The Ultimate Gift, Page 2

  Then he offered a perfectly inappropriate smile. “For what?”

  chapter 2

  hamilton was glad they’d called the meeting for earlier rather than later. He’d been dreading this since he rose out of bed, and it was time to get it over with. From his office, he could hear them all talking over each other. You’d never know they were a family, apart from a DNA test. And in a few cases, even that likely wouldn’t be relevant.

  Miss Hastings waited patiently at his door, her fingers intertwined, her face expectant. A small smile emerged as she watched him leave the safety of his desk.

  He gave her a knowing glance. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Everything is in order? I don’t want to have to be in there any longer than necessary.”

  “We’re ready for you, sir.”

  Hamilton, followed closely by Miss Hastings, shuffled to the conference room with the aid of a cane. As big as it was, the room suddenly seemed small. A horde of people had taken it over, huddling in groups. Every family member, save one, was there, along with their various entourages. As Hamilton walked in, greedy faces turned to him. The room hushed, but in their eyes Hamilton could see anxious, animal-like hunger for what awaited them. Some licked their lips. Others suppressed eager smiles. And all of their lawyers held suspicious expressions.

  “Good morning,” Hamilton said, glancing at each of them in turn. “Before we start, I’d like to say how much Red meant to me personally. As you know, we started out as business partners and we ended up as friends. I am deeply grieved by his passing.”

  “Yes, well, that’s very nice,” Bill said. “Now, may we proceed?” They wanted business? Fine. Business it would be. Hamilton kept his expression even and his tone professional as he pulled out his chair and sat between his two associates, Gregory and Linda.

  “Red’s will is in his own words,” Hamilton began. “Still, every bit is legal and binding—”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” a teenager said from the corner of the room. “And so,” Hamilton continued, looking down at the document in front of him. He put on his reading glasses. “‘My eldest son, Bill, I leave my company, Panhandle Oil and Gas . . .’”

  “Currently worth six hundred million dollars,” Gregory stated as he looked at the laptop in front of him.

  Hamilton glanced up to see Bill smiling at his attorney. “‘However,’” Hamilton continued to read, “‘Bill, since you had zero interest in my company while I was alive, I don’t imagine that will change much after my death. Therefore, the board will maintain control.’”

  One of Bill’s lawyers actually gasped. “Excuse me,” he said, as if he had some authority in the matter, “but my client would like to explore all of his options—”

  “Your client has no more options,” Hamilton said bluntly. He watched anger simmer beneath Bill’s cold stare and offered a polite and mannerly smile in return.

  Bill was about to retort when Linda said, “One of those instructions Mr. Hamilton skipped over is Red’s desire that each of you vacate after receiving your portion of the estate.”

  Bill stood there wide eyed, seemingly unable to understand it was his time to “vacate.” His lawyer looked as if he might faint.

  “As in leave the room,” Linda added.

  Bill looked angrily at his attorney. “She can’t talk to me like that. Do something!”

  Hamilton was already tired of this, and it was just round one. “You can go now, Mr. Stevens.”

  “What?” Bill exclaimed. His lawyer whispered something in his ear, which didn’t appear to lower Bill’s frustration, but he grabbed his briefcase. “All right. Fine. Fine!”

  His other lawyer quickly gathered the wife and kids, herding them out the door. All the way into the elevator they could be heard bickering. “I have never been so humiliated! And did you see that old man talk to me that way? And you guys sat there and said absolutely nothing!”

  Hamilton patiently waited for the elevator doors to close before proceeding. He turned to page two and looked up at Ruth, Red Stevens’s only daughter. There was a bit of terror in her overdone eyes. “Next . . .”

  Jason Stevens heard shouting in the elevator shafts. The doors slid open on the eighth floor, and he walked out. Yes, it was Bill’s voice, heard as it plunged downward in another elevator. There were other voices coming from the boardroom, and he stood for a moment and listened. The last thing he wanted was to be in there. Noticing a nice leather chair in the small waiting room outside, he hopped over its back and fell into it sideways, swinging his knees over the armrest. He grabbed a nearby magazine, just for the effect, but he was all ears as he heard his aunt’s screechy voice floating out.

  “That’s it?” she asked. “A cow farm?”

  Jason smiled. Oh, this was going to be fun. In a spinal-tap sort of way.

  Someone explained, “A ten-thousand-acre cow farm.”

  Suddenly Ruth was at the door, her husband, Rick, in tow. She didn’t even notice Jason as she steamed past. “Well, what’s that worth, anyway?”

  Rick hurried behind her like a needy animal. “Ruth, come on.

  Come here. What exactly do we get?”

  “A place for you to take your mistress,” Ruth spat. Jason lowered his magazine just in time to see her slam her hand against the elevator button. Moo. Let the insanity begin.

  “I want to see everything! Full disclosure!” That was Jack. He had by far the loudest voice and the most scandalous secrets, and he was always the first one to get drunk at a party.

  “Good day, Mr. Stevens,” another voice replied.

  Suddenly Jack was out in the hallway with his lawyer. Again, nobody noticed Jason as he observed like a fly on the wall.

  “This is a long way from over, Jack,” the lawyer was saying, trying to guide him toward the elevator.

  “You said it was a slam dunk!”

  “Jack, I’ll handle it.”

  Jack shoved his way past the lawyer, yelling at his wife and kids to hurry up. They hustled toward him and all got on the elevator together. No one said a word.

  “‘To Sarah, the widow of my late son Jay Howard Stevens . . .’” Jason suddenly felt sick in the pit of his stomach. He was going to have to deal with his mother. Why had he even showed up? He’d told her he wasn’t coming, but he’d come anyway. He hated that, but she could heap a lot of guilt on, and sometimes it was worth just doing what she wanted.

  “‘. . . I am truly sorry for the events of the past. Please know that Jay’s death represents the greatest tragedy I have ever experienced . . .’”

  Anger replaced whatever emotion lingered in the depths of his stomach. What a crock. How could his mother stand to hear it?

  “‘. . . I leave you control of my Myer’s Park estate where you now reside and a managed trust for expenses as long as you live. Since your choice of male companionship is vast and varied, the deed and title for the house will remain under the control of my trustees.’”

  “Good day, Mr. Hamilton,” he heard his mother say, and then she was out the door. She was the only one to notice him there, and she stomped over, slapping his feet down off the chair. Behind her was one of her boyfriends, clinging to her like static and looking remarkably younger than the last time Jason had seen him.

  Inside the boardroom, he heard a woman say, “It’s amazing just how far the fruit can fall from the tree.”

  “And still roll a great distance,” came Hamilton’s reply.

  His mother glared at him as they made their way to the elevators. “Nice of you to show up. You’re in time for nothin’. Let’s go.” Jason was just stepping into the elevator, trying to remember the name of his mother’s latest boyfriend, when he heard his name called.

  He paused, then stepped back out of the elevator. He heard it again.

  “Jason?”

  Through the open door, he studied the man still sitting in the boardroom—an older, distinguished-looking black gentleman with gray at
the temples, hunched shoulders, and disappointment in his tired-looking eyes. “How do you know my name?” Jason asked.

  “It’s my business to know everyone named in your grandfather’s will.”

  Jason glanced at his mother, then back at this man. “Well, let’s cut the BS, ’cause I know what he left me. Nothing.”

  “Walk away,” the man said, “and you’ll never know, will you?” He could hear his mother’s sigh fill the elevator. Against his better judgment he let go of the elevator door. It swished closed as he walked toward the conference room, where two associates were just leaving. As he entered, they returned with a sealed box he guessed was supposed to look impressive.

  “So what’s in the box?” he asked Hamilton.

  “Your inheritance. Have a seat.” It was a command, not a request.

  Jason fell into the chair with a sloppy indifference. Terrific. How ludicrous could this get? What was next? A map to some buried pirate treasure? He knew it: Red was a pirate.

  “I am Mr. Hamilton. This is Miss Hastings.”

  Jason glanced at the woman, who had an air of avid politeness about her.

  Hamilton gestured toward the box. “Does the box or the seal appear to have been tampered with in any way?”

  Jason shrugged. “No.”

  “Then,” said Hamilton with a ridiculous amount of seriousness, “therefore witness this day that I am breaking the seal affixed in my presence by Red himself. Miss Hastings?” He reached into the box and pulled out a DVD, which he handed to Miss Hastings.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jason watched Miss Hastings walk to the back of the room. Suddenly the conference room went dark, and before him a panel slid up, revealing a screen. A video image of his grandfather appeared.

  “Are we on?” his grandfather asked.

  A voice off screen said he was.

  Jason watched as his grandfather stared into the camera with steely eyes and a tightly drawn mouth. There was still that part of him that was a cowboy, Jason observed. Maybe he should’ve stuck to his ranch and left everyone else alone. Things would’ve been better that way. But then again, Red had never cared much about what affected who or why.

  “Well, then,” he continued, “if you’re watching this, I must be dead. That’s a strange concept. How was my funeral? Well attended? Hope it rained.”

  Jason rolled his eyes and kicked his feet up on the table. That was a joke Red used to tell. Something about it raining at his funeral. Jason couldn’t remember it, but whatever it was, it was stupid.

  He felt Hamilton’s hand on his feet, pushing them off the table.

  “Hamilton? Miss Hastings? Hope you’re having a better day than I am. But if you’ve just been with my family, I doubt it.”

  Jason glanced at Hamilton, who chuckled with Miss Hastings at the joke.

  “Jason,” Red continued, “I made a lot of mistakes with our family. But you’re the one I think I hurt the most.”

  Jason suddenly felt strangely vulnerable. Here he was sitting in a dark room with strangers, and his grandfather felt the need to confess some things to him? He’d had plenty of time in life to do it. The coward had left it on a tape? Hardly noble. And, Jason guessed, not particularly sincere either.

  “The only way I can make it up to you is to not give you anything.”

  “I knew it.” Jason stood. It was time to go. He didn’t need this. “What I mean by that is I’m not giving you anything just yet. So sit back down there.”

  Jason glanced at Hamilton, embarrassment running through him at the fact he was so predictable. He slowly sat back down. Yeah, fine. The old man had known Jason would stand. So what? There was a whole lot more he didn’t know.

  Red continued. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. How can I give you something and not have it ruin you like your uncles and aunts? Even some of their kids. So I want to give you a gift. A series of gifts leading up to . . . Well, I’m gonna call it the ultimate gift.” Red gestured like that was significant. Then his tone grew serious. “Now, you fail in any way, it’s over. You get nothing. And everything you do must be to Mr. Hamilton’s satisfaction.”

  Jason exchanged a glance with Hamilton, who didn’t seem the least bit stirred by anything they were hearing. Instead, his eyes were stern, leaving the rest of his face expressionless.

  “You might want to make friends with him sooner than later,” Red said with a small smile. Then the video faded to black and the lights came back on.

  Jason tried to process everything, but before he could, Miss Hastings was by his side, handing him an electronic device. “This is a voice-activated Conversay,” she said. “It allows two-way communication between our office and you, and you can also replay Red’s messages on it if you need to.”

  Jason tried several times to think of something to say, but nothing was coming out.

  An assistant entered the room and handed Hamilton a sheet of paper. Scanning it, he nodded satisfactorily. “Ah, good. There’s a flight to Houston tomorrow at seven a.m.,” he told Jason.

  “As in morning? Seven a.m.?”

  “Yes, that seven a.m.”

  “For what?”

  “You have until then to accept.”

  Jason looked anxiously at them. “Why do I have to go?”

  “You’ll find out when you get there,” Hamilton said with a take-it-or-leave-it tone.

  Jason headed for the door. “This is whacked.”

  “You might want to rethink that,” Hamilton said.

  Jason stopped and turned. He was tired of being bullied by this man and his mysterious box. “What could he possibly give me that he hasn’t already taken away? Huh? He can go to hell. Both of you can go to hell.”

  Noise. Lots of it. And that’s the way Jason liked it. Louder, bigger, faster, higher. People swarmed from one room to another, dancing, talking, drinking. He set his glass down and walked away from it all.

  He found himself alone in a bedroom, staring at a picture frame. His father smiled back, standing beside a young boy Jason hardly recognized anymore. He was looking more like his father and less like the boy he used to be. Even his hair, cut short, had darkened with age. A plaque on the frame read “Boys Night Out.”

  “Hi.”

  Caitlin. Jason turned. “Hi.”

  She smiled, then gazed toward the party. “Why are you in here?”

  “No reason.”

  “How was your day?”

  “I’m not sure.” Jason decided to walk the crowd.

  “What do you mean?” Caitlin asked, following him.

  “My grandfather may have left me something.”

  Caitlin’s eyes widened, sparkling in the glow of the mood lighting. “Yeah?”

  “I’m just trying to figure it out.”

  “You mean it’s not cash?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  Jason turned from her. Yeah, it was as complicated as it sounded.

  More complicated. He picked up the glass he’d set down and finished it off with his back to her. “Well, if I want to play into his little power trip, I gotta go pick it up.”

  “Where?”

  Jason could hardly bring himself to say it. He didn’t want this to own him. Nothing had ever owned him before. “Texas.”

  “Eck.” Caitlin looked repulsed.

  “You know what? I’m not going.”

  A flirtatious smile curved over her glossy lips. “Well, aren’t you at least curious?” she said, trying to keep up with him as he made his way to the balcony. “What if it’s gold?”

  “He ruined my life. My best revenge is to just ignore him. Besides, I’ve got a trust fund. Worst-case scenario, I’ll live off my mom.” That was the worst-case scenario, beyond being tortured or made to drive anything with six cylinders. He looked at Caitlin. “I don’t need his money.”

  “Yeah, but one can always use some extra walking-around money.”

  “Not if I have to sell my soul
.”

  Laughter erupted from inside the penthouse. The partygoers were oblivious to how obnoxious his life had just become.

  Caitlin looked to be in serious thought. “But if you had to,” she said, “at least try to get as much out of him as you can. I mean, my gosh, what if you actually had to get a job sometime?”

  Jason sighed. Then he’d sell his soul, but not a second before.

  chapter 3

  there was nothing better than riding a motorcycle into a tunnel or some sort of covered parking. Jason revved his engine, and those people near the curb hurried toward the door, giving him disgusted looks. He slowed his V-Max down and pulled to the curb, stopping right at the “Do Not Park” sign and resting the bike on its kickstand. As he hopped off and headed for the automatic doors, he glanced back and laughed. Already a police officer had pulled his pad out and was writing a ticket.

  Standing just inside the terminal doors was Miss Hastings. Jason liked her. Wished his mom had been that kind of woman. There was no denying the skepticism, and a bit of irritation, in her eyes. But she seemed to be the only one who didn’t look down on him. He walked straight up to her and grabbed the Conversay and the plane ticket she held out to him. When she looked meaningfully at the motorcycle outside, he grinned.

  “Police escort . . . sort of.” He strolled toward the security gate. But the fun soon ended when he was asked to remove his shoes and succumb to search by magic wand. He hated flying commercial. What was Red trying to prove? Why would he go to all this trouble for a grandson he hardly knew anymore? It seemed ridiculous. Why not just give all his money to Bill Gates and be done with it? Warren Buffet had. It had been all the talk for a while—the second-richest man in the world giving the first-richest man all his money. It was absurd and genius all at once. Especially if you wanted to alienate your family.

  Which Red had done in textbook form. Red’s children had tolerated him, but everyone knew it was only because they didn’t want to be cut out of the will. Jason himself hadn’t been able to stand Red.

  So what was all this about? The old man making up for what he’d done? Impossible. But Jason had to admit he was curious. Maybe that’s why he’d come today. And to wipe that smug look off Hamilton’s face.