Wish You Were Gone(71)
EMMA
The Cantor Feldman offices were in a converted mansion near downtown Oakmont, with a working fountain in the center of the paver driveway and a bell at the front door. A receptionist came and ushered Emma, Kelsey, and Hunter to Evan’s office at the rear of the building, which overlooked expansive gardens through a wall of French doors. The hedges were meticulously trimmed, the lawn cut in perfect rows, and orange and yellow mums burst from hundreds of stone pots. Emma wished she could appreciate the beauty of it all, but she was too busy trying to control her nerves.
When she came around the corner into the office, she half expected to see a dozen mistresses sitting in rows of chairs facing Evan’s desk waiting for their fair share, but there was no one there other than Charles Lipschultz—Garrison & Walsh’s lead attorney—and Evan himself. Emma let out the breath she’d been holding all morning. She knew the possibility still existed that other women—Jenny Mahone included—could be named in the will, but at least she didn’t have to look at them. Now she didn’t know what to hope for—that James had left something to his current mistress so that she would finally get a name, or that he hadn’t.
If the will didn’t name names, then Emma was going into the city to get James’s computer back herself.
“Emma, it’s good to see you.” Evan rounded his desk and placed his meaty hands on the sides of Emma’s arms, leaning in for a cheek kiss. He was so tan his skin looked like her favorite leather bag and his brown eyes were shot through with tired, red veins. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
He released her and looked at Hunter and Kelsey. “Kids.”
“Hello,” Kelsey said meekly.
Hunter was silent.
“Well, have a seat.” Evan gestured at the chairs across from his desk. Emma nodded at Charlie, unsure as to why he was here. He looked much older than the last time she’d seen him—the wrinkles in his forehead deeper, the skin under his chin saggier, his blue eyes watery—but his posture was still ramrod straight and his gray suit pressed. He nodded back, then returned to texting on his cell phone. Even with her kids at her sides, Emma felt very alone. Part of her had been certain that Gray would be here, even though they hadn’t spoken since the memorial. After twenty-four hours of calling, Gray had apparently given up, and the fact that she hadn’t shown for this meant that she’d gotten the message. Emma was still angry at her, but the initial shock and ire had faded enough that she felt stung by Gray’s absence.
What if Emma had gone too far? Could she even imagine a future that didn’t include Gray?
“Well, let’s get right down to it,” Evan said. “As I mentioned on the phone, James made some recent changes to his will to deal with the dispersal of certain specific assets in his private collection.”
Kelsey sat up straight. “Mom?”
“Sorry, what?” Emma said. “His private collection?”
“His sports memorabilia collection,” Evan clarified. “James bequeathed certain game-used baseballs to the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York, for example. And he’s asked to have various items donated to the Hockey Hall of Fame, the Pro Football Hall of Fame, the World Golf Hall of Fame, et cetera, et cetera. All the interested parties are on speaker phone to hear the reading.” Evan gestured at a flat speaker in the middle of his desk, and Emma felt heat rise up her neck. Dozens of people were listening to this?
“Mom? No way. There’s no way Dad did that,” Hunter protested.
“And then there’s the fact that certain assets technically belong to the company,” Charles put in, scrolling on his phone. “There are some items James procured during the execution of official company business. Mr. Garrison would like those items returned to the Garrison and Walsh collection.”
Hunter slumped back heavily in his chair and looked past Emma at Kelsey, whose mouth hung slightly open in shock. Emma wasn’t sure if there was a specific piece of memorabilia that Kelsey had her eye on, or if it was simply the pointed screw you that was upsetting her—James’s collection had to be worth a ton of money—but she put her hand on her daughter’s knee.
“I’m sorry, but James specified many times that his memorabilia was going to be left to his children.”
“Apparently he had a change of heart,” Evan said, rather coldly, Emma thought. He lifted the document, printed on heavy stock, and handed it across the desk to Emma. “The bulk of the collection still belongs to the family, but this is an itemized list of the things he’s bequeathed to others.”
“I’d like a copy of that as well so that we can dispute ownership of any assets we believe belong to the company,” Charles said, eyeing the list over Emma’s shoulder. He smelled of tobacco and cough drops.
“Of course.”
“And that’s it?” Emma said, as Hunter plucked the list from her hands. “There were no other… specific bequests?”
“No.” Evan lifted another copy of the list. “But he asked that I read the list aloud so that everyone is clear; and Charles, if there’s anything you’d like to contest on the spot, please do let me know.” He cleared his throat and began to read. “Lou Gehrig game-used baseball, 1925, to the National Baseball Hall of Fame.”