ten
Alan Parker had been my uncle’s attorney for as long as I could remember. He was an ancient man with a corner office in a prestigious law firm that also handled all the corporate business for HJH&A.
I arrived at the office harried, sticky with sweat, and a full ten minutes late because I’d broken the heel on my shoe, and the elevator ride back up to the penthouse and then down again had taken far longer than I’d expected. I probably should have taken a taxi, but I’d wanted the walk and had assumed that I could make up the time.
I’d assumed wrong, and when the receptionist led me through the halls toward the conference room, I felt positively gross. My blouse was sticking to my back beneath my summer sweater and I was certain my thick hair had frizzed out.
I took solace in the fact that I would be only one among what would surely be dozens of beneficiaries, and that in the crowded conference room no one would pay me any attention at all.
But when I arrived, there was only one other person in the room. Evan.
He stood as I entered, looking as cool and polished as I looked rumpled and miserable. Then he nodded politely and sat down again. I saw no hint of the man on the dance floor. For that matter, I saw no hint of the man who’d made me cocoa and held me close. I didn’t even see the man who had walked away.
I didn’t know this Evan, and I told myself I was glad. My announcement to Kevin that I was moving to Washington may have been a knee-jerk reaction, but apparently it had been the right one. And I was struck with the urge to announce to Evan that I was leaving and that I was damn happy about it, thank you very much.
Before I had the chance, Alan came in, flanked by two younger attorneys whose faces, hair, and posture were at least as polished as their suits.
I took a seat opposite Evan as Alan and his associates settled in at the head of the table. I kept my eyes on the attorneys, determined not to glance Evan’s way. “Are we still waiting on the rest?”
“No,” he said. “All the beneficiaries are present.”
“Oh.”
The female associate scribbled a note, then smiled at me with unnaturally white teeth. “A great deal of your uncle’s property was in trust and passes outside of probate.”
I nodded as if I understood what that meant.
Alan cleared his throat. “As you both know, Howard Jahn amassed an extensive collection of art and artifacts in addition to his cash, securities, and real property holdings.”
Considering I lived in the condo—which was practically a museum—I knew it well.
“Not long before his death, Mr. Jahn did a major overhaul regarding his estate. He added extensively to the trust for the benefit of the Jahn Foundation. Everything from cash down to the smallest coin in his collection. So extensively, in fact, that only three bequests remain to be distributed through his will. We are here today to address those items.” He cleared his throat, opened the folder in front of him, and began reading.
“To my good friend Evan Black, I leave my six-shot, nickel-plated, dual-action Colt revolver, which once belonged to Al Capone himself, in the hopes that he will remember to always watch his back and to take nothing for granted.”
I bit back an ironic grin. I knew that Evan had always admired the gun, which Jahn had kept mounted in a shadow box in his study. But if Kevin was right about Evan’s extracurricular activities, then that made the bequest all the more appropriate.
Evan looked amused as well, but sobered when Alan added that Uncle Jahn also left him a letter. “He presented it to me the day he revised his will, and asked that I give it to you contemporaneously with the bequest.”
“Am I the only one to receive a letter?” Evan asked, and though he didn’t say, I was certain that he was wondering about Cole and Tyler, both of whom were conspicuous by their absence.
Alan shook his head. “No. I was entrusted with several. Shall we move on?”
Evan nodded.
“To my beloved niece—”
“Wait.”
We both looked at Evan.
“Shouldn’t you finish the bequests to me?”
Alan pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I have, Mr. Black. As I explained, Mr. Jahn significantly overhauled his trust, his will, and his bequests just a few weeks ago.”
“I see,” Evan said, though it was clear that he didn’t. Alan regarded him for a moment, then nodded as if in satisfaction, and turned back to me.
“To my beloved niece, Angelina Raine, sometimes referred to as Angie or Lina, I leave my penthouse condo—including the adjacent servant’s quarters—as well as all furnishings and property remaining in my estate.” Alan looked up at me. “You should understand that most items of value within the condo are included in the trust. What is referred to here are the more simple household items such as furniture, pots, pans, bath towels. He also created a trust to cover Peterson’s salary—as well as a one-time bonus—along with the annual property taxes and monthly maintenance fees. I’ll be administering that trust for you, but the condo will be in your name. If you choose to rent it or sell it, you are fully empowered to do so, though if you do part with the property, the maintenance trust will be folded into the foundation, less a severance package for Peterson.”