remained empty. A situation Parker intended to rectify.
His sister Brittany practically choked when he eased himself onto the buttery leather and set his BlackBerry on the table in front of him.
“You’re sitting in Dad’s chair?” Brittany demanded, tapping the digital device that was never far from his right hand.
“It’s empty.” Parker ignored the implication that he was muscling in on his father’s turf. Because he was. He was the oldest. He’d run the family’s umbrella corporation for the past five years, since his father had given him the CEO position as a thirty-first birthday present.
The rest of them had their hands deep in the Garrison affairs—they each owned one of the properties, whether it was the Grand hotel, a club, restaurant or condo complex. But he’d earned this chair, and not just by birth order. With work, sweat, insight, guts and a few masterful decisions.
“It’s disrespectful,” Brittany hissed, tapering her brown eyes in disgust and leaning her narrow shoulders closer to make her point. “To the dead.”
Brooke reached over and touched her sister’s hand. “Relax, Britt. He has to sit somewhere.”
Parker threw a grateful glance at his other sister, marveling at how the sisters were twins in appearance only. Brooke responded with a smile that softened her lovely features and accentuated the difference between the sweet sister and the scowling one even more.
Across from Brooke and Brittany, Stephen locked his hands behind his head and rocked his chair easily with a long, muscular body that practically matched Parker’s gene for gene, right down to the signature cleft that every Garrison sported on their chin. Stephen’s dark eyes danced with wry amusement, his flawless smile white against a face tanned from a recent escape on his sixty-foot cabin cruiser.
“Sit wherever you like, big brother,” Stephen drawled. “He may not be using the chair, but I think we’re about to feel the hand of our dearly departed father in every corner of this room.”
Parker frowned at the comment, and followed his closest sibling’s meaningful gaze to the imposing figure cut by Brandon Washington, the young and brilliant attorney who handled the family affairs. Brandon’s strong jaw was set as he moved papers purposefully in front of him, his large hands steady and determined. At that moment, he met Parker’s gaze, and just beneath the burnish of his espresso-colored complexion, Parker could see…anger? Surprise? Dread?
Whatever Brandon had read in John Garrison’s will, the warning look the lawyer gave Parker held a clear message: You’re not going to like this.
Parker shifted in his seat, tamping down concern. What could the will say that Parker wouldn’t like? Nothing mattered to him except control of Garrison, Inc. The money, the properties, the estate—all were secondary to him, all one notch less important than the umbrella firm that invested the profits.
Let the others have their slices of responsibility. He held the biggest piece of the pie dish in his hand. Surely Dad wouldn’t have changed his mind about a decision he’d made five years ago, long before he’d known he’d die at sixty-two from a heart attack.
Still, he really didn’t like the vibe Brandon emitted. And neither, he could tell, did his mother.
Evidently, Bonita Garrison had picked up the same message, her fragile features drawn from mourning and worry. She pushed at an imaginary strand of jet-black hair, a silver thread catching the light, the gesture one of pure nervousness as she studied Brandon for clues. Were there surprises in store for her today? Hadn’t she discussed every aspect of John’s last will and testament with the man she’d married more than thirty-seven years earlier?
Maybe not, judging by the quiver of her delicate hands. Maybe she should have had a slug of Stoli before they’d gathered. Hell, maybe this event called for a round for the table. If only to numb the still-raw pain caused by losing a man deeply loved by each of his five children. A love, Parker thought bitterly, that didn’t exactly extend to their cool and distant mother.
Adam arrived last, the only missing sibling of the five, slipping into the conference room in his usual quiet, detached way, shaking back some of his long, dark hair. He’d have to see a barber if he wanted to be taken more seriously than just the owner of a nightclub—even if Estate was one of Miami Beach’s hottest spots. As birth order would have it, Adam was the youngest of the three Garrison men, but sat dead center in the family once the twins came along to claim the joint spot as “babies.”
When the lawyer cleared his throat and stood, Parker ended his musings about his family. They’d all work out their various issues and problems, he felt certain. And he’d work out his problems—like the current decline in the Garrison brand that translated into unhappy investors, business partners and patrons.
He’d solve that, as long as he had the lion’s share of control. He turned his attention to Brandon with the confidence of a man who rarely lost his focus. That legendary focus had gotten Parker where he was today, and it would keep him there far into the future.
Hadn’t Dad assured him of that?
Brandon droned legalese. Next to him, Stephen shot a look of impatience to Parker, who curled his lip in a half smile of response. Brittany doodled on a pad, tempting Parker to kick her under the table and tell his flighty little sister to pay attention. Brooke watched the lawyer, rapt, as did Adam. His mother shifted in her seat, and sighed under her breath as assets were divided and doled exactly as they had all expected.
Suddenly, Brandon stopped talking. He inhaled slowly. He looked at Bonita with no small amount of pity and then leveled his gaze directly at Parker.
“The next section is in regard to the controlling shares of the parent company, Garrison, Inc. Mr. Garrison stated that they are to be divided among his six children.”
Parker flinched. Brittany blinked. Stephen leaned forward, uttering a quiet, “What?”
Did he say six?
The lawyer must be putting in too many billable hours.
“Uh, there are five of us, Brandon,” Parker corrected, a little smile tugging at his lips. “See?” He crooked his head toward the table. “Five.”
Brandon responded with a long, silent stare, underscored by a nervous laugh from one of his young associates.
“Five in this room,” Brandon said deliberately. “Six in all.”
For a split second, no one said anything as shock rolled off the room’s residents, bounced all over the table and left a palpable change in the air. Parker scowled at the lawyer, trying to process what he’d said.
Then chaos erupted when Stephen bellowed, “That’s preposterous!” and Brittany let out a surprised shriek and Brooke half stood to demand an explanation. Through it all, their mother breathed so hard she damn near growled. Only Adam was quiet, but even he wore an expression of complete disbelief.
Brandon held up a hand, but they ignored him. The noise level rose, the undercurrent of incredulity and fury elevated with each question and demand.
“Stop!” Parker said with a solid thwack on the cherrywood. “Let him finish.”
As it had for most of his thirty-six years, a single command brought his younger siblings in line. When the room
