“What’s on my agenda for the rest of the day?” I asked my assistant as I walked out of the airport, another supplier meeting behind me.
“You do keep an appointment list on your phone for a reason, Devin,” she sniped at me.
“I have you for that,” I said with as much sniping as she had sassed at me. She was the best at her job, so I put up with a little good-natured ribbing from time to time.
I followed the foot traffic out to where cars picked up their passengers. I stood at the curb until a black car pulled up with my name in the front window.
“You have a meeting with the estate lawyer,” she told me.
I slid into the back of the car as the driver put my case into the trunk.
“I voluntarily agreed to meet with McGrady?” I chuckled.
“Not only did you agree to meet with him, but you’re also the one who requested the meeting. My note here says household maintenance accounts, spending, eighteen days. I also have a message here that McGrady has news on the stolen art, and he will let you know what that development is when you’re in his office this afternoon.”
“Got it, I’ll be back in the office tomorrow.”
“Sure thing boss.”
I ended the call and mentally reviewed my purpose for meeting the lawyer. I had eighteen days before this fiasco of a year and marriage was over. In eighteen days I planned on having my lawyer draw up the divorce papers with all contingencies in place, alimony, division of assets, property ownership. I needed to know how soon the terms of the will would be enacted so I could get my life back without Harleigh in it.
I felt sadder at the prospect of having this year come to an end than I had anticipated. I guess I had gotten used to having Harleigh around. I didn’t think I would miss the bickering, but maybe I would miss the mornings when we were pleasant to each other. I would miss the house. Walking out the back door and not having anyone else around was not possible at my apartment. I would also miss the full-time staff, having a cook prepare my meals, and someone to clean my bathroom every day as opposed to a couple of days a week.
Arriving at the law firm, I announced myself to the receptionist and waited to be shown into McGrady’s office.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” I said as I stepped into McGrady’s office.
He stood and offered his hand. We shook and I took a seat across his desk.
“I understand that you’ve had news regarding the Picasso,” I said.
“Yes, the insurance investigators have located the widow.” He slid a paper with an address on it across his desk to me.
I glanced at it. The information meant nothing to me. All I was interested in was if they were making progress. I was there to ensure Harleigh’s accounts and funds would be situated before the end of our year of marriage. We barely had a few weeks left, and I had no intention of leaving her high and dry.
I made an effort to look at the address, and then I pushed the paper back toward the lawyer.
“Do we know if she has the painting at the property?” I asked.
McGrady cleared his throat, “About that.” He glanced at me nervously. “It would appear that the property in question is owned by you.”
“What? I don’t even own my apartment. I invest in commercial properties, not residential.”
“Through public records, the investigators were able to trace ownership back to the company the old man left to you. So, you own the property and the widow is squatting.”
“That’s a fucking mess. How do we fix it?” I sat back with a heavy breath. “I’m concerned that I haven’t been given full access to the company records. How long has this property been an asset I wasn’t aware of?”
“You can’t have full access until everything is out of probate,” McGrady explained.
There were times the old man infuriated me. This was one of them. The old man had made this entire process as difficult as possible.
He had the opportunity to sign everything over while he was alive, but would he? Of course not. He had a very “over my cold dead body” attitude when it came to matters such as these. Hidden properties, funds that ran out as if they had an expiration date, all of those were games he liked to play. He liked to watch people make fools of themselves for entertainment as if we were all his trained monkeys. I reminded myself this would all be over in a matter of weeks.
“The investigators have requested that we let them attempt to recover the Picasso, and have the widow charged before you swoop in and have her evicted,” McGrady sounded almost sad. “Such a shame to prosecute her.”
I breathed heavily through my nose. “She only brought this down on herself. One thing you should know about the old man’s wives, all of them, they are pretty like warning labels on poisonous frogs. Look but do not touch.”
“Speaking of pretty wives, how are things between you and Harleigh?” he asked me.
“Fine, I guess.” I shrugged.
I hadn’t seen her for a while, having kept myself away on business trips. Being in her presence fuddles my mind too much. I liked being near her entirely too much. It was easier to be away from her, than it was to fight the urge to reach out and caress her, to take her in my arms and kiss her. If I wasn’t careful I would confuse lust for actual emotions.
“That’s one of the reasons I’m here, so I can make sure she is taken care of after the divorce. I assume the estate will represent her in reviewing the division of properties.”
His eyebrows went up in surprise. As if he expected me to not have a continued interest in her well-being, even after we parted ways.
“I want everything to go smoothly for once. Nothing about this, getting married to keep the company has been smooth. The old man never took anyone’s emotional health into consideration. Harleigh has been jerked around her entire life by her father. I’d like to make this last transition go smoothly.”
“Everything is still in probate until the terms of the will are met. All transfers of ownership will go through the day after you’ve been married for a year,” McGrady said.
“Plus a day. What the hell was that about?” I held up my hand.” No, don’t try to figure it out. It’s in line with how the old man liked to twist things. A year would be easy, so twist the knife in and add a day just to be a pain in the ass.”
“We have not been contacted to handle the divorce. Is Harleigh even aware that’s your intention?”
“Of course she is. We talk about it all the time. Maybe she doesn’t realize she should have a lawyer review the paperwork, but she is aware of the impending split.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Look, I was going over the accounts Harleigh inherited. Nothing she has pays a dividend, it’s all bearer bonds or long-term investments. The only way she’ll have an income after this marriage ends is by liquidating her belongings. I would like to help her avoid that. Selling off her father’s diamonds is no way for someone in her position to live,” I pointed out.
McGrady nodded and took notes.
“She currently has a spending account with a credit card. But I’m the one transferring money every week when I remember to do it. The company is currently funding her and the maintenance of the household. I want to set up an account that automatically deposits funds into her account. I would like for it to be self-generating, so it should be sizable…” At this point, I was thinking out loud. McGrady could provide me with the information I needed regarding the old man’s money and how he had allocated funds. But for my current situation, I needed to speak with my financial consultant, especially now that I knew Harleigh didn’t have any income-generating accounts.
“I need to ask, how are things between you and Harleigh?” McGrady had asked something similar earlier.
“Strained. This hasn’t been easy on her,” I confessed. It hadn’t been easy on either of us, but McGrady didn’t need to know the specifics.
“How strained?”
“What are you getting at?” I asked. I didn’t have a good feeling about this.
“Why would she call my office to ask about getting an annulment this close to meeting the deadline?”
I roared. I don’t think I said anything, I yelled and made noise.
I slammed my way out of the office, leaving McGrady behind. Why the hell was Harleigh asking for an annulment? I knew things were rocky between us, but I figured we would at least last until the year of marriage was up.
I was blind with rage, not focusing on anything as I stalked out to my car. I floored the gas. I didn’t remember anything between my office and the house. What could have possibly happened that she would jeopardize what we had? Was she that upset that we had a passionate night together, and it hadn’t changed anything? That was weeks ago, she would have said something by now if she was that upset. Emotions aside, she would lose her house, I would lose the company I had spent my whole life helping to build. Emotions front and center, how could she do this to me, to us?
I don’t remember if I stopped at red lights, or if I blew right through them. I didn’t stop until the tires spun out, squealing and leaving marks on the drive in front of the house.
“Harleigh!” I bellowed.
The house was quiet. I ran upstairs and pounded on her bedroom door. Nothing.
“Jessie,” I began yelling for the household manager.
I took the back stairs to her office near the kitchen.
“Devin, what are you yelling about? What’s the matter?” She came out of her office.
“Where’s Harleigh?” I asked.
“Today is one of her yoga classes. She won’t be back for at least an hour.”
