“I would control everything, Nova. And I would draw a salary. One my brother preordained in that addendum.”
He’s nervous, I can tell because the can of beer he’s still holding is shaking slightly. He meets my eyes calmly, without looking away. I respect that, even though my heart is breaking.
“That’s it then. He wanted you to have all his worldly possessions.”
“No, no, and no, Nova. That’s not what he wanted. All Vulture ever talked about was you gettin’ everything.”
“Then why did he add this to his will?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know but I have a way out of this for you. A way you can inherit right away.”
I sit up a little straighter, thinking he’d found a loophole. “What’s your idea for getting around that addendum?”
He snorts a humorless laugh. “There ain’t no gettin’ around it, girlie. You need to get yourself married.”
I swallow thickly, feeling sick to my stomach. “But I don’t have anyone to marry. You know that, Cray.” I press my hand against my chest. “Remember, I’m the lucky in life and unlucky in love girl?”
His voice turns earnest, “Don’t worry I got your back, girl. I found you a husband. A man willing to marry you on paper.”
“Why would any man marry me on paper, Cray?” I can’t get my head around what he’s saying.
A slow, proud smile spreads over his face. “He wants something I’ve got. I’m willing to trade him something that’s extremely valuable to him and worthless to me.”
By this point, my palms are sweating and I feel like I’m one more surprise away from having a panic attack, but I play along, “And what would that be, Cray? What are you trading to get some guy to marry me?”
“Not your business, punkin’. That’s between me and him.” Cray takes another drink of his beer and then explains, “This dude is a straight shooter, an accountant with an officein town. He doesn’t have an old lady or one in sight. There ain’t nobody gonna get pissed off if he marries you. Hell, you don’t even have to live with him. Just sign the damn marriage certificate and go your separate ways. Meet up later on down the line and sign the divorce papers. It’s as easy as pie.”
While I’m sitting there with my mouth hanging open, Cray crushes his now empty beer can in one hand and tosses it into the trash can just over the porch railing.
“Now, girl. Tell me that ain’t the best solution for every fucking body involved.”
“When did you talk to him?” I ask.
“I talked to his old man earlier today. I came back from talking to that goddam stubborn lawyer and started working out a solution for you. I waited until he called me back so I could make sure before I got your hopes up.”
Got my hopes up? This man is certifiably insane if he thinks I’m eager for the commit fraud option.
“He said his son would be happy to marry you on paper and I told him that if you agree to the marriage, we’ve got ourselves a deal.”
“You don’t want to be in charge of the estate for ten years? You’d get paid for it.”
“Hell the fuck no, I don’t want to wrangle up that mess my brother built. I don’t know jack shit about any of that. And I’ve got my own damn shit to worry about. Not to mention that there’s not a chance on God’s fuckin’ green earth that I’m gonna step in and take my only niece’s inheritance. Nope, I’m not doin’ that kind of backstabbin’ shit for love or money.”
I’ve never seen my uncle ramble before. This must be what he looks like when he’s still grieving and caught between living his own life and dealing with more than he can handle with his brother’s estate.
“Look, can’t you just accept responsibility for the estate and put it in trust?” I ask. “Maybe a managed trust with me as the operating director. I learned about those in one of my business classes. I run the businesses, draw a salary, and finish my business degree. The estate would be protected. You still remain in control on paper.”
He shakes his head before I finish the sentence. “The will doesn’t allow for that arrangement.”
I shift forward in my chair, racking my brain to come up with alternatives to getting married because that’s just absurd.
“Then let the estate stay frozen, hire me to be the manager, and pay me like a regular employee. That’s allowed, right?”
Cray’s expression closes down. I know there’s something he’s not telling me. I lean forward and ask, “Please tell me what’s going on. Make me understand.”
A short silence spins out between us before he answers, “Vulture wrote in the addendum that if you weren’t married when he died, that the businesses and house would be liquidated and the money would be held in trust for you until you turned thirty. I don’t think he thought you would step up and try to run everything yourself.”
Shock roils through my gut. “What you’re saying is that my grandfather wanted to leverage me into getting married or make me impoverished?”
