Jack
John Haskins shook my hand. “Good morning, Jackson.”
“Mr. Haskins?”
“That’s right. I’m your father’s successor trustee. You can call me John.” His smile was genuine and kind. He turned and made introductions with Pat and Jules. “How are you all holding up this morning?”
Jules adjusted the purse on her shoulder to shake his hand. “Just fine, sir. Thank you for asking.”
“Funeral was beautiful. Fitting ceremony for a man like your father.”
That must’ve been John’s way of saying no expense was spared. The funeral was lavish and attended by many—mostly colleagues, investment partners, and long-time clients. I nodded.
“That it was.”
The lobby in Mr. Ruben’s office reeked of luxury, decorated with plush burgundy chairs, a beautiful painting of downtownChicago, and plants of all sizes. A Starbucks coffee machine lined the wall—the kind that ground fresh beans on the spot.
“When will you all be heading back to Nashville?”
Jules answered first. “We have a flight out in a couple hours. We have three daughters to get back to.”
Pat, Jules, and Mr. Haskins talked about the girls. I couldn’t help but notice how peaceful Jules looked—even after something like a funeral. Pat held her hand and only talked when spoken to.
“And, Jackson, you’re staying in Evanston at the lake house for a day or two, correct?”
“Yeah, Mr. Ruben’s secretary called me and said we’d have a few days to gather any personal items.”
“Right. Good. Glad you’ll be doing that.”
John waved us toward the coffee. “Well, please make yourself comfortable while we wait for Paul and the other beneficiaries. Feel free to have some coffee then I’ll show you back to the meeting room.”
Jules and I exchanged a curious glance.
I figured there would be others named on Dad’s will. Made sense. Not like Jules and I had been an active part of his life the last ten years.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder who else would inherit my dad’s fortunes. The four of us made small talk while we each selected our preferred roasts. A low grinding sound filled the room and the machine spit out my nice, steaming cup.
After an awkward beat of silence, John eyed me. “Your father said you were an officer. I have real respect for the Blue—especially nowadays.”
That made John completely different from my father, and I started to wonder how they even became friends. My father had a deep respect for law, but not so much lawenforcement. He was pissed when I blew off law school—to put it lightly.
Before I could respond, the door flew open and my Aunt Marge walked in. She wore her usual look of disgust and regarded each of us with a curt nod. Her blue eyes and icy expression were so like Dad. “Morning, Jackson. Julia. Mr. Haskins.”
John directed her through the coffee routine before we proceeded down the hall to the meeting room. He glanced at his watch. “Mr. Ruben should be with us shortly. We are waiting for him and one other.”
Now that Aunt Marge had arrived, the conversation grew tense and uncomfortable. It was no secret she hated me. Hated Jules. Hated everyone who hadn’t lined up to kiss Nathaniel Barkley’s butt. And I had stopped doing that at twenty years old. Her memory was in working order, apparently.
I was glad Jules was with me. As teens, we used to play a game at Thanksgiving called let’s-torture-Aunt-Marge. One year, Jules put a scoop of Jell-O salad in her Gucci bag. Another year, she intentionally let our affectionate nickname “Aunt Barge” slip while gathered around the turkey dinner. I could always count on Jules to do something impulsive to make us laugh for a few decades. She was probably too mature for stuff like that now.
As we took our seats at the large mahogany table, she mouthed,“Aunt Barge,”and waggled her eyebrows, shooting me a look that said,should I do it?
Guess she wasn’t too mature.
I pressed my lips together, suppressing a laugh. Shook my head. Although I’d pay to see it, she better not.
A man came into the room. His receding hairline and sunken cheeks gave away his age. Late sixties, like Dad. “Good morning, I’m Paul Ruben, Nathaniel’s attorney.” He shook hands around the room. “I know Nathaniel would appreciate each of you traveling out.”
As he settled into his seat at the head of the table, the door opened one more time. Air left my lungs like I’d taken a punch to the solar plexus. The last person I expected to see walked in. She had a white cap pulled low over her forehead, and long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. She bit her lip as she shook John and Mr. Ruben’s hands. When she glanced around the room, our gazes connected. She timidly tucked her chin, and John waved her into the seat next to mine.
