Chapter 10 Grady #2
“Jordan, breathe,” Mara said, laughing. “Uncle Grady just got here. Let him settle in first.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I want to see everything.”
Mara gave me a grateful smile. “Okay. But homework first, then you can show Uncle Grady your rooms. Deal?”
“Deal!” they said in unison.
A woman appeared in the doorway—early thirties, calm energy, the kind of presence that said she’d been doing this job for a while. The nanny. I remembered her from last Christmas.
“Hi, Camila,” I said.
“Mr. Nash. Good to see you again.” She smiled at the kids. “Come on, you two. Let’s get backpacks unpacked and homework started. Then you can have Uncle Grady time.”
“But—” Jordan started.
“No buts. Your mom’s right. Homework first.” Camila held out her hands and both kids took them without argument. She had that magic touch.
“We’ll be in the playroom,” she said to Mara. “Dinner at six?”
“Perfect. Thank you, Camila.”
They headed upstairs, Jordan chattering the whole way about a T-Rex he’d built out of Legos.
Mara turned back to me. “She’s a lifesaver. I don’t know what we’d do without her.” She picked up my water glass and refilled it without asking. “Hank should be home in an hour or so. He’s dying to see you. We thought we’d do dinner here—just the three of us after the kids go to bed. Is that okay?”
“Of course.”
“You can relax, take a shower, whatever you need. Guest room’s all set up.”
I grabbed my bag. “Thanks, Mara.”
She caught my arm as I turned to go. “Whatever we learn tomorrow will be easier to deal with knowing you’re by my side. So thank you.”
“You’re my baby sister. I’m not about to let you face whatever it is alone.”
She hugged me. “You’re the best big brother a girl could have.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
An hour later, I was showered and changed, standing in the doorway of the playroom watching Jordan build an elaborate dinosaur habitat while Luci practiced scales on the electric keyboard in the corner. Camila sat at the craft table, helping Jordan find just the right tree for his diorama.
“Uncle Grady.” Jordan spotted me. “Come see.”
I walked over and crouched down next to him. “Wow. That’s incredible.”
“It’s the Jurassic period,” he said seriously. “See, this is a Brachiosaurus and this is a Stegosaurus, and they lived at the same time even though most people don’t know that.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well now you do.” He placed the Stegosaurus carefully next to a plastic fern. “Do you have dinosaurs in Willet Cove?”
“Not the alive kind.”
“That’s what I thought.” He looked up at me, his expression thoughtful. “Do you like it there?”
“I do.”
“More than Los Angeles?”
“Yeah, it’s my home now.”
“Why?”
How did I explain it to a six-year-old? “It’s quieter. Simpler. I can see the ocean from my house.”
“That’s cool. I love the ocean.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Jordan went back to arranging his dinosaurs, apparently satisfied with that answer.
Luci finished her scales and came over, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to me. “Uncle Grady, do you have a girlfriend?”
I blinked. “What?”
“A girlfriend. Do you have one?”
“Luci,” Camila said gently. “That’s a personal question.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “No. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Why not? Mom worries about you. She said she thinks you’re lonely,” Luci said.
“Your mom worries too much,” I said.
“Are you sure?” Luci tilted her head, studying me. “Because you always look a little sad.”
“I’m not sad,” I said. “I promise.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she let it drop.
The front door opened downstairs, and Hank called out, “I’m home!”
“Daddy!” Both kids scrambled up and ran for the stairs.
I followed them down to find Hank in the entryway, dropping his keys in a bowl.
He was tall with dark hair going gray at the temples and always slightly disheveled.
There was an inquisitive expression in his green eyes at all times.
Mara had known he was a true artist from the beginning, even when they were just college students that he would do what he said he would do.
And now here he was, successful Hollywood film maker.
What did it feel like to know exactly where you belonged and to whom?
Jordan launched himself at Hank’s legs. Luci wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Hello, offspring,” Hank said, hugging them both. “How was your day?”
“Good. Uncle Grady’s here,” Jordan said.
“I know. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him.” Hank looked up and grinned at me. “Grady, good to see you, man.”
“You too.” I walked over and we shook hands, then pulled into a brief hug.
“You doing okay?” Hank’s tone was casual, but his eyes were serious.
“Doing just fine,” I said.
“After tomorrow you’ll know the deal. Whatever the old man left you, at least it’s closure.” He squeezed my shoulder as Camila called to the children to come wash up for dinner.
After they’d scampered back up the stairs, Hank turned to me. “Beer?”
“Yeah. That’d be great.”
We walked into the kitchen where Mara was pulling salmon, asparagus, and lemons out of the fridge.
“Hey, babe.” Hank kissed her cheek. “You want help?”
“I’ve got it. You two catch up.”
Hank grabbed two beers, handed me one, and we walked out to the back patio. The sun was starting to set, turning the sky pink and orange. L.A. might have smog, but it made pretty sunsets. Beyond the yard, the canyon stretched out wild and vast.
We sat in lounge chairs by the pool. I took a long drink of the beer, thinking about what Mara had said.
Maybe it was time to get a real job, buy a house.
Beg Esme to give me a chance to give her the life and love she deserved.
I put it aside, content to catch up with Hank and forget about my own problems for a bit.
The attorney’s conference room overlooked downtown Los Angeles, the noise of traffic below muted by thick glass.
Mara and I sat side by side on one end of the long table, sinking into chairs that were too soft for the seriousness of the moment.
A tray of water, fruit, and bagels sat untouched between us.
The attorney entered with a thin folder tucked under his arm.
“Ms. Dalton. Mr. Nash,” he said, nodding to each of us. His voice was calm, practiced. “I’m Henry Wilson. I handled your father’s estate planning prior to his incarceration and have been retained to oversee probate now that he’s passed.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mara said.
“You as well. I’m a big fan of your husband’s films,” Wilson said. “And you’re always wonderful in them. My wife loves you.”
“How kind. Thank you.” Mara ducked her head modestly.
“You ready to get started?” Wilson asked.
“Yep. Let’s get it over with,” I said.
Wilson sat, opened the folder, and slid a single page toward us.
“I’ll keep this as straightforward as possible.
Most of the estate was liquidated years ago—real property, business holdings, personal assets.
Those funds were used to satisfy legal fees, settlements, and restitution.
What remains is held in two irrevocable trusts, established before Mr. Hale’s conviction. ”
Mara’s fingers tightened around her cup as she glanced over at me.
“Each trust names one of you as sole beneficiary,” Wilson continued. “The value of each is approximately twenty million dollars.”
Mara gasped. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, Ms. Dalton,” Wilson said, without a smile. “I’m not kidding. I never joke about money.”
“Twenty million? For each of us?” I asked, as if he hadn’t stated it clearly enough.
Twenty million dollars.
I thought about Madison and her too-small shoes. And there was Robbie’s college education coming up, not to mention the STEM summer program.
“I had no idea he had anything in place for us,” Mara said. “I figured it would be small, given all the legal expenses and payouts to victims.”
“He was wise to set this up years ago,” Wilson said. “It couldn’t be touched until his death.”
“When did he do it?” I asked.
“It was right before your mother’s death,” Wilson said. “They came to see me together. She was very sick, but she was adamant that the money be protected from whatever other financial complexities arose. She wanted to make sure you two were set up, regardless of what happened after her death.”
“He never said anything about it to us,” Mara said.
“I see,” Wilson said.
Mara let out a slow breath. “What about the body. How does all that work?”
Wilson nodded. “The remains will be released to next of kin. There were no instructions in the will regarding burial or memorial services, except his request for a cremation. That decision falls to you.”
We were quiet for a moment. The city continued on outside the windows, horns honking and the low hum of vehicles’ engines.
“We don’t want a funeral,” Mara said finally. Her voice was steady, but her hands were not.
“We’re not putting him next to our mother,” I said. “We’ll agree to his request for cremation.”
“That can be arranged. The ashes will be yours to do with as you please.” Wilson made a note.
“There are also personal effects—letters, photographs, a few items that weren’t seized.
You can decide later what you’d like to do with those.
” He closed the folder. “I know this is a great deal to absorb. But my office will take care of everything. We’ll just need signatures on some paperwork. Would you like to do that now?”
Mara and I looked at each other.
“Could we have until tomorrow to decide?” I asked.
“Decide?” Wilson asked, looking appalled at the idea. “If you disclaim, the trust language directs the funds to your father’s alma mater.”
“His alma mater,” Mara repeated. “But that’s absurd. It was an honorary degree they gave him. In exchange for a donation, I might add.”
“That’s correct,” Wilson said.
I stared at the document. Twenty million dollars, going to an institution that had gladly taken my father’s money.
They’d removed his name off the library he’d donated to after the accusations, but they certainly hadn’t given the money back to help victims. Not that I’d have expected that, but, still, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of the university getting a further donation, especially one so large.
“So if I refuse,” I said slowly, “I’m essentially funding the Sean Hale legacy.”
“In broad terms, yes,” Wilson said. “Not to mention that your mother went to great trouble to set up the trusts. Her wishes were clear.”
Mara put her hand on my arm. “We’ll discuss it and get back to you, Mr. Wilson. Thanks for your patience.”
Wilson shrugged, but I could see he was taken aback. “I’ll be here for any questions.”
We got up to leave. Wilson stood as well.
“There’s one more detail you should know.
It was your mother who had the money when they were first married.
Her father had left her a large inheritance.
From my understanding, it was her fortune that funded your father’s early ventures into the film industry.
Obviously, he was very successful. Whatever she brought into the marriage grew substantially because of your father’s production company.
But he wouldn’t have been able to do what he did without her money to begin it all. ”
Mara and I both stared at him for a moment. We’d had no idea.
“She never said anything to us about that,” Mara said.
“You were both young when she died,” Wilson said.
“Are you certain?” I asked.
“My father was your grandfather’s attorney,” Wilson said. “I’m quite certain.”