“I want everything executed.”
He looked at me steadily.
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
He opened a thick file on his desk. Leonard and Lucy would have fainted if they had seen it. Inside were the structures Margaret and I had built over decades: trusts, property companies, investment accounts, beneficiary changes, charitable foundations, letters of intent, transfer documents, sealed instructions.
James turned the first page.
“Current estimated net worth, as of last quarter, is eight point seven million.”
I felt nothing when he said it.
That surprised me.
Maybe because the number had never been the point. It had been safety. Freedom. A reward for discipline. A legacy Margaret and I planned to use carefully. Not a trophy.
But I could not ignore the absurdity.
Lucy had slapped me for asking for fifty dollars while standing less than ten miles from assets worth millions.
James continued.
“The Maple Street property is still solely in your name through the original trust. Leonard has no ownership interest. He has lived there under permission only.”
“Good.”
“The apartment building is owned by Westbridge Holdings, which you control.”
“So Leonard has been collecting rent from a building I own.”
“Through a management arrangement, yes. Though the funds ultimately route back into your accounts after fees.”
I laughed quietly.
James glanced at me.
“I know.”
“He thinks he’s my landlord.”
“He thinks a lot of things.”
“What about the insurance?”
“All policies naming Leonard as beneficiary can be changed immediately. The large one already had a conditional clause Margaret insisted on. Given the documented abuse, we can redirect it without issue.”
“Do it.”
“The will?”
“Rewrite it.”
James picked up his pen.
“To what extent?”
“Leonard gets one dollar.”
His hand paused.
“Henry.”
“One dollar.”
“And Lucy?”
“Nothing.”
“That part is easy.”
I leaned back.
“The rest goes where Margaret wanted it to go. Children’s hospital. Animal shelter. The scholarship fund for women in accounting. Set aside enough for the cemetery trust and property staff overseas.”
James looked up.
“You’re really going to Italy.”
“Margaret bought the dream before she died. I’m just finally moving into it.”
His expression softened.
“The villa near Montalcino.”
“She always said the light there looked like forgiveness.”
James smiled sadly.
“She had a way with lines.”
“She had a way with everything.”
We spent hours working through details. The house sale. The notices. The beneficiary changes. The documentation of Lucy’s assault. The letters. The closing schedule. The travel plan. The accounts Leonard had access to and the many more he did not.
At one point, James removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“This is going to destroy them.”