2. Parker #2
“He left you a letter, too. What is your email address? I’ll forward the scanned copy and mail the original. ”
“What, like a will-and-testament ‘from the grave’ kind of thing?”
“Yes, here it is. I'll let you decipher, but I think it will explain his thinking better than I could.”
I stare at the wall, trying to process while I rattle off my email on autopilot. “And when do I have to get married, I mean, to comply?”
“Before the will’s execution date. You have roughly thirty days.”
“Thirty days?! Are you serious?”
“I wish I were kidding.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then the estate defaults to the three nonprofits Roger listed. Two based in New Orleans and one international.”
I slump back in my chair. Of course he’d pick something meaningful and then lace it with tripwires. Nothing with Roger was ever simple. Everything was deliberate and designed to be a puzzle, waiting to be solved.
“And if I get married, then file for divorce on day one-eighty-three?” I ask, testing the boundaries.
The attorney doesn’t flinch. “Technically, you’d satisfy the terms.”
I let out a rough laugh, more out of nervousness and disbelief that this is real.“Wow. My mind is blown right now. This was not a phone call I ever expected to get.”
I mostly zone out the rest of what he's saying because my mind can't handle any more input at the moment. While I huff and puff my way through absorbing all this, he keeps pushing forward with the business end.
“I’ve emailed you the scanned letter Roger wrote. Check your inbox. It should be there now. The original will, the handwritten note, and a certified copy of everything will be overnighted to your current address. ”
I open my laptop while we are still on the phone and don't offer a response.
“If you need anything else, we’re here.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. “I think.”
“My condolences again, Dr. Matthews.”
The line goes dead, then I swipe open my email.
Subject: Personal Letter from Roger L. Matthews – Per Will Instructions
From: [email protected]
Dr. Matthews,
As discussed, attached is a scanned copy of the handwritten
letter your uncle, Roger E. Matthews, instructed be delivered to you upon his passing.
The original document will be sent via overnight mail and
should arrive tomorrow at midday.
Please don’t hesitate to reach out with any questions regarding the estate or next steps.
Respectfully,
Anders Blankenship
Blankenship & Gunner, LLP
Montpelier, VT
I click on the PDF.
It loads slowly, one page glowing into view on the screen.
Written in black ink in the neat block print I’d recognize anywhere as Roger’s distinct handwriting is the letter. A chill runs through me.
It's almost like he's talking to me from the dead .
At the top, in all-caps and underlined, is the TL: DR in typical Roger fashion.
DON’T SCREW THIS UP. –R
Parker,
If you’re reading this, it means I've officially retired my king. Sorry I didn’t warn you—I didn't see it coming either. Hopefully, it was at least memorable.
You’re probably wondering why I've set this crazy puzzle for you—finding a wife in short order and staying married for a minimum of six months. It probably sounds like a ridiculous plot twist out of one of those melodramatic novels I forced you to read. That's my intent.
Bear with me, though, because there's a method to my madness.
First things first: you were always my favorite. Don’t bother hiding it from your father—he already knows.
Second, you don't need this money. Your family has more than enough, and your career already promises plenty of zeroes. This isn't a
Parker,
bout wealth. It's about something far more elusive.
You see, Parker, I’ve built my life and my fortune on solving problems and spotting potential.
You've got that same spark. You're sharp, driven, and frustratingly independent.
But brilliance alone won't keep you warm at night.
Trust me, I've tried it. Solitude felt like freedom until the quiet became deafening.
Eventually, the thrill of the chase fades, the victories are empty, and you realize what you're missing: someone to share it with.
That's where the puzzle comes in. I’m giving you one final challenge.
Solve it, not because you can, but because maybe you’ll discover something even better in the process.
I hope you find someone who challenges you, surprises you, makes you laugh at yourself, and calls you on your nonsense the way no one else can.
If at the end of six months you’ve found love, I’ll consider it the smartest investment I've ever made.
And if not? Well, at least you'll have solved a fascinating puzzle, and you'll be richer for it in every possible way. Either way, you'll have a story worth telling and plenty of resources to cushion any bumps along the road.
Some people solve puzzles on paper. I want you to solve one with your whole life.
You were always clever, Parker. I trust you’ll figure it out.
Make it count.
—R
I let out a long breath, tapping my fingers on my laptop .
Six hundred million dollars. A six-month marriage clause. Roger, even from the grave, is treating life like a puzzle—and dragging me along for the ride.
I’m overwhelmed. Panicked. And weirdly fine.
Or, maybe I’m just numb. I’m somewhere between a high and a full-blown existential spiral.
I move to the fridge and pull out a container of yogurt, eating on autopilot. My brain won’t stop spinning. Questions on top of questions with no real answers.
That’s when I spot it. The realtor must’ve left a magazine, and that’s exactly what I need to quiet the chatter in my head right now.
Palm Beach Society scrolls across the top in bright pink block letters.
It’s the kind of thing I’d usually ignore. But right now, my brain’s begging for anything else to latch onto. Something dumb. Shiny. Easy.
I flip it open mid-bite.
And there she is.
Full-page. Glossy photo. Holding a bottle of green juice like it’s a trophy. She has that same cocky smirk from the ER. That same mouth from Miami.
Adair.
The one-night stand who didn’t remember me.
The same girl who once rode me like a storm was coming now, apparently, sells pressed greens five minutes from my front door.
She lives here.
I stare at the article like it might explain something. Like there’s some logic to the fact that, out of all the people in this city, she’s the one who keeps showing up.
I don’t know how to solve Roger’s game yet. But I do know this: I need a diversion .
And Ms. Adair, with her sharp mouth and selective memory, is exactly the kind I should avoid.
Which means, naturally, I have to stop by this Citrine. Just to see.