“Nope. We were just getting started. Have a seat,” Mr. Barber said.
Mason grabbed the back of the closest chair, then clearly had second thoughts as he pushed it back in. The width of the chair’s arms were not enough for him to sit comfortably. And that was if he could fit his legs under the table.
“I’ll stand if you don’t mind.”
“Fine by me,” Mr. Barber said as he nodded in Xeni’s direction.
She cleared her throat, a frown clouding her face. “Is there somewhere we can go where Mason can sit?”
“Oh, um,” Mr. Barber froze. The town was smaller than a gnat. Xeni doubted that he hadn’t seen Mason around, at the very least. He should have known that the cramped conference room wouldn’t accommodate him.
“Don’t worry about it, love. I’m fine. Plenty of headroom up here.” Xeni noted the high ceilings, but it still didn’t make it okay.
“Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Mason dipped his chin, then crossed his arms over his broad chest. The muscles of his forearms were kind of distracting, but she forced her eyes back in Mr. Barber’s direction.
“Right. We have a lot to cover, so I don’t want to say this won’t take long. I just want to clarify that. Ms. Everly asked that we speak to you both at the same time. We are here to clearly express her wishes and answer any questions you may have. Do either of you have any questions before we begin?”
Xeni had several dozen, but she knew it was best to let Mr. Barber get started. “No, I’m fine. Please go on.” Mason shook his head as well, then motioned toward the files Mr. Barber and Ms. Jordan had set out on the conference table.
Ms. Jordan began. “Ms. Everly had what most would consider to be a sizable estate. Mr. McInroy, she’s leaving to you a gift of one hundred thousand dollars.”
The air was immediately sucked out of the room, most of it going right to Xeni’s lungs, if the sudden tightness in her chest was any indicator. She glanced over at Mason and quickly discovered he had no poker face to speak of. One of his eyebrows was nearly in his hairline and his cheeks and neck were turning a stark shade of red. Both of them kept their mouths shut and let Ms. Jordan go on.
“Ms. Everly is leaving her daughter, Xeni Everly-Wilkins, the remainder of her estate. The property at Fifty-Four Maple Court in Kinderack, New York, a Mercedes E-class sedan, a Toyota 4-Runner, the property at seventy-three Terry Lane in Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts. There are additional assets all valued at twenty-three million dollars. The properties are held in a trust. That means—”
“I’m sorry.” Xeni paused, struggling like hell to gather her thoughts. “How much? All of this is worth how much?”
“Twenty-three million dollars,” Ms. Jordan replied calmly, like that wasn’t a metric shit-ton of money to just drop on someone. And what was this about another house? “There is more. If you—”
“I—there has to be a mistake. I know my aunt has a little bit of money, but not that much. And she never mentioned a house in Massachusetts.”
“Miss Everly, I’ve been working with your aunt for nearly ten years now and my father was her advisor for the twenty years before I came on. I can assure you that this is an accurate accounting of Ms. Everly’s estate and we spoke at length about exactly what she wanted passed on to you.”
“Well, something isn’t right. You have me down as her daughter. I don’t know if there’s some legal loophole that says only her kids are entitled to all of this stuff, but I’m definitely not claiming that kind of money just to get caught up in some fraud charges.”
Ms. Jordan fell silent for a moment before she glanced over at Mr. Barber, but it was Bess that covered Xeni’s hand with her own.
“That part is also true,” Bess said.
“What are you talking about?” Xeni asked. She looked up as Mr. Barber stood and held out a piece of paper. It was a birth certificate. She looked it over and all the information looked right. Her name. Her place of birth, the right hospital. The spot for her father’s name was blank like it had always been. Her birthday was the same, February ninth. But one thing was off. Joyce Everly wasn’t listed as her mother. She blinked and focused harder on the dark ink. The name Sable Everly stared back at her.
“No. My mom is Joyce Everly, Sable’s older sister. And I have my birth certificate at home. This is wrong.” Xeni’s eyes scanned the paper again as the silence hung heavy in the room. Something else was different. The time of her birth. She was born at 8:30 a.m.. Not 12:55 a.m.. She could feel more than one pair of eyes on her, willing her to accept this fake birth certificate as the truth, but she couldn’t. Not for any amount of money. “What does the law say about this?” she asked Mr. Barber.
“What do you mean?” he replied.
“Like, how much trouble could we all get in if I accept this forgery and take the estate? I won’t say my family couldn’t use the money, I just—”
“Xeni, it’s not fake,” Bess said. “I was there. I drove Sable to the hospital.”
“I thought you two met when she moved here.”
“We reconnected. We were old friends.”
“No, this doesn’t make sense. Joyce is my mom. My dad was a studio bassist named Orlando Powers. I was an accident, but my mom decided to keep me and that’s why the Everly Sisters broke up and my aunt went solo. I—”
“Why don’t we let Mr. Barber and Ms. Jordan finish,” Bess suggested. “And then we can answer as many of your questions as possible.”
