Chapter Twelve
ChapterTwelve
Elissa
Friday comes quickly, and I’m sitting in the lawyer’s office with my mother, Brandt, and Riley. There’s a trio of lawyers sitting around a long oval table with us on the other side. Both Riley and Brandt insisted on being here today to support me. My stomach roils and I feel like I’m going to be sick. What could my father possibly have left me? He made it clear that I was to get nothing unless I were to marry Brandt. But Brandt wasn’t even asked to attend the reading, so he’s not part of the will, which is curious.
My mother is wearing a black Chanel dress that’s cinched at the waist with a belt that has a golden clasp. Her brown Louis Vuitton bag clashes with her outfit, but I don’t think my mother cares at this moment. Her ginger hair is scraped into a neat chignon, with a few curled strands framing her face. The pearl earrings match the rope of pearls draped around her neck. Everything about my mother screams elegance and class, but her face betrays that portrait. Her cheeks are hollow, eyes are sunken and worn, and her lips are chapped. Even the tastefully applied makeup does little to hide these imperfections on her face.
Riley is sitting between my mother and I, and every time Collette moves, I get a whiff of her Chanel No. 5 perfume, and it reminds me of loneliness. Her hands fiddle with her wedding band and engagement ring, which are soldered together, twirling them around her finger, which I notice are slim and bony. Something inside me stirs, and I feel for my mother, though I’m not quite sure why.
Brandt’s hand gently rests on my thigh and squeezes, and I’m momentarily distracted from my mother. I give Brandt a reassuring smile as I place my hand on top of his and squeeze back. The lawyers continue shuffling papers while we wait for them to get organized. Shouldn’t they have been organized by now? My God, what kind of incompetent fools did my father hire? One of the lawyers, a man with grey hair and large, aviator-style glasses, coughs, sits up straight, and folds his hands on top of a manila folder. The other two finally finish shuffling their papers and follow his lead. The man to the right is younger, maybe in the running for partner. He’s fairly good-looking, with dark chestnut hair, bright, light eyes, and a chiselled jaw. He looks to be about thirty or so, and his eyes roam from Riley to me. I feel the heat in his eyes as he stares at me.
His mouth twitches as he suppresses a smile, and a shiver breaks over me as I feel an arctic chill coming from my right. Brandt is sitting up ramrod-straight, his jaw is tense, and eyes are cold and unyielding. His fingers press harder into my thigh, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I heard him growl. My hand wraps around his again, prying his fingers from my leg, and I lace my fingers between his. He seems to relax a little and takes a deep breath. But his eyes remain cold. I think the good-looking lawyer notices, because the shadow of a smile creeps across his face as he clears his throat and returns his expression to more of a neutral state.
The older man in the middle clears his throat.
“I am Mr. Durphy, the lead lawyer on this case. I see we have a few extra people here for the reading of Harold Wallace Black’s will.” His voice is gruff, but shaky, as though his vocal cords want to collapse from exhaustion. “I need to ensure that the main two people present that are involved in the will are comfortable with the extra people witnessing the contents, for the record.” He looks at my mother and then me over his glasses. My mother nods, giving a weak “yes.”
“Yes,” I say in a clear, loud voice. Mr. Durphy gives a quick nod as he flips open the file folder in front of him. The other two lawyers follow suit, the younger one making a note of our confirmation of extra people in the room. Mr. Durphy adjusts the glasses on his hooked nose and clears his throat again.
“The last will and testament of: Harold Wallace Black. I, Harold Wallace Black, of Toronto, Ontario, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare that this document is my last will and testament…” He drones on and I drown him out for the next few minutes as he gets through all the legal mumbo jumbo, which literally means nothing to me. Hell, being here and inheriting something literally means nothing to me.
“…Article 3. I hereby give all personal property, including the houses and contents within, to my wife, Collette Liana (Morgen) Black. These properties include our investment properties in Chatham, Ontario, and our penthouse in Toronto, Ontario, on Richmond Street. My RRSPs and joint chequing and savings accounts will remain with Collette Liana (Morgen) Black. All vehicles will be sold, and the money returned to the savings account for Collette.”
My mother lets out a sob, and Riley reaches across the table to pluck a tissue out of the box and passes it to her. My mother’s hand grasps the tissue with one hand as the other hand braces around Riley’s forearm, her eyes full of thanks. A cold sweat breaks out over me as I watch and listen to my mother cry. Part of me has a bubble waiting to burst with giggles at the ridiculous scene unfolding, but another part aches for her. I didn’t realize my mother actually cared. I mean, they must have loved each other at one point in their lives. I see the pictures from their wedding day and they certainly looked in love, and you can’t fake that kind of lightness in the eyes. But I’d only ever seen unhappy parents, who spent time together only when it was convenient for pictures and appearances.
Harold was always gone, doing who knows what, with who knows who, but claimed he was always working. Which, he must have been telling the truth at some point, because for all my father lacked, his work ethic certainly didn’t. He did build a successful media empire, one which I am doomed to drown under in the shadow of his legacy — if I even inherit the damn company. Collette, on the other hand, was always sloshed, always a bottle of merlot deep by 11 AM, and with a new “pool boy” who was missing the pool.
“And to my daughter, Elissa Beatrice Black, I hereby hand over the Black Wells Publishing and Press company and all its assets, along with the Black Wells Tower property deeds…”
My heart fails to beat, my lungs fail to breathe. What did Mr. Durphy just say? My cheeks tingle as the blood drains from my face, leaving me cold and gasping for air. I can’t hear Mr. Durphy speaking anymore, he sounds like an adult in a Peanuts cartoon. I get the company? Me?
“I’m sorry,” I interrupt Mr. Durphy, “Did I hear that correctly?”
“S-s-sorry? Hear what correctly?” he asks haltingly.
“That I’m to inherit the company? All of it?”
Mr. Durphy adjusts the glasses on his face again, looks over the last part he read and nods his head. “Yes, I believe that you are inheriting everything to do with the company as per this wording.”
“That would make me CEO?”
Mr. Durphy clears his throat. “Well, I suppose so. Not quite officially, but you’d be the major shareholder and chairperson of the board. The board members would have to vote you in to make it official.” I’m floored. If I wasn’t sitting down already, I would have crashed to the floor. Seriously.
“I…I don’t understand. I just get the company?”
“The company, the building, and the condo you’re currently residing in. It’s all yours.”
“Just like that?” I’m not quite convinced it’s that easy. There’s that stipulation that’s missing.
“Well, after you sign some papers, it’s yours. But yes, just like that.”
This has got to be a joke. I laugh out loud. My mother and Riley look at me with bewildered eyes. I don’t even turn to see how Brandt is staring at me.
“No other stipulations? No clauses? Nothing?” Mr. Durphy’s face twists in…disgust? Confusion? I don’t know. But he shakes his head and remains silent. I feel Brandt tense beside me, and his hand grows rigid in mine, cold even. But I can’t focus on him. I can only focus on the fact that everything is mine, even when it wasn’t supposed to be. Ha!What sick twist of fate is this?
“Is this the most updated version of the will? When was it dated?” A deep, tense voice booms beside me, making the hair on my arms stand. My head darts to face Brandt and he’s sitting like a statue, trying to keep measured breaths, his jaw ticking as he waits for a response. The good-looking lawyer is the one to flip through the pages and find the answer.
“It looks here to be signed and dated back in 2021. So, two years prior to his death, and this is the only will we have that is recent and notarized.” Brandt’s hand jerks out of my grasp and tightens into a fist in his lap. His eyes harden and it feels like the room has dropped thirty degrees. I reach out and place my hand on his and he pulls away, and I feel like I’ve been slapped. I shift my attention away, back to the lawyers, and try to finish listening to the rest of the will. Something just shifted between us, and it’s making it really hard to focus on the rest of this meeting.