you all wish you’d agreed to it instead of being so fucking squeamish. My God, if we’d had her locked up, it sure as hell would have solved our present little problem, wouldn’t it?”
Controlling her temper, Meredith realized it was probably better to let Joanna have her say. As the woman continued her rant, Meredith took stock of the other members of the family. Ward, Rowena’s half nephew, looked vacant as usual. Mary Chris, his sister, had her hands clasped piously in her lap and wore her customary saintly expression. Their mother’s face was blank. Charles had gone gray at the gills. The only missing relative was Craig, Rowena’s third nephew, who still had to fly in from London.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Joanna was saying. “What the hell did she plan to do with the money, then?” She turned to glare at Meredith. “If we’re not going to get it, who is? Surely Dallas doesn’t get it all?”
“I’m afraid Dallas doesn’t get anything, either,” Meredith said slowly, pausing to take a deep breath. She looked up. All eyes were upon her. The room seethed with pressure, as though each and every one there guessed there was more bad news to come. And boy, was there, Meredith thought grimly. Straightening her shoulders, she said quietly, her tone neutral, “The sole heir to Rowena’s estate, excepting some personal bequests, is her grandson.”
“What?” Joanna exclaimed in a high-pitched squeak.
“Her grandson?” Charles exclaimed, frowning, his jaw tense. “There must be some mistake. She had no grandson.”
“Actually, she did,” Meredith countered, outwardly calm. “Isabel, Rowena’s daughter, had a child out of wedlock.”
A general gasp echoed throughout the drawing room. Charles’s pallor increased. Joanna sat dumbstruck. Mary Chris blushed and murmured something incomprehensible under her breath, while her mother’s set features took on an inscrutable cold expression. Ward just sat there, smiling politely, quite unaware of the true meaning of Meredith’s words.
“This grandson,” Meredith continued warily, “was given up for adoption at birth. But it appears Rowena tracked him down some ten years ago and made him the sole beneficiary of the bulk of her will.”
“Good God,” Charles exclaimed, dabbing a white handkerchief to his lips.
“But if he was legally adopted, then he has no rights,” Joanna interrupted, her eyes narrowed in bitter anger as she tossed her perfectly colored strawberry-blond hair back.
“He’s still her lineal descendent. Rowena established his birth connection. Anyway, the point’s moot, because she made him her heir. She had the legal right to leave her fortune to anyone she chose.”
“You said everything?” Charles interrupted, his voice strained. “You mean the properties, the furniture, all her personal assets?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“How much money are we talking about?” Joanna asked, her voice shaking with loathing.
“One hundred million dollars, give or take.”
Gasps erupted from all corners of the room.
“A hundred million dollars? But we never knew Rowena had that kind of money.” Joanna’s manicured hands were shaking now. “How is this possible? How could she have done this? It’s not fair.”
“I understand how upset you are,” Meredith countered, shifting her legs under the desk and wishing that the meeting were over, “but actually it’s even more unfair for Dallas. After all, she’s a grandchild, too. And Rowena has left her nothing. Except for a string of pearls.”
“Not her black pearls?” Joanna hissed.
“Uh, yes. I believe those are the ones.” Meredith quickly checked the file.
“But she promised those to me. Why, the old bitch has done nothing but lie and pretend all these years! When I think of the time and attention I lavished on her,” Joanna screeched, rising abruptly and turning on Meredith. “It was all a waste!”
“Well,” Meredith countered, “you aren’t without resources. You will, of course, continue to receive the income from the trust she established for you. Subject to certain conditions.”
“The income,” she threw scathingly. “As if I cared about the goddamn income. It’s the capital I’m interested in—that’s what I’ve been waiting for all these years.”
“Naturally,” Meredith said dryly, discomfort fast changing to disdain as Joanna’s performance evolved, “you will have to continue fulfilling the requirements—”
“Requirements,” Joanna spat, prowling the Aubusson carpet of Rowena’s stately drawing room, hands clenched. “How dare she do this to us? How dare she?”
“As I was saying,” Meredith continued, ignoring the outburst, “the trust’s requirements will still need to be met.” She swallowed, knowing what would come next. “As the heir to her affairs, Rowena’s grandson, Mr. Grant Gallagher, has been named cotrustee with me. We will be the ones to determine if the requirements are met.”
Joanna erupted. “You mean to tell me that not only has she named some godforsaken bastard of Isabel’s her heir, but that she’s made him a trustee to what’s rightfully ours?”
“Oh, Joanna, shut up,” Charles said tightly. “Meredith, what do we know about this Gallagher person?”
“Well, it’s not the best news, I’m afraid. Grant Gallagher is a well-known corporate raider. Remember the Bronstern affair last year?” She glanced up.
“Of course. What has that got to do with it?”
“Everything,” she replied, trying to keep the bitterness from her tone. “He was responsible for breaking up the company. I don’t know how many people lost their jobs.”
“My God,” he muttered, “then there’s no hope of his declining the inheritance, I guess.” His hands fell in his lap and he looked suddenly years older. And very sad, Meredith realized, feeling rather sorry for him, but also wondering why he seemed so devastated. Married to a wealthy Bostonian wife, Marcia, he was probably in a far better position financially than the rest of them.
“This is just so unfair,” Joanna continued, her voice shaking as she paced the room.
“Hardly unfair, Joanna. She didn’t need to make that trust in the first place. Basically, it all goes on the same,” she pointed out reasonably.
“You actually expect me to go groveling to some bastard child of Isabel’s for my share?” Joanna stared at Meredith, shocked.
“I’m afraid you won’t have a choice. Mr. Gallagher and I will have sole discretion as to the disbursement of funds. In other words, you will have to receive our approval.”
“The bitch,” Joanna whispered again hoarsely, staring out of the bay window onto the luscious garden she’d been so certain would one day be hers. “The fucking hypocrite.”
“Joanna,” Charles reprimanded, “this is hardly the time to be criticizing our benefactress.”
“Benefactress my
