Savannah Secrets

“Doug Thornton did indeed leave her that,” Meredith said, nodding. “Which makes this decision of Rowena’s even more unacceptable.”

“Honey, I haven’t the faintest idea why she did this, but knowing your client I’d bet big money there’s a good reason. Maybe you should visit Dallas and see Doug’s stud farm in the process. Beautiful place, apparently,” she added. Then, glancing at the file in her hand, she murmured, “Thought at all about what approach you’ll take with Gallagher?”

“No, I have not.” Meredith bristled. “I’ll wait for him to reply to my letter first. Until then I’ll concentrate on the Carstairs gang.” She grimaced. “The meeting’s set up for this afternoon.”

“Good luck.”

“I’ll need it. Don’t be surprised if I end up in Intensive Care.”

“Because of Joanna, you mean?” Tracy wiggled a brow expressively. “Don’t worry. If Rowena’s niece acts up, I’ll be down the hallway.”

“Nice thought, old buddy,” Meredith grinned, “but you don’t really believe the Carstairs crowd would lower themselves to coming to this modest office, do you?”

“No, probably not.” She chuckled. “So where is the meeting?”

“Rowena’s town house. She wanted it that way.”

“Jesus. Talk about turning the knife in the wound,” Tracy exclaimed. “Hasn’t Joanna believed for years that she was going to inherit that place?”

“Don’t remind me.” Meredith gave a hollow laugh.

“Well, call if you need me to send in the National Guard.”

“I’ll be fine.” Meredith gave a thumbs-up. Trace really could be counted on. But right now what she needed was someone to take Zack to the dentist later today. First braces, she thought with a sigh, lifting the phone and dialing her mother in the hopes that Clarice Rowland would be able to help her out. Only God knew how long the meeting might last.

“What do you mean we’re to get nothing?!” Joanna Carstairs Lamont blanched, her surgically lifted features tightening with rage. “We are the rightful heirs. Each and every one of us is owed a share of that money,” she insisted, waving her index finger wildly. “Surely you’ve got it wrong, Meredith.”

“Look, I had nothing to do with this, okay? I’m sorry you’re all disappointed. I really can’t tell you why Rowena structured her will as she has, since I didn’t draft it. But it’s all here, and her wishes are quite clear.”

She glanced round the exquisitely appointed drawing room, knowing as she glimpsed at their pale, stunned faces what a blow this must be.

“But we have rights,” Joanna spluttered. “Charles, say something, for Christ’s sake, don’t just sit there like a beached whale. My God. This is a disaster.” She sank heavily into a deep chintz armchair and muttered under her breath.

“I’m sure something can be done about it.” Charles, a middle-aged well-to-do doctor, swallowed uneasily. He hoped he sounded convincing—he was still absorbing the shock of the announcement and its implications. In a few short sentences Meredith had blighted his most cherished dream.

“Surely the will could be contested?” Patricia, Rowena’s youngest half sister, a pious, soberly attired widow of seventy, replied, eyeing her son Ward, who was humming quietly to himself, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“That’s certainly within your rights,” Meredith responded carefully, “but I must caution you that there would be serious consequences if your challenge failed. There is a clause here to the effect that anyone who sees fit to contest the will loses his or her right to the income of the trust she set up for you a few years ago.”

“The bitch!” Joanna screeched. “The goddamn bitch! I should have guessed that she would double-cross us and done something about it while she was still alive.”

“You certainly tried.” Charles eyed her coldly. “In fact, I distinctly remember you asking me to be part of the team that would certify her insanity.”

“You did what?” Meredith asked, looking from one to the other. It was her turn to be shocked. “Rowena may have been eccentric but she was anything but crazy. Anyway,” she continued, flipping through the paperwork and pointing to several documents, “she seems to have planned for that contingency. She had several medical examinations certifying the state of her health before she wrote this final will.”

“But it’s outrageous.” Joanna rounded on Charles, her chin jutting out defiantly. “And so what if I did try to have her certified? I’ll bet in view of this 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.”