Page 79 of Canvas of Lies
Hanson and Ford had repositioned themselves so they could see the faces of those in attendance. Both of them studied the Chesterfields with an intensity that surprised me. When my mother angled a glance toward Nico, all of us caught her curled lip, but Nico only lifted a brow before turning his attention back to the lawyer.
I stifled a snort. Thank god he was here with me for this.
“Now, this is all fairly straightforward,” Compton said, smiling kindly at me, “so I’ll start with the most recent additions. Mrs. Chesterfield, as per the divorce decree, is not entitled to any part of the estate. However, Mr. Willoughby requested that she receive the painting you see on the wall here.”
When he gestured to the false “family treasure” that my dad had revealed in the second interview, my mother let out an ear-splitting shriek. I almost choked, suppressing a laugh. Nico squeezed my hand and I pressed my face into his shoulder to hide my amusement.
“How dare he! That stupid son of a bitch thinks he can foist that ugly piece of shit on me and give away my millions to this French bastard?”
Humor fled as I jerked in my seat, ready to fly into a fury on his behalf, but Nico laid a restraining hand on my knee. I sawHanson watching with interest and forced myself to sit back. We all waited for Chesterfield to quiet my mother down again so the lawyer could continue. Once she finally descended into sullen silence, Compton cleared his throat once more.
“Right, then. Let’s continue, shall we? As the Clément painting was recently proven to have belonged to the Beaumont family long before Pierre Beaumont came into Mr. Willoughby’s employ, that artwork rightfully belongs to Nicolas Beaumont and is not included in the will. The rest of the estate, in its entirety, is left to Miss Katherine Willoughby as Aidan’s only child. There is, however, a rather unorthodox stipulation.”
This was not what I’d expected, stipulation notwithstanding. My father had barely spoken to me for the past decade. Why on earth would he leave this all to me? Was it another move made just to piss off my mother?
“His entire estate? Surely he left money to other relatives or charities or something?” I said, blinking at Compton in confusion as my mother let out another wail.
The old man smiled gently. “No, it’s all spelled out here, Miss Willoughby. However, he also specified that the inheritance requires you to take up residence here at the house, effective immediately upon the reading of his last will and testament. You’re to remain in residence for a period of six months from the date of his death, after which the property and all of the items within are yours to keep or sell as you please.”
I stared at him as he paused and shuffled the papers in front of him. “Six months,” I repeated, stunned.
“I’ve been instructed only to divulge the alternative upon your refusal to accept these terms. Should you agree, there’s a letter that he requested you read in private. Here are the estimated values of your inheritance.”
While I looked over the figures with a growing sense of utter disbelief, my mother’s caterwauling suddenly ceased, cloaking the room in anticipatory silence. The quiet felt suffocating, but Nico’s hand folded around mine and I blew out a breath as I met his eyes.
The question in mine must have been clear, because he said very simply, “It’s up to you. Whatever you decide, we’ll figure it all out.”
I thought about my sweet little apartment, my morning walks to work, the life I’d built without a single cent from my father. Then I considered all the people who worked in this house, all the good I could do with those funds in exchange for half a year of my life. It would be well worth six months of commuting back and forth to work to ensure the money went to good causes and not into the greedy hands of my mother or Ferdinand Chesterfield.
There was no telling what my father’s secret alternative might be, but if past experience was any indication, it would be nothing good. He’d never been the benevolent sort.
“Okay, then. I guess I accept the terms,” I said, earning a broad smile from Compton even as uncertainty lingered in my gut.
“Excellent. I believe that will be all, then. Miss Willoughby, please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions.” He handed me a business card along with a sealed envelope with my name scrawled in my father’s handwriting before turning to gather up his papers.
Chesterfield jumped to his feet before the older man could leave the room.
“You can't possibly expect us to let this stand,” he growled. “We’ll have you in court so fast your head will spin!”
My mother fluttered at his elbow, but Nico’s attention shifted to the police officers behind them, drawing my gaze as well. Hanson looked even more stone-faced than usual, while Ford’s expression vacillated between fascinated and appalled.
Though the threat was clearly directed at Compton, I smiled serenely. “Would you like the painting shipped to St. Croix, Mother?”
A raucous new wave of wailing sprung up from their direction and I fought the urge to cover my ears, choosing instead to press my forehead against Nico’s chest while everyone else dealt with my mother. By the time Beardsley and Compton managed to usher the furious Chesterfields from the house with the worthless painting in hand, I had a pounding headache. I dropped into an armchair by the fireplace and closed my eyes while Nico withdrew the forgery to show the police.
“You said Mr. Willoughby had you sign a contract, do you happen to have that with you?” Hanson asked.
Nico drew the folded contract from his pocket and handed it to the detective, who let out a whistle as she skimmed the agreement.
“Seems a little overboard, don’t you think?”
“My father was nothing if not thorough,” I muttered, “and almost certainly paranoid. That contract was probably standard practice for him.”
As she handed back the papers, Hanson asked, “What will you do with it, now that you finally have it back?”
A small smile tugged at Nico’s lips. “I grew up hearing stories about Céleste Bicardeau and eating meals in view of that painting. For the time being, I look forward to seeing it hung in a place of honor again, and in the future? Hopefully I’ll be sharing those stories with my own children.”
My heart stuttered, then warmth flooded my chest when he met my gaze from across the room. Whatever happened, we were in this together. No matter how overwhelming it would be to deal with this house, to live with every knick knack and every memory, it would be easier because I’d have Nico by my side.
