The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil #2)(115)

Her eyes came to the windows and her face paled.

So his eyes came to the windows.

They hit Izzy and shifted to me.

And they filled with sorrow as his expression filled with longing.

“Oh God,” I whispered.

Iz saw it too, I knew it because I heard her whimper.

It was a wonder we didn’t get whiplash with how fast Johnny and Toby put a halt to our movement.

“Can they do this separate from him?” Johnny demanded to know.

“I’m sorry, the only stipulation Mrs. Aubrey included was that her will could not be read, or enforced, unless all three parties who stood to inherit were in attendance at the reading,” the elegant man replied.

And he did sound sorry.

“Goddamn shit,” Toby cursed under his breath.

I squeezed his hand tight. “We’re good.”

He glowered at me.

“We’re good, honey,” I lied.

“Eliza?” Johnny prompted.

“I’m okay, h?schen.”

Toby looked to the elegant man, who had probably introduced himself, but I hadn’t caught it.

“Let’s get this done,” he ground out.

The man nodded and moved us to the door.

Then we were in.

“Barry, all the parties are here. Eliza and Adeline Forrester and their fiancés, Johnathon and Tobias Gamble.”

“Right,” an older, less slender, no less elegant man said.

He was positioned in the middle at the long side of the conference table with another, much younger man sitting next to him.

“Thanks, Jason,” Barry went on to our guy, getting up and coming our way, hand held out while Jason left the room. “Eliza, Adeline. Barry Frischman.”

“Sir,” Izzy said, shaking.

I just shook.

Both of us, I noticed, were avoiding looking down the table.

“Gentlemen,” he nodded to Johnny and Toby.

He got chin lifts.

“Please take your seats. This won’t take long,” he bid.

Four, rolling swivel chairs were arranged for us, crowded around the narrow end of the table.

Toby held my seat as I sat.

Johnny held Izzy’s.

They sat.

Barry turned and looked down at the young man at his side. “Please make note all parties are here, Andrew. And let’s get started.”

He also took his seat.

Toby reached out for my hand.

I held on tightly.

And I kept my eyes glued firmly to Barry Frischman.

“With sensitivity to time and circumstances, I’ll just get down to it,” Barry declared. He put on some reading glasses, picked up a piece of paper and launched in, “I, Helena June Aubrey, residing at twelve Doncaster Way, Carlisle, Kentucky, declare this to be my Will and I revoke any and all wills and codicils I previously made.”

I reached out to Izzy who was seated beside me.

We also held hands.

Tightly.

It didn’t last long.

She gave everything she had, and there was a lot, to Harlan “Harley” Aubrey, our father.

Except for two million dollars, which the estate would pay inheritance taxes on, and it would be split equally between Eliza Anne Forrester Aubrey and Adeline June Forrester Aubrey.

Our true legal names.

Mom had never been able to divorce Dad nor had she had the money to affect a name change for any of us.

Like Lance Gamble, she’d died officially married.

I hadn’t heard those names in years.

And finally, there was the kicker.

A further three million dollars was bequeathed. Money that would be held in trust with Adeline June Forrester Aubrey as executor and given to Brooklyn True Flynn on his twenty-fifth birthday.

My hands were spasming in both Toby’s and Izzy’s.

Toby held strong.

Izzy’s was rippling right back.

“And that’s it,” Barry declared, dropping the papers and taking off his glasses to look side to side. “Our firm, as executor, will make all arrangements. This should be concluded by the end of next week.”

He stood but did it with his eyes Izzy and my way.

“June asked me, with respect, to request of you, also with respect, to allow your father a moment of your time. It was June’s wish, and obviously mine that you know if this is something you feel you cannot do, you may leave at your convenience. Also, if you’d like to stay, Jason can take the necessary information from you now so that we can arrange for the transfers and finalize setting up the trust for Brooklyn. If you need to be on your way, we’ll phone you. Now,” he shoved his chin in his throat, glanced at the man who had been sitting next to him, and finished on a mutter, “we’ll take our leave.”

With that, the other guy got up and they started taking their leave.

Apparently, we were going to take our leave too, because Toby pulling me from my chair and Johnny pulling Iz from hers tore our hands apart.

“Please don’t.”

A woman’s voice. Soft. Imploring.

The wife.

God, God, God.

“Those were my words,” Johnny returned.

“Honey,” Iz said softly.

“Let them go, Fonda.”

Our dad.

God, God, God.

His voice.