The Address(99)

“That’s enough, now.” Fred jabbed a finger at the papers on his desk. “You signed a document to abide by the results. There was nothing amiss.”

Melinda’s oversized hoop earrings swung with each turn of her head: to Bailey, then back to Fred. “So now Bailey and her father get the sheath?”

Bailey didn’t care about the sheath. She’d wanted to be part of a legacy, to feel some connection with her past.

Still, it was worth it to see the look on Tony and Melinda’s faces. Take that for desecrating the family apartment.

Tony went white. “This isn’t only about the sheath, though, is it?”

The earrings swung again, in Tony’s direction. “What do you mean?”

“This means that Bailey and her father get the trust. Not you or Manvel.”

Melinda leaped up, towering over them all in her four-inch heels. “That’s not true. I’m the great-granddaughter of Theodore Camden. Manvel and I are due our trust in two days, when we turn thirty. That’s the way it’s always been. This doesn’t change anything.”

Fred spoke succinctly, clearly. “This changes everything. The trust states that it’s solely for descendants of Theodore Camden by blood. Neither you nor Manvel are. Therefore, it’s no longer your rightful property, Miss Camden.”

Bailey looked over at Manvel, who had a wide grin on his face. He seemed amused by the turn of events. Or at least at his sister’s indignation.

“Who am I, then?” Melinda looked blindly around the room. “If Theodore Camden isn’t my great-grandfather, who the hell is?”

Fred refused to rise to her level of aggression. “Sometimes we don’t know the answers. It was a long time ago.”

Melinda squawked a few times before finding her voice. “We will fight this. Won’t we, Tony? We’ll hire a lawyer and fight this. I don’t care what I signed or what the DNA says. I know who I am.”

Tony’s eyes shifted back between Fred and Melinda. Never one to hide his feelings well, Bailey could tell he was adding up the cost of the renovations he’d paid for as well as all the other loans he’d probably extended Melinda this past year.

“We will fight it,” Melinda repeated, less emphatically this time. “After all, it was your stupid idea to get the DNA testing in the first place, Tony. You owe me that, at the very least.”

Fred cleared his throat. “There is good news, however.”

“What’s that?” snapped Melinda.

“The Dakota apartment remains yours and Manvel’s. It’s outside the trust, so you both own a considerable asset.”

“Great. A stinky apartment in the shitty part of town. Thanks a lot.”

Melinda grabbed her purse and stomped out. Before she left the room, she leaned over Bailey, who was still wedged in the couch. “You’ll be sorry for this, for meddling. After everything I’ve done for you? I will take you down so fast you’ll end up in the streets, begging for handouts.”

Tony followed her, calling for her to wait for him.

Bailey took another deep breath, letting the air clear from all the arguing and harsh words. Melinda, even with all her faults, had been a friend and the only one who’d stuck by her after rehab, and the injustice of the revelation stung. She’d have to find a way to make this right. She heaved herself to the edge of the couch and sat there, numb. “So my dad and I are the heirs?”

Fred smiled. “Yes. The way the trust works, the money goes to your father, and then, upon his death, to you.”

Manvel sat beside her and patted her on the back. “Congratulations, Bailey. Nice detective work.”

“I didn’t mean for you and Melinda to lose everything. Your trust, your identity.”

“You kidding? I’m happy to take off the mantle of being a Camden. Never meant much to me to begin with. Maybe I’ll invent a new name, like Bowie did.”

Jack rose, extending his hand. “We really should make up for it. Include you in some way.”

“We can donate to your outsider artists,” offered Bailey.

Manvel stood and shook Jack’s hand, covering it with his own. “It’s not about money, what they do, and I’ve learned a lot from that. These artists want to create art because they’ve got an image or idea in their head and it just has to get out. They paint it or turn it into a giant mobile of scrap metal, but it comes from in here.” He tapped his head. “They don’t care about furthering their careers or making a ton of cash.”

A wave of tenderness swept over Bailey. “Kenneth is so proud of you, everything you’ve accomplished.”

“You’ve met Kenneth? I’m stopping by to say hello before I head out. Can I tell him the news?”

“Sure. Will you be staying at the apartment while you’re in town?”

“Nah, it’s not my home anymore. Never really was. I prefer a life on the road.”

“I like that,” said Jack. “Hey, I consider myself an outsider artist, working on cars all day. It’s its own kind of art.”

Manvel poked him in the chest, giddy. “That’s it exactly, man.”

He thanked Fred for his time before hitching his backpack over one shoulder and sauntering out. After he’d left, Bailey and Jack took the seats across from Fred’s desk.