All It Takes (Romancing Manhattan 2)

“No, he didn’t,” Mr. Cavanaugh agrees. “But his father did, in 1913, to Reginald House.”

“Do you have a deed?” I demand. “Have you done a chaining of the title?”

Quinn’s lips twitch, and his eyes narrow on me. “I don’t have a deed with me.”

“Well, we won’t continue this conversation until you have those things with you.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“If there’s an attorney you’d like me to contact—”

“That would be me,” I interrupt him. “I’m a city attorney, and trust me when I say, this case will be mine. I’ll be happy to meet with you right now.”

He blinks fast and frowns as he looks down, then back at me. “I know this isn’t easy,” he says, his voice suddenly soft, putting me immediately on edge. Does he think he can get his way by playing on my grief?

Asshole.

“No, it isn’t easy, but it is simple. Louis Hendricks owned that property, and I’ll be happy to continue this conversation at a later time.”

He nods once, then passes me his card. It’s on thick stock, the writing in gold, of course.

QUINN A. CAVANAUGH

Attorney at Law

Cavanaugh Cavanaugh & Shaw

(212) 667-5555

I tuck his fancy card in my purse before passing him one of mine and Quinn nods, pushes his dark glasses back on his nose, and turns to walk away.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Mom says. “Could he be telling the truth?”

“No,” I reply before anyone else can answer. I look to Mr. Mills for confirmation.

“I hold an original deed to the property that Louis gave me,” he says. “The paperwork is ready to be given to the city.”

“I’ll take it,” I say and then hug everyone, reassuring us all. “This is just another big corporation trying to buy the block so they can build on it. Same story different day, but I never expected that they’d try this at the man’s freaking will reading.”

“I know you’ll handle him,” Dad says with a wink as we gather our things to leave.

“If you need any help, just give me a call, kitten,” Patrick says before placing a kiss on my forehead. Uncle Patrick is also an attorney, and along with Grandpa, one of the reasons I went into law.

“I’ll call if I have questions, but I think this should be pretty cut and dried,” I reply. “If I need to, can I get into Grandpa’s house to go through the files in his attic?”

“Of course,” both Dad and Uncle Patrick say in unison.

“I already have a few boxes at my house,” Uncle Patrick says. “I started going through some of his paperwork last week. You’re welcome to come get it.”

“Thank you. I’ll keep you all posted.”

Lou and I return to my car, and I’m a ball of anger and frustration as we pull away.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” I begin, my rage finally boiling over. “Our grandfather was a lot of things, but a liar and a thief aren’t among them.”

“He’s just a creep,” she says. “But a hot creep. Do you know him? He’s an attorney.”

“No, I don’t know him.” I scowl at her. “Do you know how many attorneys there are in Manhattan?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that he’s good-looking.”

“You shouldn’t think he’s good-looking,” I inform her. “He’s trying to take the park away. There’s nothing good-looking about that.”

“He represents a company trying to take the park away,” she says, and I silently concede that she has a point. “He’s not doing it. He’s the messenger. You’re not your clients either.”

I let out a gusty breath. “It irritates me.”

“I get it, but you need to calm down because getting riled up won’t fix it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you riled up about anything.”

“I practice what I preach,” she says with a satisfied smile, her beautiful face lighting up. “And can I just say that I was not expecting Grandpa to be so generous? I mean, he always said he’d make sure we were taken care of, but this is a lot of money.”

And you’ll blow it. I wish he’d put it in a trust, but Lou’s thirty-five, and an adult.

I’ll pay off my student loans, and have plenty left to remodel my house, and even pay down the mortgage.

“I’m going to Paris,” she announces, and I cringe.

See? I knew it.

“I know, it’s not very responsible of me, but Grandpa would want me to have fun.”

“And a roof over your head,” I remind her, but she rolls her eyes, and I don’t push.

I pull up to her apartment building and she hops out of the car. “Call me later,” she says before slamming the door and sauntering up to her place.

I don’t waste any time. I drive straight to my office, files in hand, and begin to research. I can’t find anything on record that implies that my grandfather was not the owner of Hendricks Park.