Many years ago, Jessica Pierce made arrangements to ensure you would be safe, comfortable, and protected should anything ever happen to her. You are the solebenefactor of her will. The sum is quite large. Why don’t you call me and come by my office to chat?
I’m dumbfounded, not sure what to feel or think.
Jess left me her money.
Do I even want it?
I slide the letter back inside the envelope. “It’s about Jess’s final affairs,” I say. “I need to handle some things.”
Neither of them says anything—no, not even my mother. Even she understands all things Jess are sensitive subjects. There wasn’t even a funeral. Apparently her estate was given directive to cremate her and do so as silently, and as outside the public eye, as possible. Details I only know because of Mike’s candor.
I don’t tell my parents about the money. I’m not sure I’m going to accept it.
On the morning I’m to visit Jess’s estate manager, I meet Kara for coffee. She is on the mend and still in disbelief of all that happened. “I can’t get my head around the idea that the gift I gave you was used as a weapon.”
“Well, that gift allowed me to fight back,” I console her, but I’m also eager to change the subject, which is sticky, considering the details the FBI has allowed to be public knowledge, or, in this case, disinformation, for a good cause—catching up with DC9. “Tell me about this ulcer of yours,” I urge. “Will it flare back up?”
This works, and we chat a bit before her candor kicks in. “Are you coming back to the library?”
“Well, I have to pay the bills,” I reply, laughing a bit awkwardly at the difficult question. “I’m just not sure I can go back to the place where Jess was killed.”
“I expected as much. Which is why I have another offer to present. There’s a job working in library administration waiting on you if you want, and it comes with a raise. Your email can be thanked for that offer. Not me. You impressed the right people with your thoughtful words. This offer was already in the works when tragedy struck. But you need to know that it’s in the administrative office. It won’t be working at the main library around the books you love. I’m not sure how you feel about that.”
No books to love. I don’t know how I feel about that at all, but the offer is a compliment. “Thank you and everyone involved in the offer. I just—I need to think.”
“Fair enough,” she says. “And I think you earned that right.”
After a few minutes, we hug goodbye, and I walk to the office where I’ll soon discuss Jess’s will. Jonathan Jackson, the man in charge, is in his sixties, rather distinguished, and reminds me of a more polished version of my father. This, to me, explains why Jess was drawn to him to manage her estate. She was drawn to my father. He was the father she never had but wanted.
He sits behind a massive mahogany desk and documents, which I read with shock and revelation. Per the words on the page, I’m to inherit $15 million. I literally gasp, my gaze lifting to his. “Fifteen million? This can’t be right.”
“She invested well and never touched her parents’ money until recently, when she withdrew a million dollars.”
A chill runs down my spine. Now I know how much she paid to DC9. One million dollars to turn my life into hell while ending the life of three men. “I don’t want it,” I say, offering him the paper back.
“It’s yours. If you want to donate it or give it away, that’s up to you, but it’s yours.” He holds up an envelope. “A letter from Jess.”
I shake my head. “No. Keep it. Maybe one day I’ll read it. I can’t now.”
“Understood. Just get me a bank account, and I’ll transfer the funds to your name. It’s your money, Mia. I’ll have to start charging you to hold it in one week.”
Anger bristles, and I don’t know if it’s at him or Jess or maybe myself. “Did you know? Did you know she needed help?”
He pales. “I did not. I barely spoke with her, but she left you her fortune. You were all she had.”
I can feel the blood run from my face. His statement guts me right where I sit, a $1,000 leather chair hugging my body. Iwasall she had, and the hardest part about all this has been knowing she did bad things for me. She killed for me. And she was so lost and tormented inside that she didn’t even know why that was wrong.
Guilt is my enemy right now.
I don’t know how I will ever forgive Jess, let alone myself. I wonder if there is anything but time and therapy that will allow that to happen. I pray there is, though, because time moves far too slow, and there is an ache in my chest right now I’m not sure will ever go away. The only thing I know for certain is that this man can’t help me.
I stand up and leave the room.
Ironically the coffee shop where I left Mike that envelope is right across the street from Jonathan’s office. Of all the places that remind me of the recent tragedies that I’ve been avoiding, I find I’m drawn there, perhaps because it’s where Mike and I reconnected. It’s where I launched my battle against a dangerous enemy and started to win a war. I hurry across the walkway and laugh as Mike reaches the door at the same time. “Perfect timing,” he says, opening the door for me and dressed in a suit that screams FBI agent, his dark hair trimmed to the scalp, never more than an inch high.
A few minutes later, we sit at a table together, and I’m struck by his blue eyes, the shade of a perfect summer afternoon, not too dark and not too light. Friendly eyes, intelligent eyes. He’s gone above andbeyond for me during the hell of the past few weeks. “I need to tell you something,” I say. “A confession of sorts.”
“I’m an FBI agent. I love a good confession.”
