He activated the speaker feature as he leaned back in the executive chair and rested his feet on the corner of the antique desk. “What’s up, cousin?”
“I’m calling to let you know Ciara and I have finally set a date for our wedding.”
Brandt “The Viking” Wainwright’s professional football career was cut short when he broke both legs in an automobile accident. Sidelined for the season and confined to his penthouse suite, Brandt had had a revolving door of private duty nurses before no-nonsense Ciara Dennison refused to let him bully her. In the end, Brandt realized he had met his match and his soul mate.
“Finally,” Giles teased. “When is it?”
“We’ve decided on February 21 at the family resort in the Bahamas. It’s after the Super Bowl, and that week the schools are out for winter break. And if adults want to bring their kids, then the more the merrier.”
Giles smiled. “I’m certain you won’t find an argument from the kids who’d rather hang out on a tropical beach than ski upstate.”
Brandt’s deep chuckle came through the speaker. “You’re probably right about that. Ciara’s mailing out the Save the Week notice to everyone. If the family is amenable to spending the week in the tropics, then I’ll make arrangements to reserve several villas to accommodate everyone.”
Giles listened as Brandt talked about their relatives choosing either to fly down on the corporate jet that seated eighteen, or sail down on the Mary Catherine, the Wainwright family yacht. Giles preferred sailing as his mode of transportation, because two to three times a month he flew down to the Bahamas to meet with the broker overseeing the sale of two dozen private islands now owned by Wainwright Developers Group International, or WDG, Inc.
The conversation segued to the news that there would be another addition to the Wainwright clan when Jordan and his wife, Aziza, welcomed their first child in the coming weeks.
Giles lowered his feet and sat straight when Jocelyn Lewis knocked softly on the door and stuck her head through the opening. She held an envelope in one hand.
Giles beckoned her in. “Hold on, Brandt, I need to get something from my assistant.”
“I know you’re busy, Giles, so I’ll talk to you later,” Brandt said.
“Give Ciara my love.”
“I’ll tell her.”
Giles ended the call, stood up and took the letter from Jocelyn’s outstretched hand. He thought of the woman as a priceless diamond after he had gone through a number of assistants in the four years since he’d started up the overseas division. Within minutes of Giles interviewing her, he had known Jocelyn was the one. At forty-six, she had left her position as director of a childcare center because she wanted to experience the corporate world. What prompted Giles to hire her on the spot was her admission that she’d taken several courses to become proficient in different computer programs.
He met the eyes of the woman who only recently had begun wearing makeup after terminating her membership with a church that frowned on women wearing pants and makeup. The subtle shade of her lipstick complemented the yellow undertones in her flawless mahogany complexion. “Who delivered this?” he asked, when he noticed that the stamp and the postmark were missing. Personal and Confidential was stamped below the addressee, while the return address indicated a Wickham Falls, West Virginia, law firm.
Jocelyn’s eyebrows lifted slightly behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. “George brought it up. He said it came with this morning’s FedEx delivery.”
Giles nodded. “Thank you.” All mail for the company was left at the front desk. The receptionist signed for documents requiring a signature, and then she alerted the mail room where George logged in and distributed letters and packages to their respective departments.
Jocelyn hesitated and met her boss’s eyes. “I just want to remind you that I’ll be in late tomorrow morning. I have to renew my driver’s license.”
He nodded. Jocelyn had saved his department thousands when she redesigned the website from ordinary to extraordinary with photos of Bahamian-Caribbean-style homes on private islands with breathtaking views of the Atlantic Ocean and others with incredibly pristine Caribbean beaches.
Waiting until she walked out of the office and closed the door behind her, Giles sat down and slid a letter opener under the flap of the envelope. A slight frown settled into his features when he read and reread the single page of type. He was being summoned to the reading of a will. The letter did not indicate to whom the will belonged, but requested he call to confirm his attendance.
Picking up the telephone receiver, he tapped the area code and then the numbers. “This is Giles Wainwright,” he said, introducing himself when the receptionist identified the name of the law firm. “I have a letter from your firm requesting my presence at the reading of a will this coming Thursday.”
There came a pause. “Please hold on, Mr. Wainwright, while I connect you to Mr. McAvoy’s office.”
Giles drummed his fingers on the top of the mahogany desk with a parquetry inlay.
“Mr. Wainwright, I’m Nicole Campos, Mr. McAvoy’s assistant. Are you calling to confirm your attendance?”
“I can’t confirm until I know who named me in their will.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wainwright, but I cannot disclose that at this time.”
He went completely still. “You expect me to fly from New York to West Virginia on a whim?”
“It’s not a whim, Mr. Wainwright. Someone from your past indicated your name in a codicil to their will. If you choose not to come, then we’ll consider the matter settled.”
Giles searched his memory for someone he’d met who had come from West Virginia. The only person that came to mind was a soldier under his command when they were deployed to Afghanistan.
Corporal John Foley had lost an eye when the Humvee in which he was riding was hit by shrapnel from a rocket-propelled grenade. The young marine was airlifted to a base hospital, awarded a purple heart and eventually medically discharged. Giles prayed that John, who had exhibited signs of PTSD, hadn’t taken his life like too many combat veterans.
He stared at the framed pen and ink and charcoal drawings of iconic buildings in major US cities lining the opposite wall. A beat passed as he contemplated whether he owed it to John or his family to reconnect with their past.
“Okay, Ms. Campos. I’ll be there.”
He could almost imagine the woman smiling when she said, “Thank you, Mr. Wainwright.”
Giles hung up and slumped down in the chair. He had just come back from the Bahamas two days ago, and he was looking forward to sleeping in his own bed for more than a week and hopefully catch up on what was going on with his parents and siblings.
Most days found him working in his office hours after other employees had gone home. It was when he spent time on the phone with his Bahamas-based broker negotiating the purchase of several more uninhabited islands. Other days were spent in weekly meetings with department heads and dinner meetings in the company’s private dining room with the officers and managers—all of whom were Wainwrights by bloodline or had married into the family.
Wainwright
