Page 5 of Roark
The Next Day
“The last will and testament of Maxine Luraye Donovan states as follows.” Francois Favre had been the family attorney since before Roark was born. His lean frame sat hunched over a large dark wood desk. Wire-rimmed glasses were perched midway down the length of his nose, and his long fingers shook slightly as they held onto the papers he now read from.
Roark sat in the middle guest chair across from Francois, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his gaze aimed at the solicitor. Per their usual seating arrangement, which was more than a little strange, Ridge was on one side of him and Suri was on the other. They were the only ones summoned to this meeting with the solicitor, but Aunt Birdie sat on the green-and-burgundy paisley print couch across the room. She’d insisted on coming, and while Roark could’ve put his foot down and staunchly refused, he hadn’t had the energy to turn away one of his oldest relatives.
“I nominate and appoint Roark G. Donovan as Personal Representative,” Francois continued.
That fact was of surprise to no one, especially not Roark. He’d been running his mother’s house as if he were the head of the household since he was twenty-five, and before then—in the years between his father’s passing and Roark coming of age—Francois had handled all the legal stuff for Maxine. Other attorneys at the large firm where Francois worked took care of Donovan Oilwell legal business. Once Roark had finished college and taken over the company, he’d made sure all the firm’s attorneys reported directly to him with everything involving his mother and the oil well.
Francois went on for another twenty minutes, going over every detail of the thirty-page will, and nobody said a word. But the silence didn’t last long. “Now,” Francois continued. “You’ll recall in the first few pages where the expenses were discussed. It was your mother’s wish that funeral and burial expenses be paid as soon after her death as reasonably convenient.”
“Everything was paid upfront,” Roark interrupted.
Francois’ cool gray eyes peered over the top of his glasses. “As evidenced by the copies of the funeral director and the cemetery’s bill you provided.”
Roark caught the tendrils of annoyance in the solicitor’s comment, but he didn’t care. He wanted to get this over with quickly. “Then there should be no need to discuss those expenses at this time.”
“Let him do what he’s getting paid to do,” Aunt Birdie added.
Suri reached between the two chairs to touch Roark’s arm, and when he looked over to her, it was to see her giving him a “calm down, it’s almost over” nod. He took a deep breath and released it slowly while Francois turned his attention to another stack of papers.
“The insurance company is prepared to immediately release the funds from the policy it held. The check will need to be added to the estate to be processed. Then it may be disbursed in equal amounts to Ridge, Suri and, of course, Roark.” Francois nodded at each one of them as he said their names.
Ridge shifted in his chair. “We don’t need that money.”
“You may do with it what you wish, sir,” Francois told him with a nod. “But I must add that in light of the murder investigation, what you do with that money may become—”
Suri dropped her hand from Roark’s arm. “Murder investigation?”
Francois stopped speaking and glanced at Suri, then to Roark. When Roark didn’t immediately speak, Francois huffed. “The autopsy report stated cause of death as homicide. That means someone killed your mother.” His tone was brisk and without any emotion.
Roark wanted to reach out and grab him by his scrawny neck.
Suri was immediately out of her chair. “What?”
Ridge sat forward. “Wait a minute, why are we just hearing about this?”
“Because I didn’t want to tell you until we had more information.” Roark knew the moment the words were out that all eyes would turn to him, but he wasn’t prepared for how heated those glares would be.
Even Aunt Birdie stood from where she’d been seated and made her way over to stand right behind his chair. “You knew, and you didn’t tell any of us,” she said. “You’d better have a damn good reason why.”
Suri was shaking her head. “There is no good reason. You had no right!” Her voice went from almost cracking with grief to yelling with rage in about three seconds, and Ridge got up and moved next to her.
“We’re entitled to any and all information regarding our mum, Roark. You should’ve told us.” Ridge wasn’t any happier than Suri was at this moment—which Roark had expected—but he wasn’t yelling. At least not yet.
“I didn’t want to upset you more than was necessary.” It was the only excuse he had.
Roark hated the pain etched on his siblings’ faces. Ridge had the darker complexion of their father, his long locs pulled and twisted into some intricate design that left them hanging neatly down his back. He was only an inch shorter than Roark and stood with an arm around Suri’s shoulder.
Suri leaned into Ridge, her arms folded across her chest. She was the mirror-image of their mother, except her flair for making a bold fashion statement no matter what she wore and her love of makeup. Today, her hair was styled in a very neat bun, her lips were ruby-red, and the black-and-white checkered pantsuit she wore fit her small frame perfectly.
“This has been extremely difficult for all of us. I wanted to get all the facts first before I came to you with this.” He still believed that had been the right move, even though the two of them were staring at him as if his words had floated into oblivion.
Aunt Birdie poked him in the shoulder. “Well, cat’s outta the bag now. Tell us what you know.”
Roark glanced over his shoulder at his aunt and met her steady gaze. She wore black today as well, with some type of silver wrap. Her gray-streaked hair was styled and hung straight to her jaw. “From the start, the firefighters believed the fire was intentionally set. But they have to follow protocols in their investigation, so we did the next best thing and had the autopsy expedited.” He was still leaving out bits and pieces, but he suspected they just wanted him to get to the point.
“Who is ‘we’?” Ridge asked.
