Chapter 1
ONE
Washington, DC
He pulled up to the wrought-iron security gates and stopped.
The standalone luxury estate that loomed behind them was rare to find in DC proper due to smaller lots and zoning but the people who called it home were among the top point-one percent.
They even had a staffed gatehouse. What was it like to be these people, to live like them?
Who needed to be surrounded by such opulence?
And how could they sleep at night when there was so much poverty in the world?
“How can I help you?” The man inside the gatehouse leaned out, and his gaze danced over him, sizing him up.
“Hello, yes, sorry to disturb your day.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
It rankled that this man had zero patience for small talk, but he mustered a charming smile. “No, I do not, but—”
“Then I need to ask that you turn around.”
“I can’t do that. Edward Hanson would not be happy to hear later that you turned me away.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“Name’s Joe Buckley, Walton Crane.” He produced a card showing the law firm’s logo.
The guard took it, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized the card. Looking up, he said, “The name on here is Austin Crane.”
“Yes, you’ll need to pardon me on that. I’m new to the firm and am still waiting on my cards.
But Austin and Jerrold have sent me here to discuss urgent business with Edward Hanson.
It’s pertaining to his late father’s last will and testament.
” Until he added the last bit, he was sure he might meet with a similar but more insistent response than a moment ago.
Possibly the direction accompanied by a pointed finger telling him where to go…
“You say this is about the will for Timothy Hanson?”
“Yes, and it’s a rather urgent and unexpected matter too. Hence, no appointment and why I just showed up.”
“I’ll need to call up to the house. One minute.” The guard retreated into the gatehouse.
Joe watched as he lifted the receiver to his ear and spoke. The guard didn’t turn his way once but was staring at the business card he’d given him.
A few minutes later, the guard pushed his head back out the door. “You can go on ahead. Someone will meet you at the front door and take you to Mr. Hanson.”
“Wonderful. Thank you, and have a great day.” He smiled again, but it was wasted on the guard, who opened the gates and paid him no further attention.
As Joe drove through the extravagant property, imposter syndrome took over.
You don’t belong here… You’re in over your head.
The judgments were slung from his inner critic, who took advantage of any opportunity to tear him down.
Familiar, making it more friend than foe, it still flushed him with a batch of nervous energy.
For good reason. This was where the super-rich and elite diplomats were entertained, and he hardly belonged.
To make things more stressful, he was going to come face to face with the man who had inherited a financial empire.
As Timothy Hanson’s sole heir, Edward was worth somewhere in the billions of dollars.
Joe parked and walked to the front door where a man in a suit opened the door for him.
“Hello. Joe Buckley from Walton Crane. I’m here to see Edward Hanson.”
“This way.” The man turned to lead him through the expansive home while Joe followed close behind. There was a bulge beneath the man’s jacket. He was carrying. Armed for war… Though a man like Hanson would need to take precautions.
The architecture imitated European styling with its ornate scrollwork on the walls and ceilings adorned with bulky beams and large chandeliers.
He based his assessment on what he’d seen on TV.
It wasn’t like he had money to travel the globe, or even leave the DC area.
He barely had enough money to eke out a living in Washington.
As they approached a sunken room, Joe caught sight of Edward Hanson sitting on a large, curved sectional, a newspaper in hand.
Unlike the larger-than-life persona in the media, the man was less impressive in person.
He was small and of short stature. The hair on his head was lush and brown, and at only forty years of age, gray hadn’t set up roots. Unless he paid to have it colored.
“Mr. Hanson, this is Joe Buckley with Walton Crane,” the suit said.
Edward set his paper aside, looking up for the first time. “What is this about my father’s will? I thought everything has been discussed and settled already.”
Joe’s heart ticked up speed as his shoulders sank to the earth. You don’t have it in you… But that’s where the voice had it wrong. He would do what he was here to do. “There is just one small thing, a minor oversight.”
“An oversight?”
“That’s right, sir. It shouldn’t take too long to address. It does, however, involve your entire family. If they are here…?”
Edward glanced at the security guy, then gave a brisk dip of his head. The man set off into the home.
“He’s gone to fetch them. Though I must admit I’m quite curious how a discussion of my father’s will affects my wife and children.”
Joe pulled out his smile again, but it had less effect on Edward than his employees.
“You’ll soon see.” The man hadn’t bothered to offer him a seat or something to drink.
It was like the manners of the super wealthy were nonexistent unless around their peers.
At least he’d been right to assume the family would all be housebound this close to their patriarch’s death.
“Hmm.” Edward sank farther into the couch and picked up his paper again. “You can sit wherever you are comfortable.” It was barely a cohesive mumble, a meager toss-away invitation as if the man were grudgingly tolerating him.
“Thank you, but if it’s all right with you, I would prefer to stand.” A lie. He’d love to sit and get comfortable, but he said this would be a quick meeting. He intended to make Edward believe that.
Several minutes later, a woman with long red hair swept into the room wearing a silk lounge set. The material was so thin, it fluttered in the breeze made by her lithe strides. “Edward?”
“Just sit. This shouldn’t take long.” Edward peeked over his paper, doing so obviously, not even worried that his statement and tone would be seen as rude.
The woman, who Joe recognized as the missus, Ashley Hanson, turned her gaze on him and sized him up.
“Joe Buckley, ma’am, with your family’s law firm. Nice to meet you.” He dipped his head.
Ashley turned from him, looking at the back of her husband’s paper. “Why didn’t Austin or Jerrold come?”
“Good question.” Edward set his paper down again and drilled Joe with a look.
“I promise I will get to that.”
“Where are the kids, Ash?” Edward asked. “I don’t have all day for this.”
It was as if his asking made two children appear. One girl, aged thirteen, named Sophie, and Brayden, a boy of nine. Everyone knew who the Hansons were even if they’d never been formally introduced.
The guard returned on the children’s heels.
“All right, everyone’s here. What is it that’s so important?” Edward crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side.
Smug and arrogant, and he couldn’t wait to knock him off his pedestal. But the timing and his positioning needed to be just right. Joe smiled and walked closer to the children. “It’s just one small clause that Austin and Jerrold feel you should have had pointed out.”
“Which is?” Edward rolled his hands.
Joe stood behind the children. “All right, I’ll get to the point. My name isn’t Joe Buckley, and I’m not with Walton Crane.”
“Edward,” Ashley said as Edward motioned for the security guy to do something. The man produced his gun from inside his suit jacket. But in that time, Joe had pulled one of his own and had it pushed into the back of the boy’s head.
The security guy was staring him down, his weapon still pointed in his direction.
“Really? You see where I have my gun, right? I don’t think your master would appreciate you getting his son’s head blown off.”
“Edward, do something!” Ashley screamed.
Her histrionics were entertaining at least, and it had him smiling. The high that came with being the one in control was intoxicating.
“Put it away now, Abram, for God’s sake!” Edward barked.
“No, Abram, you’re going to do better than that. You’re going to set it on that table there and walk back with your arms in the air.” He indicated a marble table doing nothing more than holding a vase of flowers. It probably cost more than he made in a month.
Abram glanced over at Edward.
“Don’t look at him. Look at me. Do as I say. Gun! Table! Now!” he roared.
“I will.” Abram set his gun on the table and backed away.
He collected the gun, walking with a firm hold around Brayden’s neck. Such a good, cooperative kid… “Do you have any other guns or weapons on your person?”
“No.”
“Take off your jacket and lift your pant legs.” He wasn’t about to trust anyone within these four walls.
The security guard set his jacket on the couch and bared his ankles. No holsters.
“Excellent. Now that’s out of the way and everyone’s here, we can get started.” He loosened his tie, only dressing for the part to get himself in the door.
“Just tell us what you want and leave us alone,” Edward seethed.
“Oh, don’t you worry, we’ll be getting to that real quick.”