each of them would defend the other against the world.
“How’s your momma?” Millie asked. “Is she still in Georgia with your grandmother?”
He nodded. “She sounds good when I talk to her, and my grandmother has almost recovered from her surgery. Mother should be coming home soon.”
But not in time to be here today. He glanced toward the den, not looking forward to the next hour.
When Peter entered the room, he nodded to his grandfather’s attorney, Robert Corbett, and then spoke to his aunt Amelia before he took a seat in one of the wingback chairs. His cousin Jake had commandeered his grandfather’s leather recliner.
“Now that everyone is present we can begin,” Corbett said. “First I want you to understand that although the will is in Richard’s wording, it is legal.”
Heads nodded and he began. “To my daughter, Amelia, and my daughter-in-law, Deborah, I leave half of my personal property to be divided equally between you, except for the house. That goes solely to my daughter. Robert will put all the hereby and wherewiths in later if they are needed.”
His grandfather’s verbiage sounded strange in the lawyer’s hushed tones. Peter glanced at his cousin, then his aunt, fearing they might resent Grandfather leaving so much to his daughter-in-law. But no frowns appeared.
Peter hadn’t expected to receive the house. In fact, he didn’t expect to receive much of anything. He was here because his mother had delegated him to represent the family at the reading of the will since she couldn’t come.
Robert Corbett continued, “The other half goes to my two grandsons with the exception of the following bequeaths.”
Peter blinked back his surprise. Sitting across from him, Jake did the same thing. Even though Peter and his grandfather had put their past differences behind them, he hadn’t expected to be left a quarter of the estate.
Not that he ever wanted any of Richard Elliott’s money, but he had wanted his approval—something he wasn’t sure he had until now. That’s what a will was—a person’s final judgment of his heirs. He took in a satisfied breath and released it.
The attorney went on to list the few people his grandfather had left personal items to, including Millie and Gunner. They would remain in their little cottage behind the main house along with a nice pension.
While the attorney searched his papers, a mantel clock chimed four times. Peter slipped his grandfather’s pocket watch out and flipped it open. Four o’clock. Right on the money.
He closed the watch and ran his thumb over the smooth case, remembering how his grandfather had given it to him after he’d won a race against Jake, using less than honorable tactics. But instead of admonishing Peter, he’d simply said that winning wasn’t everything, and he hoped the watch would remind him of that. It was a lesson Peter wasn’t sure he’d learned yet.
He would deeply miss his grandfather, miss the long talks even though they usually disagreed, miss the challenges, and even the contests his grandfather came up with.
And Peter would miss sitting with him in his walnut-paneled den. Correction. The house now belonged to his aunt, something his cousin already seemed comfortable with as he leaned back in the leather chair and propped his ankle across his knee.
Jake, like Peter, had taken his lanky, six-foot-one frame from the Elliott side of the family. Height and blue eyes were the only physical traits he and Jake shared. Jake had more of the Irish in him from the O’Neils, with his dark hair and somewhat darker complexion, than Peter who had the fairer Scottish coloring and blond hair. But they both had the Elliott competitive spirit.
The attorney cleared his throat. “Now, to the business end.”
Amelia stood. “Is there any need for me to stay for this?”
Corbett looked up. “No, it deals with the two grandsons,” he said. “If you wish to leave while we conduct this part of the will, you are welcome to do so.”
She glanced at Jake, her eyes questioning him.
Color flooded his face. “I can handle this, Mother.”
“Good. I have a house to show at four-thirty.” She kissed her son and hugged Peter. “Come to dinner later this week.”
“Thank you, Aunt Amelia,” he said. “Let me know which night.”
He’d always liked his aunt—she’d had fun games for them to play when they were growing up and never tried to get him and Jake to compete against each other. In fact, she’d tried to get her father to stop his games. To no avail.
After the door closed behind Amelia, Robert Corbett shifted his gaze back to the document while Jake maintained an air of indifference, and Peter studied the dark red carpet.
He didn’t understand why Corbett said this part of the will dealt with him and Jake. Jake, he understood. His cousin was already operations manager at the furniture factory, and it was only natural that he would step into his grandfather’s shoes.
Peter would be surprised if he were mentioned at all, since his grandfather never got over his spurning the family business to gallivant around the world and then choose a government career.
“The reins to Elliott Manufacturing will pass to the winner of the following contest.”
Peter jerked his head up. “What?”
“What?” Jake’s indifference evaporated as he echoed the question.
Corbett peered over his glasses. “I assume your questions reflect surprise rather than an inability to hear or understand, so I will continue rather than repeat myself.”
He resumed reading. “I can hear both of you squawking about right now, but it will do you no good. At the time of this writing, Robert will attest to the soundness of my mind.”
Peter and Jake exchanged glances, and Peter knew his cousin was thinking the same thing he was. Not another one of Grandfather’s crazy contests. For as long as Peter could remember, Richard Elliott loved to pit his two grandsons against each other. “Iron sharpens iron,” he’d always said. Trouble was, it sometimes sharpened it to a nub.
“I tried to talk him out of this, but he would not be dissuaded.” Corbett placed the will on the desk and handed each of them an envelope. “The terms of the contest are laid out in these papers. If you will take your—”
“Is this some kind of joke?” Jake asked.
“I can assure you, Mr. O’Neil, it is not a joke. Your grandfather put a lot of time and thought into this. It was his belief that the director of Elliott Manufacturing needs all of the skills this contest will require. Now, I will give you a minute to look over the instructions and terms.”
Peter opened his envelope and slid out the papers. As far as he was concerned, the contest was over. He had no desire to run the company and would gladly cede the directorship to Jake.
He liked his life just the way it was, much preferring his involvement with the children’s shelter and his job as head of the Department of Human Services in Cedar Grove to running a furniture manufacturing business.
