Nanny’s death crippled our family. Literally. My grandpa died three months later, and my mother swore it was from a broken heart. And it put her back in bed for longer than when she lost her mother. Both of her parents were gone, and she had no one else. She was an only child. Nanny and Pappa had her when they were in their mid-forties, so all her aunts and uncles were already gone. All she had left was my dad and me. But at times, I didn’t think we were enough. She never seemed to have recovered from the loss.
The older I got, the more family members passed away. My father’s parents died when I was sixteen in a fiery car crash. But he didn’t crumple like my mother did when she lost her parents. No, he didn’t miss a beat. He went on with his life as though nothing ever happened. He was strong; the exact opposite of my mother and me.
“Emilee?” Mrs. Williams asks, noticing my hesitation.
Nodding, I turn, walking down the long hallway past the photos of my father and his business partner that hang on the wall. They own a construction company and have built more structures than I can count over the years here in Las Vegas.
I try to calm my heavy breathing as my heels clap on the floor. Pulling my shoulders back, I grab the door handle and push it open. Stepping into the office, I pause. It’s empty. “I thought you said he was waiting for me?” I manage to get out, poking my head out of the room.
“He is.” I hear her voice travel to me from the front. “He’s in your father’s office.”
My head whips around. “He’s what?” This time, she doesn’t respond.
Shutting the door, I walk to the next one and shove it open. “Why are you …?”
“Here she is.” George stands from my father’s seat, and my heart stops to see him there.
My father wanted this office for the view. He loved Las Vegas. It’s on the corner of the building, on the thirty-fifth floor. Fifty percent of the large room has floor-to-ceiling windows. He said there was not a better view in Nevada. When he would have to work late, my mother would bring him dinner. We’d have a picnic on his office floor as we watched the city light up the sky, and he would show us where his next project was going to be.
This was his space. His home away from home. And now George is going to take it over as if it were always his.
That’s what makes me so nervous about this meeting. George insisted that I come here after the service. He said he needed to see me, and that it was important. “Mr. Yan, this is Emilee York.” He introduces me to my father’s attorney.
The man stands from his chair and reaches out his right hand, and I take it in mine. “I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances,” he offers. His dark eyes seem saddened by the situation, but I don’t trust him.
I had just met him at the funeral. We didn’t speak, but I knew who he was because George had pointed him out to me. I didn’t pay much attention to him then, but now, as I take in his Armani suit and welcoming smile, I don’t like him. If he’s my father’s attorney, why am I just now meeting him?
I give him the weakest smile I can muster and take the seat across from the desk, pushing my black dress farther down my legs. It’s not short by any means. It falls just to my knees in this position, but sitting here with both of them makes me uncomfortable. Too exposed. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m in this room, knowing my father won’t be walking in anytime soon. To hug me. To hold me. To love me.
I do a quick scan of his desk and see all his pictures of my mom and me are gone. The few boxes over in the corner give me an idea of what happened to them.
I blink, trying to hold the tears that sting my tired eyes at bay.
George’s creamy brown eyes look over my face, lingering on my lips, and I shuffle in my seat. Wanting to get the hell out of here, I clear my throat. “You needed to see me?”
Yan hands me a piece of paper, and I read it over. It’s all bullshit words that I can’t even pronounce let alone know the meaning of. It’s in fucking attorney lingo. I blink. “I don’t understand.”
George sits back in his seat. “It’s simple, Emilee. Your father had a will. Well, a trust.”
I nod. “Okay.” I’m not surprised. My father was always preparing for the unexpected, and he understood that death was a part of life. He wanted my mother and me to be taken care of. “Are we going to have a get-together for a reading of the will?” That’s what we did when my father’s parents passed. They were billionaires and had two kids, my father and my uncle Jack. We had to fly to Texas and meet with their attorney, and he named off every asset that they had left to their children. It did not go over well. They left my father over seventy-five percent of their fortune. My uncle was pissed. I haven’t seen him since.