“Mr. Everett, come in.” I gesture to the chair in front of my desk.
We shake hands before he takes a seat.
“What can I do for you?” I ask.
His mouth turns down and his expression is pinched. “Wanted to come in and check on you. See if I can offer any assistance. Ben’s death has been a huge blow to our family and I imagine to you as well.”
I nod and swallow hard. I’m not good at talking about my feelings with anyone, much less a man I barely know.
“It’s been devastating to us as well. We all thought the world of Ben.The fact that everyone came in first thing this morning and jumped in to make sure his clients get taken care of shows just how much they loved him.”
He gives me a sad smile. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear that. I know how difficult times like this can be on a business, especially since Ben was the captain of this ship, so to speak. It’s easy for things to fall apart when there’s not a strong leader to take up the slack.”
Even though I get what he’s trying to say, I can’t help but bristle at his description. Ben may have started this firm, but I more than carry my own weight and contribute just as much to the success of this firm.
I don’t respond to his jab, mainly because I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t make me sound like an asshole.
“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”
“Yes. Coffee sounds good. Black.”
“My assistant is busy helping in Ben’s office so give me one second to grab it.”
I could text Lila and get her to bring him a cup but I decide to get it myself if only to give me a few minutes to get in the right headspace for this visit.
Randall Everett is not to be taken lightly.
Even though the Everetts don’t live in Baton Rouge, most people here have heard of them. There have been whispered stories about their family for years. Freak tragedies that go unsolved, disgruntled former employees who conveniently disappear when they get a little too loud, and wealth that has not grown from legal means. All the good gossip involves the Everett family in some way.
Randall pretty much owns the entire town and surrounding area of Corbeau, just south of here, and his son, Silas, is being groomed to take over the reins when it’s time. The bulk of their income comes from the endless sugarcane fields that surround the small town and stretch across the parish, and the pockets of natural gas underneath those fields. The rumor of how the Everett family obtained that land years ago is a much more interesting story.
It’s said that Otto Everett, Randall’s great-grandfather, won a small farm in Corbeau during a poker game in New Orleans when he was in his early twenties. He packed up and decided to give the life of a gentleman farmer a try, but the work was hard and it wasn’t long until Otto was looking for other ways to monetize his newfound property. Then Prohibition started and Otto Everett had an idea.
He made a deal with some moonshiners, and using the waterways andrail systems that would normally take his meager crop to the sugar exchange, he cornered the bootlegging market instead.
As his coffers grew, he bought up tract after tract of land, with little care whether the farmer actually wanted to sell. The elder Everett put family and friends in important positions in the small town, ensuring he was the one really running things. The law officers looked the other way. The bankers helped hide the money. Once liquor became legal again, the business changed but not his hold on the town.
A hundred years later, an Everett still rules Corbeau. They are as corrupt as they are wealthy.
I worked with Ben for almost a year before I discovered Camille was Randall’s daughter. She never talks about her family and quickly brushes off any comments when someone else does.
I return to my office with a cup of coffee in each hand, setting one down on the desk in front of Randall.
He takes a sip then settles in his chair like he’s in no rush. The silence should be awkward, but we both seem content to sit and watch each other. Finally, he says, “Ben told me when he brought you on that you became the executors of each other’s wills. Is that still the case?”
I nod. “It is.”
Randall shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if he had changed that after he decided to ask you to leave the firm.”
Direct hit.
And again, I decide there’s no appropriate answer to his question.
But he’s not finished. “Do you feel it’s right that you remain in that role? As well as taking his cases as your own?”
It’s a series of aggressive questions I wasn’t prepared for.
“I’m sure you understand my position,” I say. “Ben handed me adraftfor the dissolution of our partnership but it was far from settled. In fact, I believed there was a possibility we could figure out a way to stay in business together. And as far as the rest, I am the executor on record as well as the only living member of our firm, so I’m legally bound to handle both his estate and the clients who are represented by Bayliss and Landry.”
