Page 28 of Snapshot

I decided to open and go over the will with Hessler Group’s board of advisors and senior executive team. Well, most of it. They don’t need to know the full extent of my outrageous wealth, but I do want to go over the fate of the company.

Obviously, I have big shoes to fill. Grandma spent decades earning their trust and loyalty. And some of them probably don’t trust my competency. I’m half the age of most of them. Others don’t like the fact that while I should’ve been assuming more responsibility over the past three years, I was living a double life across the country. But unfortunately for them, Hessler Group is privately owned. There’s no voting me out. Like it or not, Grandma chose her successor. Hessler Group is now mine. And my first order of business is assuring my new team that their jobs are secure and I will break my back safeguarding the legacy my grandparents built.

Denny finds a seat on the other side of the table. “You have my number, right?” she asks as she leans back in the leather executive chair. She crosses her arms and legs in unison.

“Yes?” What a crazy question. We talk weekly.

“Then use it, Dex. I really wish you’d run these things by me first.”

I raise a brow. “Run it by you?” I ask, lowering my tone.

Denny’s eyes pop open as she gestures to the long, empty table. “I could’ve arranged a spread. Breakfast, coffee, tea, and such.”

Oh.That slipped my mind. “Is it too late?”

She glances at her watch. “How much time do we have?”

“They should be arriving in an hour.”

She winks at me as she rises. “Easy. Let me make some calls to the caterers and see what they can prepare and deliver in a hurry.”

“Can’t the cafeteria from downstairs send some donuts and coffee up?”

Our headquarters is a 350-million-dollar corporate campus. Thousands of employees spend most of their waking hours here. I specifically remember Grandma wanting to ensure that the dining facilities were top-tier and more than accommodating forall the employees. There’s a literal food court on the first floor. Surely, one of those shops can whip up something for a meeting of about twenty people.

“Dex,” Denny says with a sigh. “You called in the entire executive leadership team and the advisory board. You can’t feed millionairescafeteria food. Goodness.” She might as well pat me on the head and pinch my cheek, the way she talks to me like I’m a child. Probably because she still sees me as a child.

“I don’t mind cafeteria food.”

Her smile is riddled with condescension. “You’re the big boss. Time to act the part. Our private caterers do a beautiful spread of salmon caviar benedict and wagyu beef tostadas.”

I don’t have the energy for an ethical debate right now. After the leadership meeting, I have to meet with PR. Then, the finance team. Not to mention, I have to sit through about ten different meetings with personal lawyers as I agree to bank transfers and start property appraisals. “Whatever you think. Let’s just make sure there’s plenty of coffee.”

“Yes, sir.” Denny flashes me an overenthusiastic smile paired with an eager thumbs-up. “Oh, um…” She glances at the sealed envelope on the table. “I know this meeting is just for board members and executives, but do you mind if I stay to hear what’s in the will? Just so I understand how to support you, or if you need…” She trails off, shoulders slumping, cheeks flushing. She suddenly looks vulnerable.Hm, was this the same woman talking about caviar for millionaires a few moments ago?

“Denny, are you asking me if you still have a job?”

She barely nods, one small bob of her head. “In not so many words.”

“You aren’t my employee. You’re family. You shouldn’t even have to ask.”

She blows out an exaggerated breath of relief. “Thank you, Dex. And what I said before—about running things by me, it wasjust to help you. The reason Dottie was such an amazing leader is because she knew how to delegate. You have worker bees now.” She clicks her jaw. “Let us handle the brunch spreads, okay?”

“Thanks.”

She shuffles to the door, already dialing on her phone to make arrangements.

“Denny, wait,” I say, calling her back.

“Yes?”

As I glance at the yellow, still-sealed envelope, it suddenly dawns on me why Denny doesn’t have the will. Only the court, the executor, and the named beneficiaries receive a copy. “If you don’t have a copy of the will, that means …”

“Right.” She nods. “The agreement with your grandpa still remains in place. I have no claim in any sort of Hessler affairs.” She shrugs. “We knew this.”

“I guess I always thought Grandma would’ve figured out a way around it,” I say.

Denny nods. “I think she tried. That’s good enough.” The pained look on her face makes my stomach twist. Denny’s family, too, whether or not my grandpa wanted to accept that. He never looked too kindly on people who wanted handouts. From what I understand, he saw her as more of a barnacle than anything else. He allowed her to live with Grandma and Mom as long as she was legally bound to an agreement that ensured she couldn’t claim anything from the Hesslers nor sue for any various purposes. A bizarre arrangement, but that was Grandpa’s style. He built his kingdom behind walls of legal protection.

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