. As hard as it was, I searched my memory, trying to remember if I’d seen him or heard my father talk about a Decker King before. The name had a familiar ring.
I could only think of one reason why his lawyer was here, and it brought an ominous dark cloud to my situation, making it too fucking real.
Kenny gave my hand a supportive squeeze, a gentle reminder I wasn’t alone.
Mr. King’s arm gestured to the woman at his side. “This is Kathrine Morgan. She is with social services.”
A pit formed in my hollow stomach.
Social services. What the fuck?
Was this just routine?
Carson and Kenny stiffened on either side of me at the mention of social services, having a similar reaction to me.
Mrs. Morgan portrayed a professional demeanor, holding a folder in her arms as she smiled at me. “It’s nice to meet you, Kaylor. Perhaps your friends wouldn’t mind giving us a few minutes of your time while we discuss some matters privately.”
Kenny stood after a moment of chewing on her bottom lip, her brows bunched as if she was deciding if she should insist that she stay. Her gaze shifted to me, and I gave her a weak smile.
Carson continued to eye the two adults with mistrust.
“We should go. Give you some privacy,” Kenny said as she reached across my bed and tugged on Carson’s shirt. “Let’s go,” she muttered under her breath.
Carson continued to stare at Decker and Kathrine but eventually climbed off the edge of my bed. His feet dragged as he followed Kenny. “We’ll check on you later,” he said.
“You’ll stay?” I asked hopefully, far from ready to be alone. The thought gave me chills, and the IV pumping fluids into my veins already had me freezing.
“As long as they let us,” Carson assured before disappearing out the door.
I nearly called after them, asking them to stay. Why hadn’t I insisted? I didn’t want to hear what either Decker or Kathrine had to say.
It was too late now.
“I have good news. You’re going to be released tomorrow,” the lawyer informed.
“And the bad news,” I prompted, my fingers fumbling with the sterile white sheet draped over me.
“I wouldn’t say it’s bad per se, but it will impact your life. It’s up to you how,” he said.
I braced myself.
Mr. King stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking against the tile floor. “Miss Kaylor, first, let me say how deeply sorry I am for your loss. I worked with your father for many years, and he spoke of you often. He was very proud of you.”
The words felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. I stared at him, unmoved. “Why are you here?”
Mrs. Morgan moved the chair from the corner of the room, closer to the bed, and sat down, her posture open and nonthreatening. “Your father left a will. Mr. King is here to explain it to you and to address your next steps.”
My stomach twisted. I hadn’t wanted to consider what came next, but now I was about to be smacked in the face with it, whether I was ready or not. All I could think about was that my parents were gone.
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, nodding for them to continue.
Mr. King opened his briefcase with a soft click and pulled out a thick document. “Your father was a meticulous man, and he made sure his wishes were clearly outlined. According to his will, there are a few key points we need to discuss.”
He glanced at Mrs. Morgan before continuing. “First, as you’re still a minor, your father designated a legal guardian to care for you until you turn eighteen.”
I frowned, my heart sinking. “Guardian? You mean a relative like my Aunt Char or my Uncle Ronan?” They were both married, but only my Aunt Char lived close by, although she and my Uncle Sutton were hardly home. They traveled extensively for business, and I guessed my parents wouldn’t have chosen them to care for me despite my being nearly an adult.
My mom had another sister besides Aunt Char, but they weren’t speaking.
Mr. King hesitated. “While your aunt is undoubtedly a part of your life, your father named someone else—your godfather.”
I blinked, confused. “My what? I don’t have a godfather.”
“You do, indeed,” Mr. King said gently. “His name is Donovan Corvo. Your father appointed him as your guardian in the event of his and your mother’s passing.”
“Donovan Corvo?” I repeated, the name foreign on my tongue. Who the fuck is that? “I’ve never even heard of him. Why would my parents pick someone I don’t know? It doesn’t make sense.” My parents weren’t people who would ship me off to just anyone. They were overprotective. I rarely ever had a sitter as a child. They were always present at every single event in my life, never missing one volleyball game. I was an only child and spoiled at that. My head couldn’t fathom my parents passing something so important as raising their little girl to anyone, especially someone I’d never seen.
Mr. King sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Your father and Mr. Corvo were very close in their younger years. For reasons I’m not privy to, your father trusted him implicitly. He made this arrangement years ago and never amended it.”
Mrs. Morgan interjected, her tone reassuring. “I’ve already spoken with Mr. Corvo. He’s agreed to take guardianship, and we’ll ensure the transition is as smooth as possible. You’ll stay with him until you turn eighteen, which is only…” She glanced at the folder in her hands. “Nearly six months away,” she finished, doing the math on how far my birthday was.
June twenty-ninth.
My chest tightened. The idea of living with a stranger—a man I’d never even heard of—made my stomach churn. “No. I don’t want to go. I don’t know him. Don’t I get a say in what happens to me? This should be my decision.”
“I understand this is overwhelming,” Mrs. Morgan said, attempting to pacify me, but her placid tone only pissed me off. “But this is what your father wanted. We’ll work together to make sure you’re safe and comfortable.”
Fuck that.
I didn’t want to be safe and comfortable. I wanted to be with family.
“What about school? Where does this Mr. Corvo live? Will I at least be able to finish my senior year at the academy?” Suddenly, staying with my friends was the most important thing. I could only handle so much change in my life. My entire world had already been tipped upside down.
“That’s something you’ll have to discuss with him. I can tell you that you won’t have to move far. Mr. Corvo resides in Elmwood,” Mrs. Morgan said.
Thank God for small wonders.
Mr. King cleared his throat, moving to the second point. “The next matter pertains to your father’s estate. Kaylor, you are the sole beneficiary of everything your parents owned, but there are stipulations to the inheritance.”
I wasn’t all that surprised, considering I was their only child. There was no messy business of dividing up possessions with siblings. I’d always wanted a brother, but my mother couldn’t have any more children. Secondary infertility, her doctor had called it. “What stipulations?”
“The estate will be placed in a trust until you turn twenty-one,” he explained. “You’ll have access to funds for your care and education, but the majority of the assets will remain locked until you graduate college and reach the age requirement. The trust will be managed by your custodian.”
My mind whirled. Twenty-one? That seemed so far away, especially with the idea of someone else controlling the trust until then. “So…what? I’m supposed to live with this guy and wait until I’m twenty-one to actually get anything?”
Mr. King nodded, flecks of pity in his gaze. “That’s correct. Your father wanted to ensure you had a stable future. He trusted that Mr. Corvo would guide you through this difficult time and that you would honor his wishes regarding your education and the trust.”
I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening, unable to decide if I wanted to scream or cry. Most likely both. “This is insane. Why didn’t he tell me about any of this? Why didn’t they ask me what I wanted?” They were questions neither Decker nor Kathrine could answer, and the two people who could provide clarity were dead. I assumed my parents thought this part of the will was necessary but wouldn’t be enacted. Yet, here I was. They hadn’t planned to die.
Mrs. Morgan leaned closer, her voice softening. “It’s a lot to take in. I doubt your parents ever thought this day would come.”
I didn’t respond. My mind swirled in a storm of anger, confusion, and grief. I felt betrayed by the very people I’d loved and trusted most—my parents. “And there’s no other option?”
“This is the choice your parents thought was best. Give it a chance,” the social worker said.
“Like I have a choice,” I retorted, my voice trembling.
Mrs. Morgan and Mr. King exchanged a glance before rising from their seats. “We’ll give you some time. But we’ll need to talk again.” Mr. King left a copy of the will on my rolling table.
As the door clicked shut behind them, I closed my eyes, my thoughts churning. My future was locked away in a trust I had no control over. I felt adrift, untethered from the life I’d known.
What the fuck is happening?
Godfather? Godfather!
I had a godfather.
Donovan Corvo.
Who was he? Why hadn’t my father ever mentioned him? Why him?
Nothing about this arrangement sat well in my gut. My instincts were telling me this was wrong. They were telling me to run.
What would actually happen to me if I didn’t go with this Donovan Corvo?
I could stay with Carson or Kenny. Either would be happy to have me. Their parents were closer to family than my supposed godfather.
When my friends got back, they would know what I should do.
We’d cyberstalk this Donovan Corvo and find out just what sort of guy he was. Kenny was a certified computer hacker. Okay, hacker might have been a stretch, but she did stream games for fun. Close enough. It would have to do in this situation. She knew more about computers than Carson and I combined, which wasn’t saying a lot. I spent more time on my phone than I did on my laptop. That device was strictly for school as far as I was concerned.
My friends didn’t let me down. Not in their outrage on my behalf. Not in their desire to help even if that meant breaking a few laws. And definitely not in their support.
They stayed until visiting hours were over, searching, digging, and uncovering any dirt on Donovan Corvo. There wasn’t a whole lot. The man had no social media presence, but we did find a few photos. It was difficult to tell from the images if they were older or more recent, seeing as I had no idea how old he was, but if he’d been an old friend of my father’s, then he had to be at least close to my dad’s age.
Donovan had raven hair and light-green eyes, strong features—a face of a man who got shit done and expected little talkback. He did not look all that kind. The few pictures I saw depicted him as a hard man with frown lines and firm lips. Not a single smile.
We found an article about his home published by the Elmwood Historical Society. It gave no address, only that he bought the house on the south side of Elmwood with his late wife. I lived on the other side of the city. The lower part of Elmwood was known to be rougher, a not-so-desired neighborhood.
The house itself surprised me. According to the feature, the Willows Estate, or just the Willows, was one of the oldest homes in the state. When Donovan bought the property, he preserved as much of its charm as he could. It had to be one of the biggest in the area. Not as large as half the houses on the north side of Elmwood, but those neighbors surrounding mine were Elmwood’s elite.
The home received its name due to the willow trees flanking the long driveway leading up to the entrance. From the pictures, I could see how the wispy branches hung and intertwined to form a canopy, like a covered bridge. The dark-red bricks of the two-story home showed signs of weathering. Columns connected by archways framed the front porch, leading to the entrance.
It was a thing of beauty. Inside and out. I couldn’t deny it looked well-loved and appreciated. As someone who also loved beautiful things, a part of me was intrigued by the home, curious to see and feel the history that had once lived in those walls.
I learned two things about Donovan Corvo. He had a thing for preserving beauty. And his wife had died.
“There are worse places you could live,” Kenny commented, her eyes lifting from her phone, doing her best to be uplifting about a really fucked up situation.
My head sank against the pillow. “I’m so screwed.”