“Oh, that,” he said, pausing to think of an explanation. “Haven’t had my morning coffee, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” Romeo said.
Octavius squeezed his younger brother’s shoulder and forced a smile. “Yes. Now, how about you, Rome. Are you okay?”
Romeo paused and looked down at the ground in front of them as they walked on. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what awaits us in Eden,” he answered.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Octavius replied. “Just don’t eat any of the apples.” That made Romeo smile.
It became clear as soon as they stepped into Eden that the lawyers were not here because the police had solved the case.
Instead, they were here to discuss theurgentmatter of inheritances. Murder could apparently wait.
Bilal was already seated on one of the leather chesterfield couches in the dark-walled office, staring stormily into the abyss.An air has changed around Bilal, Octavius thought. Rome and Perdita took their seats next to Bilal, and Fola and Octavius found seats on the couch on the opposite side of the room. Given that the place was named Eden, Octavius had always been perturbed by the glaring absence of plants, snakes, or Satan.
“What’s this all about, then?” Bilal asked, his tone cold, removed.
“We’ve gathered you here to discuss the matter of your father’s final will and testament,” Henry said, stepping out of the corner he’d been in, the shadow of a dead bull’s head looming behind him. “Mr. Fowley here—the executor—will be reading the will out for us all.” Henry gestured to the important-looking man standing in front of their father’s desk, next to William and Clive, the lawyers.
Octavius hadn’t noticed Mr. Fowley until that moment. The man’s dark, ill-tailored suit and expression blended in with the dark blue of the damask wallpaper behind him. The executor wasn’t the only one hiding in plain sight either; there was a police officer posted by the window staring straight ahead while blocking much of the light coming in with his imposing frame. He was most likely there to keep watch. To make sure they did not find themselves in any more trouble, or indeed, that any trouble did not find them.
“We were very sorry to hear about Leontes’s passing. We hope to make this legal process as smooth as possible, despite the terrible circumstances; it is important that we respect his wishes,” William… or Clive… said. It was hard to tell. The lawyers were dressed in the same bland gray suits, had the same tapered haircuts, and both spoke in careful monotones. Most of the people who worked for his father were like that though. Octavius used to wonder if his father’s staff would get fired for smiling too much, laughing at all, or wearing magenta-colored socks.
Fola scoffed. “Father’s not even in the ground yet and we’re already talking about inheritances? Doesn’t feel very respectful to me.”
Henry looked apologetic. “Actually, it is your father’s wish to be cremated and sent to space. But nevertheless, yes, we know the timing is not…ideal, but your father requested that his will be read out to you all at the same time, no later than the thirteenth hour after his passing.” Henry looked down at his watch then. “As preliminary reports from the coroner’s office are estimating his time of death to be around midnight, this marks the thirteenth hour—so time is of the essence.”
“Why did Dad want the will to be read out within thirteen hours?” Rome asked, as if there was ever a good reason that their father did anything.
Henry cleared his throat. “I believe, in your father’s words… he wanted to do so while the grief was still fresh and everyone was in more of a forgiving mood.”
“Classic Leontes, a drama queen until the very end,” Octavius said with a smile.
Everyone in the room turned to look at him, all sporting judgmental expressions. Bilal narrowed his eyes at the familiar pair of orange sweatpants Octavius was wearing, as if only just noticing them.
“May we begin?” Mr. Fowley asked the room as he moved to stand behind the desk, not looking impressed at all by the conversation taking place. In front of him was a very serious-looking briefcase next to a large safe box.
Henry nodded. “Of course, Mr. Fowley, please go ahead.”
They all watched Mr. Fowley thumb the briefcase’s latch, which sprang open with a gentle click. The air in the office was unpleasant and tense, as it always was. Octavius never enjoyed coming in here much—none of them did. Nothing good ever happened in Eden.
Octavius locked eyes with one of the animal heads nailed to the wall, the others staring down at him accusatorily. He had never understood his father’s obsession with having all of these dead animals around him. Surely it was abad omen; if you were constantly surrounded by death, it was bound to catch up with you sooner rather than later.
“This will was last amended three nights ago, in the presence of myself and your father’s lawyers.” The executor glared down at them all with his strong brow, his harsh frown seeming to suggest that this was the last place he wanted to be right now. “It has come with a statement summarizing the division of the assets, which I will now read.”
The air in the room constricted even further as he pulled a short stack of pages from the briefcase, lowering his glasses to read aloud from the first page.
“ ‘I, Leontes Button, being of sound mind, do willfully and voluntarily appoint my representative, Jimothy Fowley, to have the right of disposition, as defined in section 7219122025 of the code of mortalities, and that all decisions made by my representative with respect to the right of disposition shall be binding.’ ”
“Who in the world names their child Jimothy? No wonder he looks permanently pissed,” Octavius whispered to Fola, who shushed him.
Jimothy continued. “‘The assets to be disclosed in the following will are: the amount of three point five billion dollars across liquid assets, in accounts and in several investments; the Button Estate, which is made up of the Manor, holiday homes, private jets, helicopter, yachts, cars, and the Button Games company itself, Button Games Ltd.; the medals, trophies, and prizes; and last of all, his sporting paraphernalia.’” Mr. Fowley licked his thumb and flipped the page. “ ‘To my secretary of sixteen years, Henry Xu, I leave’ ”—there was a pause—“ ‘my golfing equipment and all my trophies.’ ”
Everyone turned to Henry, whose face was unchanged despite how much of a slap this clearly was. Henry had been their father’s longest-serving personal secretary. The Buttons were used to a revolving door of staff, most people staying no longer than a few months to a year, but after everything Henry had done, including practically raising Octavius and his siblings, he had basically gotten nothing.
Octavius had thought his dad and the secretary might’ve even been friendsafter all these years, but this clearly showed they weren’t. Or if they were, this was a coldness that would be difficult to shake the memory of.
“ ‘To my children, I leave the following,’ ” Mr. Fowley started again, his voice agonizingly slow. “ ‘To my son Bilal Antonio Button, I leave to you a reduced inheritance of fifty million dollars. To my son Octavius Leartes Button, I leave to you a reduced inheritance of fifty million dollars. To my son Romeo Julius Button, I leave to you an inheritance of one hundred million dollars. To my daughter Fola Emilia Button, I leave to you an inheritance of two hundred million dollars.’ ” There was a pause, as all eyes shifted now to Fola, who Octavius could tell was holding back a smug smile. Father’s will pretty much confirmed what they all already knew: Fola was the favorite, the one their father treasured the most. The one he was proudest of.
