Page 331 of Deep Pockets

I’m getting a queasy sense of déjà vu. “I would never. I didn’t even know she was, you know…” I gesture at the chandelier. My protest is met with stares of derision.

The younger, less hot Henry gets in on the action. “Maybe Smuckers helped write it. Did Smuckers dictate the will?” He gives dictate air quotes.

Sweat trickles down my back. “Look, when she asked me to care for Smuckers, she told me she’d defray the costs of his special salon and vet. So if she left something for that…”

Henry’s eyes twinkle coolly. “I’d imagine control of a multibillion-dollar conglomerate would defray a few costs.”

I frown, unsure if this is a joke or what.

“People go to jail for this kind of thing,” Henry’s young relative says.

“Let’s dial it back, Brett,” the lawyer says.

“Why should I dial it back?” Brett barks. “I’m not dialing back shit!” Brett wants to dial it up. Brett will be dialing it up to eleven, thank you very much.

“This was…supposed to be about vet bills and things,” I say. And ultrapuff blowouts at the Sassy Snout salon and Baby Poochems Perfect Pawz free-range rabbit meat for dogs.

But I don’t see those specific details improving anybody’s mood at this point.

Henry watches my eyes. “You’re trying to steal the company my grandfather founded. How about not insulting our intelligence on top of that?”

One of the Locke women grabs the lawyer’s arm. “A dog can’t control fifty-one percent of an international conglomerate, can he?”

Fifty-one percent? A chill goes over me as the reality of what’s happening sinks in. Bernadette left a lot more than vet and dog food money.

“With Ms. Nelson acting as regent?” the lawyer says. “Yes, then it’s no different than awarding control to an infant with a guardian acting in that infant’s best interests.”

Control of a corporation?

Brett gets in the lawyer’s face about his incompetence and disloyalty to the family, handing the company to a grifter.

Brett has unlocked full-blast freak-out mode—so much so that Henry has to pull Brett back and physically restrain him until he calms down. Another lawyer, the estate attorney, takes questions, too. They’re arguing about some point of Locke Worldwide bylaws. Everybody has the bylaws up on their phones.

I smooth my dress, the simple, demure dress designed to say I’m innocent, I’m not the bad person you say I am. I really didn’t lie! Please believe me. Somebody. Anybody.

Needless to say, it’s not having the desired effect.

Carly is forever on a quest to get me to buy something colorful—pastels, jewel tones. Anything not gray or black or brown. I say I don’t want to, but the truth is, I can’t.

My court clothes from when I was sixteen are like the ridges of the Grand Canyon, violent gashes etched by infinite splashes of hatred and derision. It’s seven years later and the onslaught is long gone, but the clothes stay.

A room of angry people. How am I in this position again?

Henry has that dangerous sparkle again. “Explains why you wanted custody of the dog so badly.”

“I wanted custody because I gave my word to Bernadette, and Smuckers needed a nice home,” I say. “I really just expected money for fancy food and vet bills.”

Henry pulls out his phone. “I’m calling the police.”

“What? What did I do?”

“You defrauded a vulnerable individual,” he says. “You pretended you could read the dog’s thoughts.” He turns his attention back to the phone. “Harry Van Horn, please.” That last he says into the phone. Because men like this have friends in the police department.

Just like Denny Woodruff and his family upstate in Deerville. The Lockes might even know the Woodruffs, or travel in the same circles at least.

Frantically I review the reading in my mind. The endless list of companies. Fifty-one percent. Which suggests Smuckers either owns or controls all of them. Or both.

And I control Smuckers.

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