Chapter Eight #2
The last thing I want is to make small talk with the people who abandoned my mother at the end of her life and have come to collect the only thing she was ever worth to them—money.
I grit my teeth and put a rein on my emotions and walk into the lion’s den.
My mother’s sisters and their partners are already there. I’d been able to avoid speaking with them at her funeral, but there’s no avoiding it now. They all hug me and say a variation of words that are meant to make me believe they’re sorry they hadn’t spent more time with her before she died.
Someone taps lightly on my shoulder and I turn around, rehearsed half smile in place until I see it’s Ejos, her personal secretary.
Then, it becomes full and real. She’d been here every day in those final months and she had kept a near-constant vigil by my mother’s bedside in her final days.
My mother told me it was her who convinced her to tell me she was dying.
I feel like I owe her so much. “It’s nice to see you. ”
She gives me a tremulous smile in return. “I’m so sorry for our loss. She was my mother too. I miss her so much.” She dabs at her large brown eyes. “I hope you will stay in touch. I’ll give you my number in Accra.”
I nod but lift a brow in surprise. “I thought you’d go back to Port Harcourt now.”
“I met someone.” She bites her lip to try and hide her smile but her eyes light up and give her away.
“Eiii, I see.” I grab her left hand and lift it playfully to my face as if for inspection. “Where’s your ring? Don’t tell me you’re living in sin,” I tease, and she lets her smile free.
“You are old-fashioned, brother Kwame.” She gives my hand a squeeze before she lets go.
“Didn’t my mother teach you better than to tear up the roots of your life for a man who isn’t ready to let you plant them in his soil?”
She throws her head back in a delighted laugh. “Oh, my word, you sound like her.” She presses a hand to her chest and looks up the ceiling. “God blessed me when she came into my life.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of her.” I offer her a genuine smile. I’m glad my mother had someone who loved her by her side.
“There he is.” My father’s voice fills the space left by the hushed voices and I turn around to face him. He strides into the room like he’s stepping onto a stage and all eyes are on him.
People are always surprised to discover that he’s shorter than average the first time they meet him.
There is nothing small about his presence from his colorful three-piece suits to his ever-present walking stick, to his penchant for speaking in Latin, he is entertaining, even when no one asked him to be.
“Son, as sad as I am to lose your dear mother, I’m so glad it’s convinced you to finally come back into the family fold. Thank you for stepping up. I need you.”
I want to ask him what family he’s talking about, but I promised my mother I would try. “I’ll do my best. Once I get back from LA.”
“I know you will.” His excited smile makes me queasy. “Ah, there’s the lawyer, now.” He turns and makes for the door, his laser focus on the man who my mother entrusted with her final wishes.
“Excuse me, it’s time to start,” the lawyer calls out moving to the front of the room and taking a seat before my father can corner him. “Mrs. Palmer left strict instructions for today, and I’d like to stay on schedule.”
We sit around the large oval table. Between us, a stack of papers that hold my mother’s final words and wishes.
The man lifts a small remote and the lights dim, the curtains draw shut, and a large screen descends from the ceiling.
It flickers to life and a still image of my mother, sitting behind her desk fills it. My throat tightens at the sight of her smiling, healthy, alert.
The room is quiet as she starts talking.
“My dear ones. Thank you for indulging me and being here today. It’s strange to record this knowing it will be played when I am gone, but I wanted to make sure everyone can see that I am of sound mind and spirit as I make these bequests.”
I glance at my father, curious at whether or not this is a surprise to him. He’s watching the screen, unblinking, and for the first time in my life, I feel sorry for him. For all his faults, he loved her and respected her.
“You’re all here to learn what I’ve left you, and I will do that shortly.
But if you’ll allow me to give you some context first, I’d be grateful.
I was married to AP for ten years before his investment in the oil fields off the Gulf of Guinea made him a billionaire overnight.
Except it hadn’t been overnight. It was the product of years of work, sacrifice, and living on nothing but faith.
The investment had been very risky. We put our life savings into it and it took more than a decade to bear fruit.
You all know my parents didn’t approve of our marriage. ”
One of her sisters clears her throat and earns a scathing glare from my father.
It’s true, though. His story had been one of rags to riches. My mother came from a family of lawyers, doctors, and scholars.
“They cut me off when I got pregnant with Kwame in my second year at Legon. I left school to devote my life to my family and was the unpaid director of operations, marketing, and accounting for my husband’s growing environmental engineering firm.
After the oil discovery and our permanent move to America, I knew I had to secure my future because there were no safety nets for stay-at-home mothers in this country.
I had a post-nuptial agreement drafted that recognized and compensated me for my contributions to any wealth my husband might amass over the course of our marriage.
Man that he is, he signed it happily. Today’s portfolio review revealed I became a billionaire in my own right a few months ago. ”
“Wow,” someone to my right says.
I had no idea about this. I came here expecting her to bequeath things like property and jewelry and maybe a life insurance policy.
“I’ve lived a wonderful life. I’ve lived a tragic life.
I’ve lived a thousand lives. And now, I’m ready to lay down and leave the living to all of you.
If you’re watching this, I loved you and want my life to be a credit to you.
I hope you will live well, give generously, and forgive easily.
And to my son, I’m sorry I didn’t make it easy for you to come home.
I hope by the time I leave this Earth you’ll feel like being part of us again. I love you.”
The combination of guilt and regret coursing through me is nauseating. I wish she’d said these words a lifetime ago. I wish I’d learned how to forgive sooner.
The screen flickers off, the curtains open, and the lights come back on.
The room is quiet as the lawyer reads the bequests.
She left five million dollars to each of her sisters. Half that amount for each of their children.
Ejos was given ten million dollars and guaranteed her salary for the rest of her life. One of her sisters sucks her teeth loudly at this.
She made gifts to her favorite museums and artists, animal rescues, and universities, hospitals, churches, all around the world.
To my father she left jewelry, personal effects, and her house near the beach in Cape Coast in Ghana.
The rest, more than half of her entire estate, she left to me.
It includes her house in Georgetown, her penthouse apartment in Accra, her townhouse in London, her flat in Paris, and a beach house in Carmel.
A trust that would start paying me an annual income of around twenty-five million dollars.
It would pay me a prorated amount for the current year of seventeen million dollars.
Her investment portfolio was where the bulk of her money was held and that, too, was left entirely to me.
“Kwame, your mother left you a key to her safe deposit box. You are to visit within the month.”
The man hands me an envelope with my name written on it in my mother’s handwriting.
I fold it in half and tuck into my jacket inside pocket and the tips of my fingers brush the earring I found when I was packing this morning and there’s a momentary break in the clouds around my heart.
“That concludes the reading. Are there any questions?”
My Aunt Charlotte raises her hand. “You mentioned that we could be reimbursed for our travel here? I came all the way from London.” She squeezes her face like it’s been a hardship.
“Are you serious, Lotte?” my father hisses.
“It’s fine,” the lawyer interjects with a polite, patient smile. “Mrs. Palmer recognized the irregularity of asking everyone to gather here in person. She created a budget to cover the costs any of you incurred.”
My mother was the youngest of four girls and despite her parents’ initial rejection of her and my father, she forgave them when they asked her to.
She worked hard to rebuild her relationship with her siblings.
Which turned into her being their emergency fund.
I never understood how she didn’t mind the way they blatantly used her.
I can’t wait for them to leave and go back to ignoring us.
Like he read my mind, my father stands abruptly and claps his hands and walks over to the lawyer. “Thank you for facilitating. Someone will see you out.” He nods at the door.