Grace chose the chair directly across from her mother, and to the right of Mr. Minor. Still hung over with guilt, she kept her eyes on the attorney. A stack of papers was slid in front of her as Mr. Minor told her he had highlighted the important things she should note, the remainder being the customary legal mumbo-jumbo put in all wills.
Immediately, words jumped off the page at her as she read over the document.
Bequeathed. Living. Granddaughter. Grace. Assets. Morgan Manor.
The more she read, the more the room spun about her. Without a doubt, the others would be pissed. Even though he had left his four nieces and a nephew forty-five percent of his estate, they would only focus on what they didn’t get. Fifty percent he had left to her.
She tried to continue reading the highlighted words, but it was hard wrapping her mind around all that her grandfather had left her. Way before his passing, she’d only hoped for the car, and since he’d passed, the house, but only because she considered it to be her home. Words failed her. Her eyes suddenly focused on a name she hadn’t seen in a very long time.
Richard Morgan.
A name—and a man—she hadn’t seen in fifteen years. Her stomach lurched into her throat as her emotions churned. Obviously, she had no right to feel this way since her grandfather had the right to leave his assets to anyone he chose, but she couldn’t help it. Anger rose up from deep down within her, and her mother flinched with surprise as she flung the documents across the top of the table. “Are you kidding me? He’s going to be taken care of for the rest of his life even though he abandoned me and my mom?”
“Grace,” her mother said softly, surprising Grace that her tone wasn’t chastising, but sounded more empathetic.
Apparently accustomed to outbursts like hers, the attorney tried diverting her attention to a large cloth bag he laid at her feet. “Your grandfather also asked that I give you this. There is an envelope in the front zipper pocket. You don’t have to read it now, of course.”
Still seething and feeling more than a little betrayed, Grace jerked her head down and picked up an army green backpack. “A backpack?” she asked incredulously.
“I’m sure the envelope reveals the reasons, Miss Morgan.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” she snapped. “Are we done?” She stared the attorney down, the manners her mother had drilled into her for all those years demanding that she wait to be dismissed. Grace had to get out of there. The walls were closing in fast, making it hard for her lungs to suck in air.
“Unless you have any questions for me.” That sounded like permission to leave to her. She shot up from the seat, grabbed the bag, and stomped toward the door. “I stuck a copy of the will inside the bag for you,” he added. “Please let me know if you have any questions.”
“Sure,” she said, without glancing back.
Quickly, Grace made her way to the elevators. She heard the clack of footsteps sounding behind her, but kept her face to the doors.
“Grace?”
“What!” she snapped, turning to face her mother.
“Do you want me to drive you home?” Laney reached out a tentative hand to touch her arm, but drew it back and held it tightly against her stomach. Concern pinched her brows together, and Grace could see what looked suspiciously like tears forming in her eyes.
“No,” Grace said, trying to calm herself. “I’m fine.”
Laney didn’t say any more as they both stepped quietly into the elevator. Just before the doors opened up on the first floor, Laney spoke up softly. “I’m sorry, Grace.”
Without looking at her, she replied, “Me too.” She then walked out of the building to her car and drove away.
Several times Grace glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure her mother wasn’t following. She flipped a quick turn into the park down the road, and drove into an area not visible from any roads going in or by the park. There was a baseball game in progress in a field close by, but no one was near the parking spot she chose at the far end of the lot. Still stewing, she slammed the gearshift into park, and smacked her palm against the steering wheel several times before slumping her body forward, resting her head against it.
The betrayal cut deep, settling in the marrow of her bones. How could he? She couldn’t believe her grandfather would take care of her father after he’d abandoned her. It didn’t make sense. Christophe had raised his son’s daughter. Helped his son’s wife pay the bills and put food on the table. Scared away his daughter’s nightmares. Kissed the boo-boos. Attended the dance recitals, Christmas programs, princess movies, and played in make-believe tea parties. He was a part of everything in her life that her father wasn’t.
And apparently her grandfather had forgiven him.
Well, she couldn’t. Forgiveness was lost on her and she didn’t care to go looking for it.
The sound of yelling intruded into her thoughts, probably a home run in the nearby game, and she lifted her head to see what the disturbance was about. Her eyes didn’t get past the backpack sitting on her passenger seat. She reached out her hand and turned it over, curious about its contents.
The letter was in the front zipper pocket like Minor had said. She turned the beige envelope over, and ripped it open.
My Dearest Grace,
If you’re reading this, it means that I’m gone and you’re already aware of two things: your inheritance and the mystery waiting for you to pick up before your eighteenth birthday. The backpack this letter was placed in was specially designed to safely hold the contents of the safe deposit box. You MUST use it when transporting the contents from the bank and anywhere else outside the manor.
The backpack is crucial, Grace. If you end up at the bank without the bag, you leave without the contents in the safe deposit box and don’t return until you have it. Then and only then do you retrieve what’s at the bank. Again, I can’t impress enough how important it is for you to take Quentin with you. You must trust and listen to him.
I love you so much, Grace. Don’t ever feel you’re unworthy, for you are worth a thousand times more than all that I could ever give you. I’m so very proud of the young woman you’ve become and honored that I’ve been blessed enough to be there every step of the way.
Don’t shed any more tears for me. You must go on to live your life and fulfill all that you’re meant to be. I’ll always be watching from afar.
Love,
Your grandfather,
Christophe Morgan
As she looked out the windshield through tear-blurred vision, a sense of tranquility settled upon Grace. Her grandfather had loved and cared for her. Hell, he’d loved and cared for all of his family, regardless of whether they appreciated his affection or returned it.
That was just the wonderful kind of man her grandfather was.
It seemed petty to wallow in her anger after reading his words. She wanted nothing more than to know he looked down upon her and was proud of her. She shouldn’t care what he chose to do with his money. It was his.
And she certainly wouldn’t allow herself to act like the rest of her godforsaken family. Grace sucked in a large gulp of air, and silently made a promise to her grandfather. From that moment on, she would not care about what the others received from him, who received what, or whether or not she felt they deserved it. More important things needed to be done.
She grabbed her cell phone from her purse, and dialed Quentin’s number.
“Hello.” His warm voice reached out to her, spreading warmth along with comfort through her body.
“Hi, Quentin. Can you meet me at the bank sometime today?”
He paused briefly before replying, “Of course. What time were you thinking?”
Hoping she wouldn’t sound too pushy, she waited a few extra seconds before answering. “I was actually hoping you weren’t too busy now.”
“How soon can you be there?”
“I’m not sure where the bank is, but if it’s in Woods Cross, I can be there in about twenty minutes,” she said, relieved tha
t he could go.
“Do you know where First Light Credit Union is off of Broadway in downtown?”
“Yeah, I know where it is. I can be there in twenty minutes for sure. Does that work for you, or do you need more time?”
“Nope,” Quentin said. “I’ll meet you out front in twenty.”
Once more, she was thankful for Quentin’s help and his willingness to be available whenever she needed him. “Thank you, Quentin.”
“You are very welcome, Grace. I’ll see you soon.”
Tossing her cell phone in the ashtray, she put the Shelby in reverse and backed out of the parking spot, heading for whatever was waiting for her at the bank.
Ten minutes pacing in front of the bank and Quentin felt like he’d been given a personal tour through the nine circles of hell. The sun was blazing. Heat rippling from the building structures and reflecting off the windows didn’t help matters. However, the heat didn’t compare to the burn of his band or the angst coursing through his veins.
Instinct told him Grace was a little ways out, but he couldn’t bring himself to do any more patrolling around the neighborhood. His feet were heavy, like they were encased in concrete. He couldn’t move. Even though surrounding trees and awnings could provide reprieve from the scorching sun, he stayed where he was…in the middle of the scorching heat from Hades.
It’s a good thing he didn’t sweat much, because he should be looking more than a little parched. Quentin definitely didn’t want her to see him sweat literally or about his guardianship over her. She needed to trust and believe in him and his ability to protect her. In twenty-four hours’ time, his fear would turn bittersweet. He feared failing her, but at the same time looked forward to the role he was destined to play in her life.
The pulsing heat from his seneschal band took his mind off the surrounding temperature, forcing him to focus on his other senses. His hand wrapped around the intricacy of the band’s markings, trying to lessen the throbbing warmth.
She was close.
His gaze swept up and down the street just as the Shelby came around the corner and parked up the road from the bank. Everything seemed to click into slow motion as soon as her door opened. Quentin noticed the strappy white sandals first and the long, slender legs above them second. He knew he should feel guilty for gawking, but deliberately declined the feeling. When she completely emerged from the car, he was blinded by her beauty. It wasn’t just the yellow summer dress she wore perfectly, or the sweep of her lustrous mahogany hair down her back. It was everything that made up Grace. Her beauty shone so brightly that everything else faded into the background; he could see nothing but her as she walked across the street toward him.
Never had he understood more clearly why so many of his brethren had fallen. If any of the Chosen before her were a fraction as beautiful, they too must have been stunning creatures.
She smiled at him as she approached. “Hi.”
“You’re beautiful,” he blurted, loving that she didn’t need to look very far up to see his eyes.
She gazed nervously down at her feet and laughed uncomfortably, making him wish he had kept his Tourette’s tendency to himself. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, and he sure as hell didn’t want or need to confuse things between them.
“Thank you,” she finally said, as she lifted her jade-colored eyes again. The blush of her embarrassment only added to her appeal.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just…you look very pretty today.” Lame, he knew, but he hoped that the explanation would cover up his blunder.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s nice to hear sometimes.”
Quentin tore his gaze away from hers, pretending to inspect the door of the bank since he desperately needed a moment to gather his wits. What was he, thirteen? Get a grip, Q, he berated himself silently.
He swung his gaze back to hers and touched her arm. “You ready?” he asked.
“I think so.” He stood immobile as she pivoted toward the door, noticing the backpack he had failed to see before. “Are you coming?” she asked over her shoulder.
“No, I’ll wait here. No one can go into the secure area with you, anyway.”
Grace hesitated for a second. “Uh, okay. I’ll see you in a few minutes then?”
“Definitely,” he promised. He’d wait all day if he had to.
Grace was instantly greeted by the sweet kiss of cool air. Maybe she’d been too quick in telling Quentin she’d see him in a few minutes. Surely she could come up with more reasons to stay in the bank? She loved nothing she owned more than the Shelby, but the car didn’t have air-conditioning. When exceptionally hot days like these came around, she knew that any primping done before getting into the car would be nearly undone before she reached her destination. She definitely didn’t “glow” in heat like this; she wilted.
Days like today made her wish she had a different car. There was nothing worse than driving in triple-digit heat with no air-conditioning. Scratch that. Driving in a car with no A/C in triple-digit heat swirling around you in the confines of a car with open windows was the worst.
A new car was definitely within her financial reach now. Or, she could just put air-conditioning in the Shelby. She shook her head, knowing she’d never alter the car from the way she received it from her grandfather, then swiveled around in place trying to figure out where she needed to go.
An information desk stood not far inside the bank doors to the right. A woman sat behind a boomerang-shaped desk, waiting to be of assistance.
“May I help you,” the woman asked with a pleasant smile.
The woman entered the information she gave into the computer and then picked up the phone. “Hi, Mr. Maryott. There’s a Grace Morgan here for a safe deposit box access.” As the woman listened to Mr. Maryott’s reply, butterflies wreaked havoc on Grace’s stomach. She didn’t think it possible her day could get any crappier, but a sudden rush to the bathroom due to nervous-induced IBS would definitely make it go from worse to unbearable.
Adamant about going through with this, she tried like mad to mentally go to her happy place, and willed her stomach to stop churning. Finally, the woman got off the phone. “Mr. Maryott will be right out to see you, Miss Morgan.”
“Thank you,” was all she could say or do. She’d have to wait. On the toes of her sandals, she rotated to find a chair, but was shocked by a large man in a suit standing directly behind her. A whispered shriek escaped her lips as she jumped back.
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Morgan. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?” the man said.
Shaking herself, she straightened. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“I’m Jerry Maryott, manager of First Light Credit Union. If you’ll follow me, I can take you to your safe deposit box.”
And just like that, she was walking along behind him. No hassle. No explanation. No proof. They walked past a long row of tellers and down a high-ceilinged hallway, which ended in another hallway stretching both left and right. “We’ll take a left at the end of the hall. Your room will be the second door on the right.”
“My room?” she asked.
“Your safe deposit box is in a special vault of the bank,” he explained as he unlocked the door.
The room was octagon-shaped and the walls were covered with panels of what looked like copper; a table and chair sat in the center. There were no windows and no other doors. Seven sides of the room had a safe in the center of each wall, while the eighth held the door they came through. Each safe had a latch, two keyholes, and a number.
“Did you bring your key, Miss Morgan?”
Reaching in the backpack, she pulled out the key her grandfather had left her, and held it up for him. “This is the key I was told would open the safe deposit box.”
“My key goes into the left side, yours goes in the right. We both turn our keys to the left. Questions?”
“No, it seems pretty straightforward.” Mr. Maryott walked to safe number three as her gaze
followed. Suddenly, she was struck with a question. “Wait,” she all but shouted at Mr. Maryott, jerking him to a stop. “Do we have to do it at the same time?”
“No, Miss Morgan. We just have to make sure that I go first and then you.” He peered back at her expectantly, smiling. “Any more questions?”
“No. I’m good.”
This was it.
Completely out of guesses at what could possibly be in the box, or why her grandfather left it there instead of at the house, her anxiousness kicked up a notch. Her stomach started to twist in nervous, nail-biting knots again. Grace watched Mr. Maryott put his key in the keyhole and turn it left. There was the softest click. “Okay, Miss Morgan, now it’s your turn.” He turned to her with his hand out in invitation to go next.
She couldn’t believe how nervous she was. Her nerves were so shot, she found herself trembling as she made her way next to him. With a heaving breath to steady herself, she fumbled with the key, barely getting it in the second keyhole. She turned it counter-clockwise as instructed.
“Now, all you need to do is pull the handle down and open it.”
Greedily, she sucked in a final cleansing breath, and pulled the handle down. Inside the door was a brass-plated box with another keyhole on the outside and a handle she used to pull the box from its place. The box wasn’t heavy and nothing clanked or moved around as she laid it carefully on the table.
“Your key will also open the box,” he said. “Unless you need anything else from me, I am going to excuse myself to give you some privacy.”
Pulling the chair out, she sat down. “Thank you.” Faintly, she heard the door latch click as Mr. Maryott retreated. “Here goes nothing.” She turned the key.
The opened lid revealed a silver bag similar to the inside lining of the backpack. Not finding the opening, she carefully pulled the bag from the brass box. The object inside was hard, somewhat round, and about a foot long, but she still had no clue as to what it could be. She pushed the box away and placed the silver bag on the table, hoping to find the opening. Grace inspected every square inch of it, which revealed no opening, no zipper, and no seam. What the heck?
Shattered Grace (Fallen from Grace) Page 7