Chapter Fifty-Nine. Rowan
FIFTY-NINE
Rowan
Music is blaring.
The wine has been flowing.
And I’m letting loose because if I don’t then I’m going to snap.
Penelope Piccadilly. The name is like an alliteration in my head I can’t stop saying and wish I’d never heard before.
Why did you lie to me, Holden?
Why are you hiding who you are?
Why do I even want to know?
Because online, it looks like your life only existed from your twenties on. Everything mentioning your childhood is generic without specifics.
Did your brother even exist or was that just a ruse to get in close to me? To make me feel like you understood how I felt about Cassie?
Fuck you, Holden Knight.
Fuck you.
I shimmy around the room, lost in the pop song and the anger that I can’t seem to shake. Maybe I don’t want to.
But I stumble—a bottle of wine will do that to you—and hit a stack I’ve yet to go through. Papers fall. I wave a hand toward them. I’ll get to you in a minute. But then I see the canceled check flutter to the ground and land on the papers that fell.
I squat down to pick it up and laugh. Only Gran would have a real canceled check when the rest of us make do with scanned copies online.
Curiosity has me looking. The check is from an account named Monarch LLC for an even $100,000 made out to a Kevin Monarch. The memo section says RR—final payment. Paid in full.
RR? Rupert Rothschild?
And why in the hell would she have made payments on something as late as a year ago, by the date of the check, for my dad?
Bettermint Bank. Wasn’t that where the guy called from? My brain tries to reach in its recesses past all the chaos of the past few weeks to remember our conversation. I struggle with it.
But it’s when I take a seat on the ground to think more about it that I see it, the paper-clipped stack of papers sitting on the floor beside me with a printed email askew on top.
An email from Gran to one Mr. Henry Williams, Esquire.
Henry—
I am not particularly pleased with how you wrote the details in this addendum. We have been acquaintances for a long time yet it feels like you are trying to take advantage of me in my old age.
I am emailing you so my requests are on record but have a written list of changes to physically hand to you. As we spoke about on the phone, I need to see you in person so we can go over these adjustments.
You have the verbiage all wrong and I need to discuss the implementation of several of my new changes.
I’m more than aware it is in your best interest to have this addendum done and signed as soon as possible because it includes that newly included “endowment” we agreed upon to your family charity. I’m hoping that will motivate you to fit a house call to me into your busy schedule.
Yes, I’m saying do your job and you’ll be rewarded.
Please pick out a time at your discretion to come see me. Bring a notary. As per usual, I am old-school. I refuse to sign this in that online way. I want my pen on your paper and in my handwriting.
Time is of the essence. To my dismay, I’m not going to live forever.
Eleanor
Wow. Just … but when I look at the date of the email, that wow becomes a vociferous holy shit. The email was written and obviously printed the week before Gran passed away. I stayed with her that entire week. She had no access to a computer after that. Henry Williams did not visit her.
She did not e-sign any addendum.
She did not personally sign anything.
Henry Williams, you corrupt son of a bitch.
I’d be happy to provide the signature custody chain to you. We signed it right here in our office. The IP address on the custody chain will reflect that.
You e-signed it for her so you could guarantee yourself that newly added endowment for your personal gain.
I scan the pages behind it. Gran’s original will that offers me the $30 million upon my nuptials after a waiting period of only thirty days. I see the addendum that gives Henry $1 million to his charity.
Thirty million dollars after being married for thirty days.
I knock over my glass of wine but don’t give a fuck as I scramble for my phone. For the first time in forever I feel hope. I feel possibility.
“Miss Rothschild.” Henry picks up on the second ring.
“You actually answered.”
“Yes. Well, you caught me in a rare moment. It is way too late to be entertaining calls from clients. You can call back in the morn—”
“You lied,” I grit into the phone. “You lied and I have all the paperwork to prove it. To get you disbarred. To sue you for fucking fraud.”
I’m met with dead silence on the other end. The clearing of his throat. A soft “Excuse me, I need to take this” to whoever is with him.
“Ready to talk now?” I ask.
“Miss—Rowan, I simply don’t know what you’re speaking of.”
“Yes, you do. She never signed the addendum. She never signed it because she sent an email to you, and I was with her every day from there on after.”
“She came into my office—”
“That’s bullshit and you and I both know it.”
“You can’t prove anything.”
I chuckle and it is unforgiving. “But I can.” His silence speaks volumes.
“Here’s what you’re going to do, Henry. You’re going to void my gran’s addendum.
The one you signed for her so you could receive whatever it is you conned her into leaving you.
And if you void that addendum, I will not get you disbarred. ”
“What is it you want out of this, Rowan?”
Forgive me, Gran, for going against your wishes but sometimes you have to play dirty to win.
“I want my inheritance parameters reverted back to the original version of the trust—that it’s to be received thirty days after I’m married.
The only one that Gran signed. Then I want you to remember this phone call, this moment, and remember at all times that you owe me.
And when I call in a favor to Westmore’s esteemed Henry Williams, I want you to do what I ask without batting a fucking eyelash. ” Holy shit. “Is that understood?”
He clears his throat but doesn’t speak.
And then I lie. “Louder, please, so the recording can pick it up.”
“Yes. That’s clear.”
“Good to hear.”