7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Emilia
I manage to arrive a few minutes before my appointment and sign in with the receptionist. I barely find my seat, before I’m waved through to an office behind a secure door, the receptionist buzzing me in from her desk once I get closer.
The security measures surprise me, but I suppose you can’t be too careful these days.
Elliot Vo, Solicitor and Barrister, looks every day of his seventy odd years of age, and far older than I remember. Then again, I haven’t seen him in at least a decade, around the time my mother passed away, and I remember he looked old even then.
“Ah, Emilia. Just as beautiful as I remember, if you don’t mind my saying.” His rich British accent is exactly as I remember, and somehow soothing.
“Not at all, Mr Vo. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” I say, taking the seat across from his desk that he gestures to. He lowers his small frame into his seat, pulling a thin file from the top of the pile on his desk in front of him.
“Of course. I’m sorry to hear of your fathers passing. Condolences,” he says, not raising his eyes from the file he has flipped open.
“Thank you,” I say softly. It still stings to be reminded why I am here.
“As you know, you are your father’s only surviving relative, so it should be no surprise that he named you his sole beneficiary.
He appointed me as executor of his estate, so that I could assist and oversee the transfer of his assets to you,” he says, all business, looking up at me from over the top of his glasses.
When I don’t respond with questions, he nods and continues on.
“His estate is largely unchanged from when it was consolidated after your mothers passing, just the building with the gallery and apartment. He had no other assets or financial interests. No savings to speak of. But the building and business were paid off in full so there are no debts against them,” he pauses then, taking off his glasses and sitting back in his chair, looking at me.
“I presume your intentions will be to sell the business and building?”
I should say yes. That’s exactly what I have been intending to do. But something makes me hesitate.
“I see,” he says.
If he’s surprised, he certainly doesn’t show it.
But that's what lawyers do I guess, they have great poker faces. His gaze goes back to the file, then he picks up a white envelope and hands it to me over the desk. “Your father asked that this letter be included with his Will a few months ago. As you can see, it is sealed, and for your eyes only.” My name is written on the front in my father’s distinct, messy handwriting.
I turn the envelope over and slide the tip of my finger into the seal.
“Perhaps you should take that home and read it later in private. And once you’re ready to decide what you would like to do with the assets, just call the office and let them know.
Whatever you decide, we can do the paperwork at any time. ”
Mr Vo is very old school. He doesn’t do email, and there is no computer on his desk at all, so I’m not surprised that he wanted my instructions over the phone.
“I will. Thank you again for your time, Mr Vo,” I say and rise from my seat.
“Of course,” he says in response, already moving my file to another pile and pulling the next towards him.
Feeling dismissed, I don’t voice my farewell before I walk back out through reception. I sign out where the receptionist indicates, then order an Uber, before I head outside to wait at the curb.
I track my driver, who pulls up a short time later, and I confirm the gallery address when he asks.
I ignore his attempts at polite conversation however, staring blankly out the window, unseeing eyes not taking in the changes in landscape.
My father’s last words to me, captured inside of a thin white envelope, practically burns in my hand.
I’m so distracted by my internal thoughts that I don’t notice we have arrived back at the gallery, until the driver's voice breaks through my fog, “Miss? Is this your destination?”
“Sorry. Yes, thank you.” I open my door with a smile and climb out of the car.
As I walk towards the gallery front door, digging through my bag for the keys, I feel the skin on the back of my neck prickle.
After the warnings from Silas, I’m on full alert.
I look over my shoulder as discreetly as possible, glancing down both sides of the street all the while fumbling through my bag, making out that I’m still looking for my keys.
My eyes catch on a black town car that is parked two doors down on the other side of the road.
The back window is rolled down and my gaze catches on an incredibly handsome, dark-haired man.
He is facing the back window, phone pressed to his ear.
I can feel his dark eyes lock onto me as he talks, his sensual full lips moving with words I can’t hear.
Heat flashes up my neck at his attention, but after another glance around, no one else catches my eye.
The unnerving feeling of being watched has got to be him.
But when I turn my head towards the car again the window is up, and the car is beginning to pull away from the curb and merge into traffic.
I shake my head at my own paranoia, clearly Silas’ words of caution have sent my imagination wild.
I turn back to the door and push the key into the lock.
Once inside, I close the front door behind me, and look up and down the street again, but nothing stands out.
Satisfied that it is just my instincts in overdrive right now, I let out a long exhale to calm my racing heart, then move through the darkened space of the gallery and back up into the apartment.
To the privacy and comfort that I need to read my father’s letter.
When I get upstairs, I take my time removing my makeup.
I wander through the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea.
I don’t usually drink the stuff, but I had spotted a small box of peppermint tea bags earlier, and now seems as good a time as any to give it a try.
Eventually though, I run out of ways to delay the inevitable.
So, with my legs curled beneath me on the couch once more and the warm tea on the coffee table in front of me, my hands shake as I break the seal on the envelope, and pull the single page free and begin to read.
Emilia, my heart. I can’t tell you how proud of you that I am.
No matter the distance, or how long it has been, just know that you are the only thing I have ever done right in this world.
If you are reading this, I’m gone, and I haven’t had the courage to tell you in person.
Baby, I’m sorry. I tried, I really did, but the gallery has never been the same since your mother passed, and it went downhill again after you left.
I don’t blame you. This situation is all of my own doing.
But I have a plan, sweetheart. A way to pay back the loans that I’ve taken out, from the kind of people that I shouldn’t have trusted, when the banks wouldn’t touch me.
I won’t have you inheriting my mistakes.
I love you, my darling Emilia. Please forgive me. Dad x
Tears drop on the page as I read, but I make no move to wipe them away.
His last words were an apology, but for what?
Mr Vo didn’t say anything about any debts.
In fact, he said the building and gallery are paid off in full.
Maybe my father’s plan, whatever it was, worked out and he paid off the debt before he passed.
Confusion wars with the sadness as I re-read his words over again, but they still make no sense to me.
I fold his letter back up and place it beside me on the couch.
I pick up my tea and sip it slowly as I look out the apartment window.
My mind, turning over everything that’s happened the last few days.
I’m so lost in my thoughts and trying to process everything, I don’t notice the sun hitting its peak, and before I know it lunch time blurs into early afternoon and the stiffness from being still for so long starts to seep into my consciousness, pulling me from my thoughts.
Not feeling overly hungry but knowing I need to eat, I order some comfort Thai food and turn on the TV for some background noise while I wait for my dinner to be delivered.
Tonight, I am going to give myself one more night to wallow in my grief, but tomorrow, I need to make a decision about the building and the business, so I can wrap up my father’s affairs and get back to my own life.
I have work to do, and I can’t keep putting it off.