Page 17 of Like A Daydream
“We understand that no formal will was written for them,” Jack’s mother says, “what exactly are the legal proceedings for ordering their affairs?”
“Actually –” Erick says, nodding to the lawyer, “they did leave a will. It was handwritten.”
“Handwritten wills don’t hold in a court of law,” Emerson’s father says to his son, smug smile on his face. “They’re holographic wills at best, fraudulent at worst.”
“Emerson and Jack went through all of the proper procedures,” the lawyer says. “It was witnessed by three people, signed by all five of them, and notarized. They were very prepared with their affairs.”
“Just like my sister to be an overachiever,” Erick says, “even getting ready for death she dotted all her I’s and crossed every t.”
“And a handwritten will holds up in court if those conditions are met,” the lawyer says, “so you can contest it if you’d like, but you won’t have much luck.”
Jack’s parents sink back into their seats, as if that was their very intention, and they hadn’t even read the letter yet.
The lawyer hands the letter to Erick, who opens it with shaking hands. They’d named him Executor, and Danielle had only found out the day before.
It’s not like the thought of needing to know these details had ever even crossed their minds, but now that they’re here and carrying out those wishes…. It all feels final, as if the bad dream she’d thought she was in is becoming reality.
“The last Will and Testament of Jack and Emerson Stevens,” Erick says, clearing his throat. He glances around the room, nervous, before he continues.
Danielle looks down at the table, suddenly interested in every line of the oak tree they had used to build it.
“Everything we have goes to Harper, under the oversight of Erick Jacobsen and Danielle Spencer.” Erick says, voice growing stronger with every word. “When she is of legal age, and is able to make further decisions, she will take complete ownership and control of our house, assets, and business, should she choose to do so.
“The house,” Erick continues, glancing at Danielle as if they can both feel the tension and anger in the room rising. “Will be given to Erick Jacobsen for use, until Harper is of legal age and can decide what she wants. There is enough in our banking accounts to cover the rest of the mortgage. So, for goodness sake, Erick, get out of your apartment.”
Danielle lets out half a laugh at that, and glances around the room at everyone else.
Danielle thinks she can see smoke coming out of Emerson’s mother’s ears. She’s never made it a secret how badly she’s wanted that house since they’d built it three years ago.
Who could blame her? It’s a brand new, Colonial Revival house with a view of the mountains that’s simply to die for.
“The business,” Erick says, “will be handed over to our CFO, Willard Douglas, who has been an excellent mentor and friend, until Harper is of legal age and able to make any further decisions.”
“This seems to be a little risky,” Emerson’s father says, “leaving everything to a friend instead of family.”
“Have you not heard anything I just said?” Erick asks. “None of it transfers to Harper until she’s eighteen, and it makes perfect sense to leave the business to someone capable. And handing everything to her at eighteen is logical. She’s their daughter. Who else would this stuff go to, if not her?”
“We’re going to take her to Berlin with us,” Emerson’s mother says, “it’s not like she’ll be able do anything from there.”
“Who said you’re taking her anywhere?” Jack’s mother Sarah asks, eyes snapping to Emerson’s mother. “She’s going to stay in America, not go overseas.”
“And what makes you so sure of that?”
“Because we’re taking her with us, back to Montana.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Back to beat up trucks and cowboys!” Emerson’s dad says. “How’s Hicktown, USA, these days?”
“Montana is no more a hicktown than Lake Placid is, if you really want to go there, Jeremy,” Jack’s father, Adam, replies. “It’s a millionaire’s playground, if you must know. And we have four hundred acres at our disposal.”
“Four hundred acres of bears and other dangerous wildlife!” Emerson’s mom, Amelia, says, folding her arms over her chest like a petulant child. “I won’t have my granddaughter mauled by a bear or trampled by a buffalo –”
“The chances of that happening are slim to none! Only idiots who decide to take pictures with the wildlife get mauled!” Jack’s father says, face growing increasingly redder as he speaks.
“Like those pictures you posted on Facebook, Sarah?”
“I wasn’t anywhere near the bears! They were half a mile away, at least!”
“Bears can run thirty-five miles an hour!” Emerson’s mother exclaims, throwing her hands in the air.
