Inheritance

Damion

I sat at my desk, reviewing a new piece from one of my seasoned journalists when my assistant buzzed the intercom. “Mr. Whittle?”

“Yes?”

“There’s someone here to see you. He says he’s a lawyer.”

I didn’t think I was being sued, but one never knew in the current climate. We weren’t in the business of celebrity news, which protected us from some suits but not all. I adjusted my tie, wanting to present a professional appearance.

“I’ll be right out.”

I got to my feet and opened the office door. The lawyer was nothing like the other lawyers I dealt with. The guy was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, and a bolo tie. He looked to be in his late sixties. I didn’t have to ask where he was from.

“I’m Damion Whittle,” I said, extending my hand.

“Good to meet you, Damion. I’m Harvey Larson. I’m your grandfather’s attorney.”

I nodded, gesturing for him to go inside. “Hold my calls,” I said, not looking forward to the conversation I knew to be coming.

Harvey had taken a seat already. I sat down and looked at him. He looked around my office and smiled. “Your grandfather was very proud of you.”

I scoffed. “I think we both know that isn’t true.”

“It is true. Very true. He talked a great deal about you.”

“What brings you all the way here?” I asked, wanting to get down to business.

“I was hoping I would be able to talk with you when you came to town for the funeral,” he said.

It was a dig. I knew it. I didn’t care. I didn’t have to answer to him. I had made flight reservations, fully prepared to go back to Montana, and then backed out. I had been told by the funeral home everything had already been taken care of by his estate. I was grateful for my grandfather’s foresight. I didn’t think I could plan another funeral. I knew I didn’t want to attend another funeral. I was weak. I could admit it to myself, but I wasn’t about to admit it to anyone else.

“But you couldn’t because I wasn’t there.”

“No, you weren’t. I don’t hold it against you. I’ve attended too many funerals in my lifetime.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Anyway, I brought some paperwork with me. You’ll need to sign a few things and then it’s yours.”

“What’s mine? The farm?”

He chuckled. “Yes, the farm and the inheritance.”

I smiled. “He always liked to save for a rainy day.”

Harvey laughed. “Oh, he was ready for a whole damn month of rainy days. Hell, years.”

I frowned, not entirely sure what that meant. “Is the farm being sold?”

“You own the farm. I suppose that would be up to you, but I wouldn’t advise it.”

He put his briefcase on my desk and popped it open. I watched as he pulled out a sheaf of papers, closed the briefcase, and put it back on the floor.

“I don’t know if I can manage the farm from here,” I said, thinking out loud.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s what he had in mind.”

“I know, I know. He wanted me to have the farm. He wanted me to live in Montana. I don’t know if that’s the life for me.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “You might want to reconsider. Along with the farm and the personal property, you’ll inherit the money.”

I blew out a breath. “How long did he know?” I asked.

“About the cancer?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

He rubbed his jaw. “I would say about three months ago. The doctor didn’t give him long. He got his affairs in order and went out on his own terms. As far as I know, no one knew. He only told me because I pressed him when he started making some changes to his will.”

“I wish he would have told me. I would have liked to have said goodbye.”

He smiled. “He didn’t want it that way. He wanted you to remember him for the man he was, not the man the cancer left. He told me he came to see you.”

“He did.”

“I suppose you told him goodbye?”

“Yes, but—”

“Would it have been easier or harder for you to dwell on the imminent death if there would have been a long, teary goodbye?”

I knew what he was saying. “I guess that’s true.”

“Your grandfather left his very, very sizeable investment account to you.”

“What do you mean sizeable? I thought he sold off part of the ranch a while back? I assumed he was downsizing because of financial difficulties.”

He laughed. “No. Your grandfather was a very wealthy man. He sold it off to help out a young man. He sold it for far less than it was worth.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because, like I said, he wanted to help a kid out. He didn’t need the crops.”

“What do you mean wealthy? I don’t remember him ever being wealthy.”

He laughed again. “About twenty years ago, he bought some shares in a tech company. It was on a whim. Needless to say, it paid off. He made a few more investments and let the money sit, collecting interest and keeping him a wealthy man.”

“But he never told me!”

“He wanted you to learn the value of hard work. I guess he must have felt you learned that lesson. The money is yours.”

I licked my lips. “I don’t want to sound crass, but can you give me a ballpark figure?”

“Let’s just say it hovers around the eight to nine figure range.”

My mind did a little math. “Wait, what?” I asked.