Page 35 of From the Ashes

“I see,” my father says practically. If he has any moral judgement on her intentions, he certainly doesn’t show it, of course.

When he’s in his natural element like this, it’s hard for me to see the man who was on death’s door only a few months ago. I know it makes sense to preempt any future health issues, but as Ilook at him now, I can’t really imagine him ever not living for the thrill of all this. Of getting the best possible deal for his clients regardless of who’s ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ He doesn’t see it like that. He just sees winning and losing.

And he never loses.

Before I can judge this woman too harshly, I remind myself that she could have a perfectly valid reason for protecting her assets once she’s slipped from this mortal coil. She nods and gives a little ‘humph!’ noise in response to my father’s comment.

“Yes, indeed. My son’s children are the problem, you see. I know what my dear late husband told you previously—how he wanted everything divided equally. But he wasn’t in his right mind, as I’m sure you know. The business of dying made him a little soft, god rest his soul. But I’m here to set things straight and do what’s right.”

I looked at the case notes before we sat down to this meeting. According to his doctor, Mr. Brown was in good health aside from his heart failing him. He was certainly of sound mind. But if he also made his wife the executor of their estate, there isn’t much we can do about it.

“That’s very responsible of you, Mrs. Brown,” my father tells her solemnly, already taking notes in his looping handwriting that’s illegible to almost anyone but him.

I make out the words ‘Fleece her’ underlined amid a few other choice phrases. My stomach churns.

“Please, go on,” he prompts. “We must make sure your wishes are clearly stated and iron clad.”

She smiles primly at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Like I said, it’s Donnie’s kids that are the problem, Grace and Luke.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’d like to limit what Donnie gets for doing such a poor job of continuing the family name as well. My daughter changed hers when she got married, naturally, so histwo children were supposed to live the Brown legacy and pass it onto their own children.”

Next to me, Preston subtly nudges my elbow with his. He’s still looking at our client, but in his own notes he’s scribbled down ‘Because Brown is such an unusual surname.’

I think I do very well not to laugh out loud at that, but Mrs. Brown’s next words certainly sober me up quick enough.

“Grace is divorced, you see,” she’s saying with a grimace like she’s just sucked on a lemon. “For no good reason I can tell other than I’m sure her husband got sick to the stomach of her. Tattoos, funny-colored hair, more interested in cats than finding another husband. Then she tells me outright that she has no intention of having children even if she can manage to bag herself another fella! And then Luke hardly needs any explanation. He’s determined to live his life as a flaming faggot.”

Unfortunately, I’d chosen that moment to take a sip of water…which I then choke on and spray all over the table. Preston slaps my back as I clear the rest of the droplets from my airway, while my father simply shoves a box of tissues my way to clean up the mess before addressing Mrs. Brown.

“How awful,” he says sincerely.

“It’s selfish, is what it is,” Mrs. Brown huffs. “If he wants to be a pervert and dress like a woman, that’s his business, I suppose. But he insists on flaunting it for all the world to see! And he’s got the AIDS, so why should I leave him any of his grandfather’s hard-earned money? He’ll be dead soon anyway, I’m sure.”

“Actually,” I say indignantly even though I’m still spluttering slightly. “HIV is extremely manageable these days with a regular life expectancy and?—”

“That sounds extremely taxing, Mrs. Brown,” my father cuts over me as if I hadn’t been saying anything at all. “Honestly, this young generation just doesn’t have any respect as far as Ican tell. Such behavior should absolutely remain behind closed doors if these people can’t keep their fetishes in check.”

I swallow, my heart sinking. It’s not like this is new information to me, but it’s still horrendous hearing my own father saying such hurtful things so brazenly. I don’t know if Luke is actually a trans woman or a drag queen, genderfluid or simply gay and fem. Either way, I’m ashamed I don’t defend this stranger more fiercely. He doesn’t deserve to be spoken about with such little respect, and nor does his sister for that matter. Neither of them deserve to be denied the inheritance their grandfather earmarked for them.

Mrs. Brown sniffs. “If they aren’t going to be decent and continue the Brown name, I’m going to cut them from the Brown estate. Actions have consequences!”

“That they do,” my father agrees sagely.

I bite my lip and dig my fingernails into my palm rather than say anything I’ll regret. Again. But if this woman is reflective of the Brown family as a whole, perhaps Grace and Luke are quite sensible not to continue the generational trauma.

That’s the moment my phone chooses to vibrate in my pocket. I slip it out and look at the screen…and my heart almost stops.

It’s a video call from Zahir. I was absolutely positive that after yesterday, I’d never hear from him again as long as I lived. Hope and dread swoop equally through my chest.

“Is that an emergency?” Preston asks. He raises his eyebrows at me, and I get the hint.

“Yes, itisan emergency,” I say solemnly before turning to our client. I’ll deal with my father later, who will surely want details of this so-called emergency. Right now, I have to answer the call before Zahir gives up. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Brown. I need to leave you in the excellent hands of my colleagues for a few minutes.”

She waves me off, not even looking at me and already asking my father if there’s a surefire way to stop anyone else in her family giving Grace and Luke part of their inheritance after she’s gone.

I walk as fast as I can to the door, then practically sprint through the office until I’m outside in the courtyard where I can get some relative privacy. “Hello!” I cry, convinced he’s going to be gone before I can connect us.

But there he is, also outside on my small screen. He’s just across town, under the same beaming sunshine as I am, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like he’s so far away, after all.

I can’t imagine why he wants to talk to me after the way I treated him yesterday. I’m so ashamed of what I put him through, and I’ve been a wreck myself ever since. However, I’m too weak to ignore the chance to speak to him now, even if he’s planning on screaming at me for being the worst human being on the planet.

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