“You watched the video, huh?” Layton asked.
He knew she did since he had to be the one who sent it. “Yes, sir.” She figured he was making conversation before getting to the point.
“Good.” Layton nodded, agreeing with himself. “Maybe I can finally retire.” He laughed, then checked himself with an awkward cough. “Sorry about that. Your loss—Harvey, your father, was a client and a friend.” His face flushed to the color of a splotchy beet.
Nina patted Layton’s forearm. “What my grandfather-in-law is trying to say, is he worked a long time for Harvey, who was his last client.”
“My last client.” Layton echoed. “Stayed on until he died because he asked me to.” Proud of his loyalty, he practically glowed.
“That was kind of you.” Calista praised him.
“Thank you.” His head bobbed. “Well, let’s go over your portfolio and then we’ll answer any questions.”
“Yes. Let’s.” Calista crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, more to brace herself than any demur ladylike tendencies. What Harvey left her wasn’t a reality until this moment. Now, sitting in front of the executor of her father’s will, she was ready to get down to brass tacks, get to the decimal points and zeros.
It took fifteen minutes to sum up her inheritance. Add another hour to explain how Harvey had hidden it amongst multiple offshore tax havens. Layton and Nina did not have the accounts or passwords. They did have an address for the bank where the safety deposit box was located and an appointment with the bank tomorrow morning for access.
“How much money?”
Nina paused. “The financial advisor who helped establish the accounts has died. I assisted your father with a few cursory deals. I have no idea how much he placed in the offshore accounts. I do suspect it is substantial.”
“O-kay.”
“Once you have the account numbers and passwords, at some point, it would be wise to present yourself to the financial institutions to move the accounts into your name.”
Made sense; however… “Is there a concern about the accounts?”
“No. As far as I know, Harvey wasn’t under investigation. The government has not frozen any account, nor do I foresee that occurring,” Nina stated.
“The Fifth Avenue property is in probate court.” Layton jumped in. “It could take a year for the property to exchange hands. I am working on fast-tracking it.”
“Thank you.”
“Any questions?” Layton asked.
“Um. It’s a lot to process.” Her mind spun, not latching onto one specific thing when there was so much to process. Except… “How’s Erica handling all of this?”
A grimace stole over his face. “My grandson, and partner, is meeting with her right now.”
Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.
“Your father had hoped you and Erica would work together.” Layton interrupted her thoughts.
Yeah. Not happening. It made no sense to put Erica or her through that torture. Two strangers forced to be in each other’s company. She didn’t know Erica enough to hate her, but she knew enough to know she and Erica didn’t deserve the angst.
“Give Erica the option to buy the stock back first.”
“If that is your wish,” Haskell said.
“It is. The townhouse… Put it on the market once it clears probate. I don’t want it either.”
Chapter Four
T he house was quiet when she turned the key and pushed open the door. In one short day her life had done a one-eighty. She started off unemployed and sliding backward from the middle-class label society had assigned toward the working poor. As of five o’clock, she was an heiress with offshore accounts in unknown millions, possibly.
It was hard to wrap her head around. A part of her wanted to hide in the back of her closet until the spinning stopped. The other part wanted to grab a hundred grand and light it on fire. Not literally. She wanted to burn through it on an epic shopping spree with Laverne in tow.
It would happen. Eventually, Laverne would get her Porsche and a shit-ton of other stuff. She deserved it all. Right after Calista made herself something to eat. She hadn’t eaten all day and was fucking starving. Like bottomless pit starving.
She placed an order for Chinese delivery in thirty, long enough for a short, hot soaking.
That was if the doorbell hadn’t rung.
And a furious Erica Bryn wasn’t filling the doorway.
Cat out of the bag. Couldn’t stuff it back in. Calista stepped aside and let her enter. Erica stomped into the house, a tempest in a teacup. Gaze darting everywhere and nowhere all at once, she tugged her Chanel purse closer and shifted in her black patten leather Gucci’s, a close match to the purse. Ten K waltzed into her house, and that wasn’t counting the clothes on her back. Calista added another ten to make it an even twenty. Twenty K eyed fifty-dollar Macy’s clearance rack with barely leashed disgust.
A bodyguard tried to follow her in, a big guy in a tailored suit that cost a lot of money. One guess who had bought it for him. Calista pointed to Erica. “She can come in. You can’t.”
“I go where she goes.” He threatened.
“Because you’re paid to protect her.” Among other unsavory reasons. “Believe me, I get it. You’re still not coming in here.” She shot him down.
“Of course, you get it,” Erica said. “You used to be him, a bodyguard putting your life on the line for your client, even when they paid you a pittance.”
So that was Erica’s attack plan. Talk shit about Calista’s job instead of the father that betrayed both of them. Fine. No problem. “I did my job. Got no complaints, and I even saved your ass.”
Erica’s head jerked up. Shorter than Calista, yet she managed to peer down at her as if she held the magnifying glass and Calista was the helpless ant. “Julius saved my ass.”
“Only because I saved his.”
A war of wills, they faced off. Erica with her Chanel clutch in a vise grip tucked in her armpit. Calista at the front door prepared to defend herself, preferably with words, but hey, her gun was within reach a few feet away.
“Wait for me outside. She’s not going to kill me.” Erica directed her bodyguard.
Good, they were going the words route.
With a sneer, her half sister took in the small room with its 1990’s décor. The patchwork quilt bunched in the corner of the sofa. The black-and-white 10x12 picture of Calista’s grandparents on the wall. The fake fireplace broken ten plus years ago. Only when Erica was satisfied or couldn’t take any more of the mundane horror, did she deign to grace Calista with attention.
“How did you find me?” Calista moved around the sofa and put some distance between them.
“I know you.” Anger rose in her voice.
Calista nodded. “I know you too.” They had met a few times.
Blond hair flying, Erica shook her head. “I know you.” Voice strained, body trembling like a coiled spring wound too tightly, Erica was about to blow. “Have known about you since ninth grade. Fourteen years old and found out I have a sister.”
Well, that was a revelation. “I knew all about you. Kinda met you before you were born. Harvey brought your mother, his new wife, home, and she was pregnant with you.”
Erica blinked. “You call him Harvey. You call our father Harvey?”
Calista folded her arms, more to hold herself together than anything else. “Harvey Bryn is—was your father. Not mine.”
“Then why did he leave you half of what belongs to me?” Erica snarled, bitterness twisted her face into a caricature of a beautiful woman.
“You’re asking the wrong person that question.”
“He never talked about you. Never mentioned you at all. If I hadn’t figured out the password to the safe, I never would’ve found your birth certificate. There’s your name, Calista Coleman. Your mother’s name, Mavis Coleman. My father’s name, Harvey Bryn. I was confused about it, tempted to ask for a split second, then shov
ed it back inside the safe and stole some money to go shopping.”
Interesting story. “Would you like to sit down, something to drink?” Calista offered, trying to be a good hostess.
“Oh God, no!” Erica’s hair went flying again and she seemed to shrink, afraid she’d be infected if a single hair on her head touched any area in Calista’s petri dish home. “This isn’t a fucking social call.”
Since it wasn’t, Calista made herself comfortable leaning against the doorjamb to the dining room. Erica wasn’t a threat, not by any stretch of the imagination. She trotted herself over here to blow off steam, so Calista would let her. Sticks and stones and all that bullshit. Erica felt wronged. Calista understood and even sympathized. Until her sympathy ran out.
“Since it’s not a social call, say what you have to say.”
“Were you in contact with him? With Daddy all these years, and he still kept you a dirty secret?” Erica could give Queen Elizabeth instructions on haughtiness.
Dirty secret. Said to hurt Calista. It didn’t work because she always knew she was a dirty little secret. “No. The contact started a few weeks ago. And it was only twice. At my mother’s nursing home, and at his Manhattan townhouse.”
“He was at your mother’s nursing home?” she screeched. “He wheeled his crippled ass to see her?”
Calista’s spine went straight. “Watch your tone when speaking about my mother. Whatever you need to get off your chest, go right ahead. I’ll listen to whatever you spew. However, leave my mother’s name out of your mouth and you and I won’t have any issues.”
Erica’s mouth screwed up, holding the vitriol inside until it hurt, weighing her options. The gun battle on the yacht was too fresh to forget. Julius had pulled Erica out of the river after the helicopter took a dive. “Daddy ignores you all this time, then leaves you a house and half of his stock in Bryn Conglomerate?”
Good girl. She heeded the unspoken warning. “That’s what he said in the recording.”
She snorted. “You got one too, huh? Did he tell you he loved you? That you were his special girl? That he was proud of you? Did he tell you that and give you half because he spewed that bullshit and took half of my inheritance and gave it to you?”
“He never told me I was special. I waited twenty-four years to hear ‘I love you’ and that he was proud. I can’t remember a hug, or a kiss. No birthday memories, no prom pictures with my dad. I do have the singular memories of Harvey’s new wife climbing the staircase and me with my Winnie-the-Pooh bear holding my mother’s hand waiting on the bus to take us to Queens.” Those images were seared into her brain. “I’d say you got the better end of the deal.”
“I disagree. Not only did you get stock, you got the townhouse. What else did he give you?” She demanded.
“Whatever he told you I got, that’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Erica’s eyes narrowed. “You mean that’s all you’ll admit to.”
This conversation was a carousel ride going nowhere. “My, you’re obsessed with what Harvey left me, as if he left you destitute. How many houses and properties did he leave you?”
Erica’s perfect cupid’s bow lips curled into a snarl, showing her straight white teeth. “One less than what I had coming to me.”
The arrogant entitlement grated on Calista. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. That’s how Erica sounded. She was an only child suddenly realizing the new baby wasn’t visiting, but staying, not just staying, but sharing her room, and her parents’ attention. Plus, the cash, stock, and the property. But Erica had known about Calista. So, Harvey leaving his eldest daughter an inheritance shouldn’t be a Cat 5 hurricane.
“Did you know I was Harvey’s daughter when you showed up at the yacht?” Calista asked full of suspicion.
“No,” Erica spat.
“You knew you had a sibling—half sibling.” Calista corrected. “And never wanted to see what she looked like?”
Erica scanned Calista with all the enthusiasm one would have picking out a used car from a junkyard. “No.”
“Wow.” That was a surprise.
“Let me guess.” Tone haughty, Erica propped her hand on her bony hip, her mouth now in a practiced pout. Erica had struck gold and she knew it. “You stalked me on social media, didn’t you? Are you following me on Instagram? Are you my friend on Facebook?” She laughed cruelly. “Now I have to go back and see which posts you liked.”
“Don’t waste your time. I was too savvy to like your posts.”
“You admit it.” Erica’s arched eyebrow practically touched her hairline.
Calista folded her arms. “No reason to lie. I was curious about you. Your life. Your beliefs. Your experiences.”
“Jealous?” she said with glee.
Again, no reason to lie. “When I was younger.”
“Oh, you’re still jealous. Jealous that I was wanted and you weren’t. Jealous of my life because it wasn’t your life. You are the bastard daughter of the help, a secret. While I was loved. My father never mentioned you. There wasn’t a single picture of you anywhere. The only reason he remembered to include you is—”
“Guilt.” Calista supplied. “He gave me half of his stock in a misguided attempt to buy his way out of Hell as opposed to buying his way into Heaven.” It’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than a rich man to get into Heaven. Mark 10:25. Her mother’s favorite Bible passage and one she had made Calista memorize.
Face flushed, even the layer of makeup couldn’t hide. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that. You didn’t know him. I did! He was mine. Not yours!” She pointed her finger into her chest.
So far Calista had been remarkably calm. She’d let Erica into her home and let her have her say. That calm was stretched razor thin as she faced Erica whose chest heaved as if she’d run the hundred-yard dash. Erica’s hands opened into claws as if preparing to strike. Then curled back into fists. Nostrils flaring, her breath came in short pants until she pulled it together. Tantrum averted. Good. A discussion, Calista could handle. A screaming fit, and Erica would be on the outside looking in.
Erica came closer, as close as her rage fueled bravery allowed. “You have some respect when you speak of my father.”
And there it was in a nutshell. Not that Calista didn’t know it already. Her. Father. Erica’s father. Which Calista had no right to get her back up about when she’d never claimed Harvey in her mind as her father. But in her heart, if she were completely honest, every girl wanted her daddy.
“Thanks for the visit. You should go now.”
“This was not a visit,” Erica’s body vibrated with anger. “I came here for a reason,” she spat.
“Then get to it and get out.”
The haughty, better-than-you glare returned to Erica’s eyes. She took her time smoothing her bone straight ash blond hair away from her face and re-tucked her Chanel purse under her arm. The diamonds in her ears twinkled. She released a slow, steady breath, then said, “I want to buy you out. Fair market value.”
That was what Calista wanted, to be bought out and go on her way. Each of them retreating to their corners. At least, that was what she had wanted at Haskell’s office when reason outweighed emotions. Toxic emotions. The kind of toxic emotions that make you throw good intentions and reasonable decisions against the wall and watch them shatter with all the delicacy of fine bones from China.
“I can wire you the money in forty-eight hours,” Erica stated, composed, playing let’s pretend she didn’t have a meltdown.
Calista didn’t answer.
“It’s a lot of money. More money than you’d get from selling the townhouse.” Erica pointed out unnecessarily.
“Who said I’m selling the townhouse?”
“You can’t afford it.” She sneered.
She doesn’t know about the offshore accounts. “What makes you think I can’t afford it?”
Erica scoffed. “On your salary? Pfft!” Erica scanned the living room, peered down the hal
lway, disgust twisting her lovely face. “I’ll buy the townhouse from you. That’ll give you more than enough to fix this place up.”
This dump up, that’s what she wanted to say. Her home wasn’t a dump. The home her mother had provided for them was not a dump. “I’m keeping the stock. And I’m keeping the townhouse.”
As Erica sputtered, Calista opened her front door. The bodyguard waited, like a good lap dog. Like she would’ve waited. He eyed her with suspicion, clearly annoyed at being kept out of an unchecked house. Calista stepped aside as Erica’s heels made a rat-tat-tat behind her.
“You need to reconsider instead of acting out of pettiness, which won’t get you paid.”
“Don’t tell me what I need.” Calista was surprised at her own calmness. Insulted to her face, in her house, and she hadn’t snapped. Didn’t they give Nobel Peace Prizes for that?
“You’re doing this because of Julius, aren’t you? Think you can waltz into Bryn and not be the bodyguard he was fucking. You’re beneath him, just like your mother was beneath my father. Literally.” Erica watched to see if her barb had struck bone.
Not even close, bitch. I am the wrong person to pick a fight with because I fight back.
“Get out or your ass will meet the sidewalk.”
Erica huffed past Calista, had almost made it out the door, then paused on the threshold. “Let me make something clear. I want the stock my father gave you. If you’re selling, I’m buying. The only one buying. Don’t make me your enemy.”
“You came to my house. Talked shit about me, where I live, how I live, and what I do for a living. Talked shit about my mother. You are lucky my fist isn’t down your throat.” The bodyguard twitched, earning a glare. Once he stopped, Calista’s gaze returned to her half sister. “You played your hand and lost because you didn’t know your opponent and you laid all your cards on the table. Also, you pissed me off. I would’ve given you everything you wanted if you had been nice.”
Plain and the Billionaire's Seduction (Plain Jane Series Book 3) Page 3