Page 7 of Your Every Wish
“Before he passed, he made sure to tie up all loose ends, including a living trust with you two girls as his beneficiaries.”
“What exactly did he die of?” Emma leans forward in her seat.
The question catches me off guard. Though I’ve kept loose tabs on my father’s life throughout the years, I have wondered myself how he died. I’d assumed Emma knew.
“Lung cancer,” Mr. Townsend says.
Well, there you have it.
“Where did he die?” Emma asks.
“With friends.” Mr. Townsend shifts his gaze to the paperwork in front of him. “Are we ready to get started?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Where? Where were these friends?”
Oh for God’s sake, I want to tell her, can’t we get down to the business of his will?
“Southern California. Somewhere near Santa Barbara, I believe. ”
“I guess it’s good that he was with friends,” Emma says. “Did he suffer much?”
“I really don’t know. We only spoke a few times by phone.” Mr. Townsend looks first at Emma and then at me. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
I want to laugh. You can’t lose something you never had.
“Thank you,” Emma says.
She sounds so solemn that I have to sneak a peek at her to see if she’s joking. Either she has a terrific poker face, or she means it. If it’s the latter, what a chump. The man didn’t even have the decency to let us know he was dying. Hell, he didn’t even have the decency to be a father. The least he could’ve done in his final hours is make amends for being a louse.
“Let’s get started.” Mr. Townsend shifts in his seat. “As his sole heirs, your father instructed that you each get an equal share. ”
I suck in a breath, mildly touched that in the end he at least recognized me, that he at least treated me the same as Emma.
“He’s left you Cedar Pines Estates, an eighty-six-acre development in the Sierra Foothills, near a town called Ghost.”
“I know it!” Emma about jumps out of her chair with excitement. “I mean Ghost, not Cedar Pines Estates. It’s really beautiful there.”
“Is it in California?” My familiarity with the Golden State is limited to two visits—one to Los Angeles for a friend’s bachelorette party and today’s trip to San Francisco.
“Yes, about an hour east of Sacramento,” Emma says.
Other than knowing that Sacramento is the state’s capital, I couldn’t find it without a GPS. But I don’t have to be an expert in geography to realize that an eighty-six-acre development anywhere in California is worth a small fortune. Probably even a large fortune.
I look at Mr. Townsend expectantly for the rest of it. What else did dear old Daddy leave us?
“In addition, he’s bequeathed you girls his savings, the sum of two investment accounts, and the contents of a safe-deposit box.”
“How much does that come to?” I blurt. Emma responds by glaring at me. Screw her. She doesn’t have the first clue what I’m up against.
“Combined, roughly four,” Mr. Townsend says.
It’s a staggering amount, even more than I imagined, and I have to grip the edge of my chair to calm myself.
“Four what?” Emma asks.
“Four thousand,” Mr. Townsend says.
