Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
What have I done?
A few weeks earlier…
As soon as I got the call from the lobby, I walked out of my office to wait for her in front of the elevators. My main goal was to intercept her before she could get to the meeting room where her remaining family members would join her in another thirty minutes. A few minutes later, the elevator doors slid open with a ping and Rose Coleson stepped out. Her brown hair was down in waves, her bangs long enough to almost cover her eyes. She had minimal makeup on, and she was wearing simple black jeans and an even a simpler white blouse. I waited as she walked over to the reception desk.
“Hello. How can I help you?” Deb, our receptionist, asked with a practiced smile on her face.
I heard Rose clear her throat and saw her fingers grip the edge of the front desk. “Hi. I’m here for the Coleson mee—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Deb noticed me waiting and, ignoring Rose completely, turned her gaze to me. “Mr. Hawthorne? Is there anything I can do for you? Your two-thirty appoint—”
“No, there isn’t.” Ignoring Deb’s surprised look, I focused on Rose Coleson. “Miss Coleson.” When she heard her name, she glanced at me over her shoulder and let go of the desk to face me. “Your meeting is with me,” I continued. “If you could follow me.”
Deb cut in as Rose took a step to follow me. “Mr. Hawthorne, I think you are mistaken. The Colesons’ meeti—”
“Thank you, Deb,” I interjected, not caring whether she took offense at my tone or not. “Miss Coleson,” I repeated, maybe a bit harsher than I’d intended. I needed to get this meeting done and move on with my day. “This way, please.”
After a quick glance at Deb, Rose moved closer. “Mr. Hawthorne? I think there might be a mistake here. I’m supposed to meet with Mr. Reeves—”
“I can assure you there are no mistakes. If you wouldn’t mind stepping into my office for some privacy, there are some things I’d like to go over with you.” I watched, impatiently, as she thought it over.
“I was told I was needed to sign something and then I could leave. I have another appointment in Brooklyn, so I can’t stay for too long.”
I gave her a curt nod.
After a brief hesitation and another look at our receptionist, she followed me toward my office in silence.
After a long walk, I opened the glass door for her to step in. I reminded Cynthia, my assistant, not to forward any calls, and then I waited until Rose was settled in her seat. Holding her bulky brown handbag on her lap, she gave me an expectant look as I took my own seat behind my desk.
“I thought the Colesons’ lawyer was Tim Reeves, at least the estate lawyer. Has there been a change?” she asked before I could utter a word.
“No, Miss Coleson. Tim is the one who drafted the will, and he is the one handling everything at the moment.”
“Then I’m still not sure—”
“I’m not an estate lawyer, but I did help the team who was handling your late father’s corporate cases on a few occasions last year. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, maybe? Or tea?”
“No, thank you. Like I said, I have another app—”
“Appointment you need to get to,” I finished for her. “I understand. That’s—”
“He was my uncle, by the way.”
“Excuse me?”
“You said father. Gary Coleson was my uncle, not father.”
I raised an eyebrow. This was something I already knew about, but apparently I was too distracted to remember every detail. “That’s right. I apologize.”
“That’s okay… I just wanted to mention it in case you weren’t already aware. I’m afraid it’s also the reason why I wasn’t mentioned in the will, which brings us back full circle, Mr. Hawthorne. I’m not sure what you could possibly want to talk to me about.”
This wasn’t going like I had planned. Granted, I hadn’t given how I wanted to do this much thought, but it was still not going smoothly enough.
“I read the will,” I admitted after taking in the stiff way she was holding herself: sitting on the very edge of her seat, impatient and ready to bolt. Maybe she’d appreciate a more straightforward approach, which was something I excelled at.
“Okay,” she prompted, raising an eyebrow.
“I’d like to talk to you about the property on Madison Avenue that was owned by your uncle.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “What about it?”
“I’d like to know what your plan is going forward regarding the property. I believe you and Gary had signed a contract a little while before his death indicating that you would have use of the property for a short time period, something like two years, and would only pay him a small amount of rent instead of the actual worth of the place. At the end of the two years, you would relocate. Correct?”