Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
By the time we reached Mr. Froble’s office, it was noon, which meant we were right on time for the reading of the will.
My heart thudded, and I tried to keep my anxiety at bay, especially as the police escort arrived with two killers who still stood to inherit something from the man they’d murdered.
Gathered in the small assembly were the lawyer, me, Savilla Finch, the police escort, StepMommy Glenda Finch, and Savilla’s biological mother Katie Gilman, aka Nanny Kate.
The distinguishing features of the latter two attendees were the orange jumpsuits and the guard between them.
The two women had been brought in from the prison they now called home.
The lawyer, Mr. Froble, was an ancient man, nearing a hundred any day now, but he still sported a tidy white mustache and a full head of hair that stuck up in all directions. He’d survived two bouts with cancer, one of them pronounced terminal according to Momma, but he’d recovered from both.
We sat down across from the lawyer, the four of us ladies in a row. Until the will was read, I couldn’t bring myself to meet anyone’s eyes, especially Savilla’s. She was the one whose reaction I cared about, the one who stood to lose the most by having a sibling.
Thankfully, within a minute of arriving, Mr. Froble dove right in, reading from the page in front of him. “I, Frederick Finch, being of sound mind do declare this to be my last will and testament.”
Silence blanketed the room as we listened to the instructions concerning the bulk of the estate. My jaw dropped with each word. All property and financial holdings would be split evenly between Savilla Finch and Dakota Green.
As Mr. Froble finished reading the first section, I dared a glance at Savilla. I’d expected a piece of jewelry at most. Certainly not half of an entire estate. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.
My eyes fell on Glenda Finch’s face, which turned from peach to pink to red. As I watched the progression of color, I noticed that the woman’s eyebrows hadn’t been plucked in quite some time. How traumatizing for her.
Savilla looked at her two matriarchs, and though at first I assumed she was waiting to mirror their reactions, I soon realized that she was simply trying to gauge their level of distress so she could jump in and calm them.
For perhaps the first time, I saw that Savilla was bearing a heavy load carrying the emotions of these two.
“That’s wrong. It must be wrong. Check again,” Glenda said, her mouth a grimace as she gave me a hard stare. “Dakota doesn’t deserve a dime.”
“I assure you,” Mr. Froble said in his thick Virginia drawl, “years ago your late husband confided in me that he had suspected he might be Miss Green’s father. When her pageant application came across his desk, he hired a private investigator who all but confirmed that suspicion.”
“How? How would he confirm such a thing?”
“Apparently Dakota did an ancestry kit not too long ago,” Mr. Froble said. “The investigator found that information among other indications that Dakota might be Mr. Finch’s child.”
The shock of the news froze me. I’d done that DNA test with Lacy as a lark. When we’d gotten the results, we’d laughed about my supposedly “elite athletic genes” and her alleged “tendency to procrastinate,” neither of which were remotely true. My report had said nothing about a secret father.
I swallowed hard and stared at Mr. Froble’s wrinkled jowls as I tried to process this new information.
Mr. Finch had been a fixed figure in Aubergine for most of my childhood.
I always knew he was there in the back of my mind, but could he have also been keeping a close eye on me as I grew up?
And what about the fact that he’d hired a P.I.
to look into my paternity? What did that even mean?
I wasn’t sure whether to feel frustrated over the invasion of my privacy or grateful that Mr. Finch cared.
Confused, concerned, overwhelmed. Whatever else I was, I was now rich. Like, very, very rich. All I wanted to do was talk to Momma, but instead I had a brand-new sister – whose enthusiasm outweighed my uncertainty.
“A sister? I have a sister!” Savilla shouted, springing from her chair.
Gleefully, she threw her arms around me and rocked both of us from side to side.
My body went from rigid to relaxed as her warmth spread.
Savilla was happy, thrilled even, to have me as part of her family.
Relief flooded me. “I knew you weren’t just an unbiased witness. ”
Savilla hadn’t known that, but regardless, she knew it now and seemed completely fine with her new reality. More than fine, even. Unfortunately, the rest of the party didn’t seem to share Savilla’s enthusiasm for my inclusion in the ragtag Finch family.
Mr. Finch tapped his hand against the desk to draw our attention back to the matter at hand. “There are two other items here,” Mr. Finch said, pushing glasses up his nose. “The Miss 2001 Crown shall be shared by Glenda Gilman Finch and her sister Katie Gilman.”
“A crown?” Glenda interrupted. “That’s all my husband left me?” She spewed her words directly at me, ignoring Savilla’s display of affection.
“If you ever get to claim that item,” Mr. Finch reminded her. “You are both guilty of his murder, after all.” He turned back to the page. “And the Rose Diamond shall be passed on to Brett Brinkley upon the occasion of his engagement.”
I perked up at the unexpected detail. Why would Mr. Finch have left anything to Brett? Much less an item that seemed to shock Katie and Glenda as much as my inclusion in the will?
“Brett Brinkley gets the Rose Diamond?” Katie asked, her voice trailing off as if she was struggling to understand, albeit with much less anger, how she and her sister could’ve been kept from everything of real value.
Glenda pointed a finger at Mr. Froble as if he were to blame for the will, and her voice was icy as she leaned forward. “We will fight this.”
The officer touched Glenda’s shoulder to remind her of her fragile place in it all. He could escort her out any time.
“What’s the Rose Diamond?” I asked, leaving out the other half of the question: Why would Mr. Finch leave it to Brett Brinkley? I know it’s wrong to think ill of the dead, but the more I heard about Brett, the more convinced I was that he’d remained a jerkish butthole if there ever was one.
Still, I wasn’t exactly in a position to argue over who should and should not inherit.
Savilla put a possessive hand over mine, and with the other, she held up her phone to show the screensaver: a photo of a light pink gem slightly smaller than a child’s palm, about the size of a rose bud.
“It is—or, it was—Daddy’s most precious stone.”
“More importantly, it’s the fifth largest diamond in the world,” Glenda clarified through clenched teeth. “Easily worth fifty million. Maybe seventy-five.”
“All the best jewelers have one signature piece, and this is ours,” Savilla continued. “My great-grandfather mined and cut it.”
A Finch man who’d been a rich but amateur stone cutter. That must be the reason for the misshapen petals and nicked ridges. Nonetheless, the sharp angles caught the light in a way that made it beautiful.
“The Rose Diamond isn’t quite as valuable as the Hope Diamond,” Savilla added. “But it’s ours.”
The use of the word ours made me wonder if she was including me. I wasn’t courageous enough to ask, so I looked to Mr. Froble, who sat with his hands folded over his stomach, watching our exchange.
“The will says that Brett is supposed to use the stone for a very specific purpose, right?” Katie asked anxiously.
Mr. Froble pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and consulted the document again.
“Yes, for his engagement. Directly after Mr. Finch updated his will, Mr. Brinkley was notified by a lawyer of the terms of the will, but now that Mr. Brinkley is dead, the stone will revert to being included in the estate’s holdings. ”
Katie and then her sister gasped.
“Dead? What do you mean?” Glenda demanded, looking from Mr. Froble to Savilla. “That boy was the picture of health. Just the other day I saw a photo of him on page six in the New York Post.”
I narrowed my gaze. Why had Glenda Finch been keeping tabs on Brett Brinkley from prison?
Savilla glanced at the officer for permission before placing a hand on both women’s arms. “Brett passed away last night. At the reunion. He…” Her eyes flickered to me as if to communicate that I should back her up.
I felt the first tug of a sisterly connection between us.
“He choked. It was so sudden, but I know he would want you to know how much he appreciated everything our family did for him.”
This was a misrepresentation of the events, which I was convinced involved murder, and I had no idea if Brett was grateful to anyone besides himself. I couldn’t back up Savilla, but I wouldn’t interfere at least. I stayed quiet while the women took in the news.
“He was like a son to my husband,” Glenda said, putting a hand over her mouth as though to keep back a cry stuck in throat.
A sick feeling crept into my stomach. Had Mr. Finch spread his seed even farther? Was Brett his son? My half-brother?
“Exactly how close were Brett and your father?” I asked Savilla, trying to steady my voice. “Was he your… or our…” I had no idea how to ask the question in a subtle way.
Savilla tried to understand my meaning. “Was he my… ? Oh, Lord, no.” She pointed at me. “Your face.” She laughed lightly. “Don’t be ludiotic.”
Hmmm… Ludicrous? Idiotic? Either worked.
“Brett was like a son,” Katie clarified, taking pity on me. “But, I swear, he was not.”
Okay, that was comforting, I guess. Although, no one had known about me until now.
“That’s correct,” Mr. Froble confirmed. “Brett Brinkley had no biological claims to anything as far as Mr. Finch knew.”