Chapter 62
The reading of Aurelian Stokes Loeffler III’s will took place on the top floor of the Savannah Sauce headquarters—in the CEO’s office, as it was a more discreet space than the glass-walled conference room.
Brooks Glover, the family’s lawyer, concerned about privacy, had requested the entire staff of the company be given the day off. As a result, the top two floors of the high-rise building were eerily quiet as Ingrid, Sailor, and Jude rode the elevator to Rill’s office.
On a good day, the corporate headquarters of Savannah Sauce were intimidating. Now the oppressively elegant interiors seemed to close in around Ingrid. It didn’t help that she hadn’t slept a wink the night before. She’d had terrible dreams.
A knife, punched into a skull.
Rill, letting out a last, gurgled, dying gasp.
Cas, grunting in pain.
And so much blood. Blood everywhere … on the carpet, on her shoes. Slicking her fingers. Blood from a crumpled burgundy suit jacket.
Now she clenched and released her fists, trying to settle her nerves.
Sailor was pale and quiet, but when Ingrid asked her if she needed anything, she just shook her head.
When the elevator doors slid open, they entered the large suite that overlooked the river, and Ingrid felt another wave of smothering panic. Everyone was already there.
Glover, dapper as always, stood by Rill’s vast desk, flanked by one of his associates from his firm, a young man who had well-bred fraternity brother written all over him.
Scoot, looking sleeker and more svelte than ever in a sedate brown dress, was seated beside a waifish, colorless man with wisps of brown hair wrapped around his scalp. Her lawyer.
The company’s lawyer and acting CEO, a woman named Priscilla Feng, perched on a leather chair. Behind the vast desk, Rill’s leather chair was empty. Sailor walked around and sat in it, looking like a traumatized child. Jude positioned himself behind her.
It was just what she’d seen in the reading she’d done for Sailor when she first moved into the house.
A top-floor office …
Sailor, in a dark suit, sitting behind Rill’s desk …
But it hadn’t meant what she thought. Not even close.
In a grave voice, Glover greeted everyone, then took his seat at a side table and opened a leather folio.
He introduced his associate, then ran through the details of the probate process and the exemption of the will, as a result of Rill putting most of his estate into a trust. At the end of his spiel, he adjusted his glasses and glanced over at Sailor.
“Are we ready to begin?”
“Of course we’re ready, Brooks,” Scoot snapped. “Get on with it.”
“I was addressing Mrs. Loeffler-Etris,” Glover said mildly, lifting an eyebrow at Sailor.
Sailor drew herself up and nodded back at him. Behind the chair, Jude put a hand on her shoulder.
“Regardless of the … ah …” Glover cast his eyes around the spacious office. “Situation?”
Scoot let out an annoyed huff. “What situation? Why are you stalling? Just get on with it.”
Glover was looking intently at Sailor, who held his gaze just as steadily.
She nodded again, with one, almost imperceptible jut of her chin, and he widened his eyes ever so slightly.
What was going on? Something, Ingrid thought, between Glover and Sailor, that much was obvious.
Something no one else seemed to be in on.
Judging from Sailor’s pallor, it was serious.
Ingrid tried to catch Sailor’s eye with no luck. Anger flashed through her, and for a moment she wished she’d never agreed to attend this thing. She was already upset enough from finding Rill and Cas, wasn’t she? How was she to be of any help to Sailor, if her friend kept secrets from her?
“Well, then,” Glover said, looking back down at the folio on Rill’s desk. “Let’s proceed.”
Glover cleared his throat. Nodded at his associate, who proceeded to distribute copies of the document.
“As you all know, many years ago, Rill named me as executor of his will. Or in this case, trustee, as most of his assets went into a trust. You also know that, in this day and age, there are no longer formal readings of wills. That’s the stuff of television shows and movies.
But to every rule there is an exception. ”
He surveyed the room, his eyes landing on Ingrid. She felt her nervous system buzz. Why was Glover looking at her? What was going on?
“Just read what my father wrote,” Sailor said in a quiet voice.
“Very well.” Glover examined the document as everyone else scrambled to find their place.
“‘As a result of the events of this August, I found it expedient and within the family’s interest to amend the distribution of assets, namely the diminishing of monies and property going to my wife, Laura Fairburn Loeffler, also known as Scoot, and redistributing them among my children.
“‘Therefore, I have awarded Laura Fairburn Loeffler a monthly stipend of fifty thousand dollars, a condo on Tybee Island which has been recently purchased, as well as the unlimited use of a car service. Her business, Loeffler Interiors, will retain occupancy of the Bull Street and West Jones building for ten years from the date of my death, at which she is free to continue paying the rent on her own or vacate the premises.’”
Scoot’s lawyer nodded once. Scoot held her chin high, her expressionless gaze fixed on some spot on the wall beyond Glover.
She’d obviously been aware of the changes Rill had made to his will.
If she felt any anguish over the situation she was now in, she wasn’t giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing it.
Glover flipped a page. “‘As for the leadership of the company, I nominate my son Casimir Stokes Loeffler for the office of CEO. A majority vote by the board will confirm the office, and I have ultimate confidence that all members will, in this way, respect my wishes. In the event that he is no longer living or unable to take over those duties, I name my daughter, Sailor Fairburn Loeffler.’”
Sailor stared down at her hands, folded in her lap.
Glover read on. “‘There have been additional revelations in the past months, requiring a redistribution of my remaining assets. I have learned that instead of being the father of two children, I am the father of three.’”
Ingrid’s head jerked up. She felt her lungs expel air as a series of gasps came from around the room.
What?
“‘I was entirely unaware of this fact until recently,’” Glover forged on. “‘The third child, a son, born in the state of Florida without my knowledge to a Tess White, formerly of Savannah, Georgia, lately of Tampa, Florida—’”
Ingrid’s eyes went wide, her entire body flooding with adrenaline. She heard her heartbeat thunder in her ears—a roar like the crashing ocean. She looked at Sailor, who was still staring down at her hands. Scoot, ramrod straight in her chair, seemed to have turned to stone.
“‘—was given up for adoption to a local couple, Randall and Raina Drummond, also of Savannah, Georgia—’”
“I’m here,” came a voice from the doorway of the office. “Better late than never.”