Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Turn back before it’s too late.
With my head held high, I entered the law office.
The front reception area seemed surprisingly disorganized, papers scattered here and there, and piles of documents stacked precariously.
On one of the heaps of files lay a curled-up tabby cat.
A candle on the mantle dripped wax. It trickled to the edge and poured over, plopping onto the floor, its red splashes hardening into shiny circles.
This seeming inability to keep up with the clients’ affairs presented me with an advantage.
Senor Teofilo, Roelle’s solicitor, greeted me. He soon appeared eager to rid himself of all dealings with the house of Bastillion. Teofilo had once had his share of disagreements with Roelle, it seemed.
We headed to his private office and settled at an old bay table. I studied his expression for any sign that he suspected I’d presented him with a tampered will. He recited Roelle’s wishes in a monotone voice, his methodical demeanor almost making up for the disarray of his office.
During the reading, I feigned surprise that I’d inherited the estate. Although the property had been destroyed, his fortune, banked with the House of Leon, had been substantial. Certainly more than I’d anticipated. Roelle’s penchant for wearing tatty suits had fooled everyone.
I could only wonder how Felipe would react when he learned of the fortune being handed down to Ricardo’s youngest brother.
Grenaldi had been bequeathed everything in the old will but had been removed completely from the new one.
With a flick of the fountain pen, I signed the official papers and the name Bastillion changed to Velde on the possessorship.
Although no amount of money could ever make up for all that I’d lost, it did offer some comfort that I would never know hunger again.
The cat’s gaze stayed on me as I headed out.
With the large advance, petty cash from the estate, I purchased new clothes for both me and Miguel. I also returned with fresh food purchased from the expensive stores that I’d peered into as a boy, staring eagerly at the delicious assortments I could never taste.
Riding home, I scarfed down thick pieces of bread, closely followed by a large chunk of cheese, then chomped on the largest piece of ham I’d ever seen, followed by several sweet cakes, hardly tasting them. Relief came when my stomachache wore off and I marveled at my ability not to throw up.
When I’d fully recovered from my binge, I galloped the rest of the way home.
I’d pulled it off. The real challenge would be when I told Miguel. I found him in the paddock, exercising a young mare.
“It’s time you took a day off,” I said.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“In town.”
Miguel pulled on the horse’s reins. “You can’t handle them on your own, and besides I don’t consider this work.”
“We can hire staff.”
He let the mare loose, allowing her to have the run of the paddock and she flicked her long, grey-white mane, cantering free. He climbed over the gate.
“Hungry?” I asked, pointing at the bag I’d tied to the saddle.
His hand disappeared inside. “Where did you get the money?”
“It was left to me by Roelle.”
“That’s where you’ve been? Seeing Roelle’s lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was last minute.”
Miguel pulled out a piece of ham and bit into it. “How much?”
“More than enough food to last a week.”
“I meant how much money?”
“Quite a sum.”
His bushy eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Life is fluid, it frequently changes,” I quoted him.
“What happened?”
“The lawyer read the will.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I avoided his gaze.
“What happened that night?” Miguel asked. “How did the fire start?”
The image of Roelle thrashing about in agony filled my vision.
“Before he died, I’d considered running away,” I said.
“No one blames you,” Miguel said. “We just want to know how it happened.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
What happened that night would remain a mystery, like Aaron’s disappearance.
Miguel patted my back. “His reasons for putting you in his will are taken with him to the grave.”
“You disapprove of his decision?”
“He cared about you, but such a consideration does surprise me, yes.”
“I was a loyal servant.”
His eyes glistened. “Roelle has influential friends.”
“Had.”
“What if they come looking for you wanting answers?”
“Are you telling me not to accept the money?”
“Just give it some thought, that’s all.”
“We’re on the verge of starvation.”
Miguel peeked into the linen bag again. “Perhaps I should stop asking questions?”
“Perhaps.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I’m taking back my life. And in the process, I plan on clearing my name.”
“Daumia, no one remembers that now—”
“I remember.”
“Then you’re destined to be like Roelle.”
“I want people to know that I’m innocent.”
“Your inability to forgive—”
“This is forgiveness.” I pointed to where the house had stood. “This is retribution. The House of Velde will overshadow the House of Bastillion.”
“Exactly how much did you inherit?”
“Why?”
He stared at the ruins of the mansion. “It just goes to prove that people often do things out of character.”
“Do you mean him or me?”
Miguel raised his arms up in exasperation.
I leaned against the gate. “We start rebuilding tomorrow.”
“Much responsibly comes with such a position.”
“So does power.”
He shook his head, and then pulled out a loaf of bread, handing me a piece. “We break bread together for the last time.”
“It will never be that way between us.”
He shrugged. “May I suggest a new barn? The horses deserve better.”
“Once the house is rebuilt, you’ll sleep inside.”
Miguel jumped over the gate. “Look up.”
I followed his gaze skyward, seeing a million twinkling stars.
“That’s my view,’ he said. “Now why would I want to stare up at a ceiling?”