The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue (Guide #1)(82)

“Sounds more like Cash’s execution than his funeral,” Joey said. “How does the same person who started a worldwide hunger strike when Wiz Kids got canceled get invited to sing at the lead actor’s memorial? And she can’t even sing!”

“I didn’t see any video but I did see the pictures,” Sam said. “And I’m sorry, but it’s just tacky having a red carpet at a funeral. Did Amy Evans really need to wear that Pharrell hat to his service? So disrespectful.”

The whole table nodded at the notion.

“Wednesday nights aren’t going to be the same,” Topher said. “Maybe we should still video message one night a week and start a new show, like Doctor Who or Supernatural. We can even rope Huda and Davi into it!”

“That’s a great idea,” Mo said. “And don’t forget, we’re all meeting Sam in Rhode Island on the weekend of Thanksgiving, then we’ll be coming back here to see you guys for Christmas, and spring break you’ll be visiting me in New York.”

“I’m so glad you decided to stay in Downers Grove for school, Joey,” Sam said. “Oklahoma wouldn’t have been a very fun place to meet up for a holiday.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I’m staying here, too,” Joey said. “Topher and I are both going to get our GEs and then transfer somewhere fancier in the future. Hopefully someplace on the East Coast close to you guys so vacations will be easier.”

Topher looked around the table and smiled at his friends. They’d stuck to the promise they made Cash and had come a long way in just a month’s time. He hoped wherever the actor was, he was watching them with a lot of pride. He didn’t reminisce for very long, though, because the moment was interrupted when his phone began buzzing in his pocket.

“Someone’s calling me with a 323 number,” Topher said. “Anyone know where that’s from?”

“I think that’s Los Angeles,” Mo said.

“Hello?”

“Hi, am I speaking with a Christopher Collins?” asked a man on the phone.

“Yes, who is this?” Topher asked.

“I’m so relieved to finally touch base with you, Mr. Collins. I’ve been trying to track you down for a couple weeks. My name is Carl Weinstock, I was Cash Carter’s lawyer before he passed away.”

“Hi, Mr. Weinstock,” Topher said, and then covered the phone to address the curious looks on his friends’ faces. “It’s Cash’s lawyer.”

“What does he want?” Joey whispered.

Topher shrugged. “What can I do for you?”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Mr. Weinstock said. “I’m the executor of Mr. Carter’s will and need to finish distributing his assets by the end of the week. He left a trust behind in your name—if I flew into the Chicago area tomorrow, would you be free to meet?”

“Oh, sure,” Topher said, then glanced at his friends. “Cash left me something in his will.”

“Fancy!” Sam said.

“You wouldn’t happen to be in contact with a Mr. Joseph Davis, a Ms. Samantha Gibson, or a Ms. Moriko Ishikawa, would you?” Mr. Weinstock asked.

“As a matter of fact, all three of them are sitting in front of me,” Topher said.

“What does he want with us?” Mo asked.

“That’s terrific!” Mr. Weinstock said. “Mr. Carter left trusts behind in their names as well. Could they accompany you if we found a time tomorrow that worked for everyone’s schedule?”

“Let me ask,” Topher said. “Sam, what time am I taking you to the airport tomorrow?”

“Not until four,” he replied.

Topher gave him a thumbs-up. “We’re free until around three o’clock,” he said into the phone.

“Super,” Mr. Weinstock said. “I’ll go ahead and book my flight this evening. I have an associate in Chicago who will let us use their meeting space. I’ll reach out tomorrow with a time and an address once I confirm it.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “We’ll see you then.”

Topher hung up the phone. His friends were staring at him like they had just watched a Hitchcock movie with the sound turned off.

“What was that all about?” Mo asked.

“Apparently Cash left something behind for all of us in his will,” he said. “His lawyer needs to meet with us tomorrow in Chicago so he can distribute the trusts he put aside.”

“Wow,” Sam said. “I wonder what he left us.”

“I hope it isn’t more of that weed he made us smoke,” Mo said.



At ten o’clock the following morning, Topher received a text message from Carl Weinstock with a time and address to meet him at. Topher passed the message along to his friends and at two o’clock they met him on the twenty-third floor of a towering office building in downtown Chicago. The floor belonged to a swanky firm called Meredith Brown and Associates and a receptionist at the front desk escorted them into a long and intimidating boardroom. Carl Weinstock was waiting for them inside with an open briefcase. He was a short and chubby man with a thick mustache.

“Thank you all so much for meeting me on such short notice,” he said, and shook their hands. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll get through this as quickly as I can.”