Savannah Secrets

He shifted in the deck chair, telling himself not to be ridiculous, then deliberately turned the page of the Savannah News where they’d dedicated two full pages to her obituary.

Instead, he chose to read the sports page.

2

“So what do we know about our heir?” Meredith asked Detective Garcia on the other end of the line.

“Actually, quite a lot. The guy’s in all the papers.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head curiously.

“Yeah, he’s Grant Gallagher.”

“I thought his name was James,” she answered impatiently.

“James Grant. He goes by his second name. And what I meant, ma’am, is that he is the Grant Gallagher, you know, the corporate raider who took over Bronstern’s last year? Remember all that fuss in the news? From what I read, he made a killing.”

“Good Lord.” Meredith’s brows flew up. “But the man’s a thief and a bloodhound.” She sat up straighter and, in her usual fashion, tipped her glasses.

“Well, I guess that’s one way of looking at it. Others might say he’s a mighty smart businessman who knows how to make a buck.”

“With absolutely no regard for those he bulldozes along the way,” Meredith replied witheringly. “Somebody should haul him to jail for what he does. Now, you’re absolutely certain you’ve got the right man?”

“Yes, ma’am. No doubt at all.”

“I’ll want DNA samples.”

“We already got ’em. Our fellow in London got a hair off Gallagher’s coat when he was dining in some fancy restaurant. Slipped some dough to the coat-check gal.”

“Oh.” Meredith blinked, taken aback. By any measure, without the man’s consent, that constituted a major invasion of privacy. “I see. Well, maybe we should have a second authorized sample. Anyway, send me the complete file and I’ll deal with contacting him.”

“Sure will. Anything else we can do, just give me a call.”

“Thanks, Detective, I will.”

Meredith hung up, dazed by this latest news. Grant Gallagher. The press usually fawned over him, writing about his meteoric rise to fame and fortune, skipping over the fact that he’d damaged the lives of countless employees. He was the worst sort of corporate raider, buying up companies only to destroy them as he sold off their parts for a profit. And now one hundred million dollars was about to fall into his sleazy, undeserving lap.

“I can’t let this happen,” she muttered, a picture of Dallas biting her nails over the foreclosure papers forming in her mind. “It’s just not fair.”

She reread a letter from the convent in Switzerland where the adoption had taken place thirty-eight years earlier. It was dated about ten years ago, which must have been about the time Rowena had hired the detective agency to track down her grandson. She had no doubt of the letter’s authenticity. Now, as she perused it again, she wondered why it had taken Rowena so long to initiate the search.

Even as she asked herself the question, she realized it wasn’t her place to query her client’s motives. But what about Dallas? Somehow she had to do something for the girl. She would come up with a plan, she vowed. But first, despite her natural reluctance, she must follow the will’s directives, contact Gallagher and inform him of this windfall. She shuddered.

The next morning, after shuttling the kids off to school, Meredith got to the office as early as possible, hoping something in the files on her desk would present a solution for Dallas.

“Good morning.” Tracy poked her head around the door and smiled. “May I?”

“Please, come on in. You’ll never believe who the Carstairs heir is,” she said with a huff.

“You told me. James G. Gallagher, whoever he is.” Tracy sat down opposite. “Coffee?”

“No, thanks. And by the way, he goes by the name of Grant Gallagher. Mean anything?”

“Sounds familiar.” Tracy’s brow creased.

“Of course it does. Remember at the beginning of last year, that Bronstern takeover up east? All those families put out of work?” she inquired, brows drawn together in a distressed frown. “It was Grant Gallagher who put the whole thing together. Just marched in there, cleaned shop and sent all the jobs overseas. Claimed outsourcing was in the shareholders’ best interests. He couldn’t have cared less about the people who’d given their lives to the company. He just wanted to fill his goddamn pocketbook. It made me sick.”

“Wow! And you mean to tell me that he’s the heir to Rowena’s hundred million?” Tracy’s eyes popped and she let out a huff. “Jeez, it’s not like he even needs the money.”

“Exactly. Now you understand why I’m not too thrilled at having to contact the guy about his windfall. Which, by the way, brings me to what I wanted to ask you. I really can’t leave town right now. The kids are involved in so many activities. Zack has that dental treatment coming up. I was wondering whether you wouldn’t—”

“Don’t even think about it.” Tracy raised her hand like a vigilant traffic cop. “I’m tied up to the gills in the Fairbairn affair.”

Meredith was about to protest, then let out a sigh. It was true that Tracy was carrying an impossibly heavy load. Plus, deep down, she knew the duty was hers. “Okay,” she said, a sigh escaping her as she scooped up the papers. “I guess I’ll have to get on with it. Maybe I can avoid a trip. I’ll write him first and pave the way. There are a couple addresses in the file.”

“That’s a good start. Send Mr. Gallagher a registered letter requesting a conference call. Don’t go into too much detail in writing.” Tracy rose and paused at the door. “By the way, have you told the others?”

“Not yet,” Meredith answered in a hollow voice.

“And what about Dallas? She still refusing to leave Providence?”

“Yep. She’s refusing to come to the reading of the will. She’s playing the proud princess, saying she doesn’t care. She’s already told me that she wouldn’t touch Rowena’s money, anyway—not that she knows what kind of money we’re talking about, of course. It’s unfair that she stands to lose so much and that such a creature will inherit what he can’t possibly need. I can’t fathom why Rowena would do this, I really can’t,” she insisted, shaking her head. “I just wish I wasn’t the executor of the will and could advise Dallas to contest.”

“Hardly appropriate,” Tracy murmured, sucking in her cheeks, as she was prone to do. “Dallas is a strong-willed young woman. She’ll live. It’s a pity her father left quite a bit of debt when he died several months ago. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Doug Thornton did indeed leave her that,” Meredith said, nodding. “Which makes this decision of Rowena’s even more unacceptable.”

“Honey, I haven’t the faintest idea why she did this, but knowing your client I’d bet big money there’s a good reason. Maybe you should visit Dallas and see Doug’s stud farm in the process. Beautiful place, apparently,” she added. Then, glancing at the file in her hand, she murmured, “Thought at all about what approach you’ll take with Gallagher?”

“No, I have not.” Meredith bristled. “I’ll wait for him to reply to my letter first. Until then I’ll concentrate on the Carstairs gang.” She grimaced. “The meeting’s set up for this afternoon.”

“Good luck.”

“I’ll need it. Don’t be surprised if I end up in Intensive Care.”

“Because of Joanna, you mean?” Tracy wiggled a brow expressively. “Don’t worry. If Rowena’s niece acts up, I’ll be down the hallway.”

“Nice thought, old buddy,” Meredith grinned, “but you don’t really believe the Carstairs crowd would lower themselves to coming to this modest office, do you?”

“No, probably not.” She chuckled. “So where is the meeting?”

“Rowena’s town house. She wanted it that way.”

“Jesus. Talk about turning the knife in the wound,” Tracy exclaimed. “Hasn’t Joanna believed for years that she was going to inherit that place?”

“Don’t remind me.” Meredith gave a hollow laugh.

“Well, call if you need me to send in the National Guard.”

“I’ll be fine.” Meredith gave a thumbs-up. Trace really could be counted on. But right now what she needed was someone to take Zack to the dentist later today. First braces, she thought with a sigh, lifting the phone and dialing her mother in the hopes that Clarice Rowland would be able to help her out. Only God knew how long the meeting might last.

“What do you mean we’re to get nothing?!” Joanna Carstairs Lamont blanched, her surgically lifted features tightening with rage. “We are the rightful heirs. Each and every one of us is owed a share of that money,” she insisted, waving her index finger wildly. “Surely you’ve got it wrong, Meredith.”

“Look, I had nothing to do with this, okay? I’m sorry you’re all disappointed. I really can’t tell you why Rowena structured her will as she has, since I didn’t draft it. But it’s all here, and her wishes are quite clear.”

She glanced round the exquisitely appointed drawing room, knowing as she glimpsed at their pale, stunned faces what a blow this must be.

“But we have rights,” Joanna spluttered. “Charles, say something, for Christ’s sake, don’t just sit there like a beached whale. My God. This is a disaster.” She sank heavily into a deep chintz armchair and muttered under her breath.

“I’m sure something can be done about it.” Charles, a middle-aged well-to-do doctor, swallowed uneasily. He hoped he sounded convincing—he was still absorbing the shock of the announcement and its implications. In a few short sentences Meredith had blighted his most cherished dream.

“Surely the will could be contested?” Patricia, Rowena’s youngest half sister, a pious, soberly attired widow of seventy, replied, eyeing her son Ward, who was humming quietly to himself, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“That’s certainly within your rights,” Meredith responded carefully, “but I must caution you that there would be serious consequences if your challenge failed. There is a clause here to the effect that anyone who sees fit to contest the will loses his or her right to the income of the trust she set up for you a few years ago.”

“The bitch!” Joanna screeched. “The goddamn bitch! I should have guessed that she would double-cross us and done something about it while she was still alive.”

“You certainly tried.” Charles eyed her coldly. “In fact, I distinctly remember you asking me to be part of the team that would certify her insanity.”

“You did what?” Meredith asked, looking from one to the other. It was her turn to be shocked. “Rowena may have been eccentric but she was anything but crazy. Anyway,” she continued, flipping through the paperwork and pointing to several documents, “she seems to have planned for that contingency. She had several medical examinations certifying the state of her health before she wrote this final will.”

“But it’s outrageous.” Joanna rounded on Charles, her chin jutting out defiantly. “And so what if I did try to have her certified? I’ll bet in view of this you all wish you’d agreed to it instead of being so fucking squeamish. My God, if we’d had her locked up, it sure as hell would have solved our present little problem, wouldn’t it?”

Controlling her temper, Meredith realized it was probably better to let Joanna have her say. As the woman continued her rant, Meredith took stock of the other members of the family. Ward, Rowena’s half nephew, looked vacant as usual. Mary Chris, his sister, had her hands clasped piously in her lap and wore her customary saintly expression. Their mother’s face was blank. Charles had gone gray at the gills. The only missing relative was Craig, Rowena’s third nephew, who still had to fly in from London.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Joanna was saying. “What the hell did she plan to do with the money, then?” She turned to glare at Meredith. “If we’re not going to get it, who is? Surely Dallas doesn’t get it all?”

“I’m afraid Dallas doesn’t get anything, either,” Meredith said slowly, pausing to take a deep breath. She looked up. All eyes were upon her. The room seethed with pressure, as though each and every one there guessed there was more bad news to come. And boy, was there, Meredith thought grimly. Straightening her shoulders, she said quietly, her tone neutral, “The sole heir to Rowena’s estate, excepting some personal bequests, is her grandson.”

“What?” Joanna exclaimed in a high-pitched squeak.

“Her grandson?” Charles exclaimed, frowning, his jaw tense. “There must be some mistake. She had no grandson.”

“Actually, she did,” Meredith countered, outwardly calm. “Isabel, Rowena’s daughter, had a child out of wedlock.”

A general gasp echoed throughout the drawing room. Charles’s pallor increased. Joanna sat dumbstruck. Mary Chris blushed and murmured something incomprehensible under her breath, while her mother’s set features took on an inscrutable cold expression. Ward just sat there, smiling politely, quite unaware of the true meaning of Meredith’s words.

“This grandson,” Meredith continued warily, “was given up for adoption at birth. But it appears Rowena tracked him down some ten years ago and made him the sole beneficiary of the bulk of her will.”

“Good God,” Charles exclaimed, dabbing a white handkerchief to his lips.

“But if he was legally adopted, then he has no rights,” Joanna interrupted, her eyes narrowed in bitter anger as she tossed her perfectly colored strawberry-blond hair back.

“He’s still her lineal descendent. Rowena established his birth connection. Anyway, the point’s moot, because she made him her heir. She had the legal right to leave her fortune to anyone she chose.”

“You said everything?” Charles interrupted, his voice strained. “You mean the properties, the furniture, all her personal assets?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“How much money are we talking about?” Joanna asked, her voice shaking with loathing.

“One hundred million dollars, give or take.”

Gasps erupted from all corners of the room.

“A hundred million dollars? But we never knew Rowena had that kind of money.” Joanna’s manicured hands were shaking now. “How is this possible? How could she have done this? It’s not fair.”

“I understand how upset you are,” Meredith countered, shifting her legs under the desk and wishing that the meeting were over, “but actually it’s even more unfair for Dallas. After all, she’s a grandchild, too. And Rowena has left her nothing. Except for a string of pearls.”

“Not her black pearls?” Joanna hissed.

“Uh, yes. I believe those are the ones.” Meredith quickly checked the file.

“But she promised those to me. Why, the old bitch has done nothing but lie and pretend all these years! When I think of the time and attention I lavished on her,” Joanna screeched, rising abruptly and turning on Meredith. “It was all a waste!”

“Well,” Meredith countered, “you aren’t without resources. You will, of course, continue to receive the income from the trust she established for you. Subject to certain conditions.”

“The income,” she threw scathingly. “As if I cared about the goddamn income. It’s the capital I’m interested in—that’s what I’ve been waiting for all these years.”

“Naturally,” Meredith said dryly, discomfort fast changing to disdain as Joanna’s performance evolved, “you will have to continue fulfilling the requirements—”

“Requirements,” Joanna spat, prowling the Aubusson carpet of Rowena’s stately drawing room, hands clenched. “How dare she do this to us? How dare she?”

“As I was saying,” Meredith continued, ignoring the outburst, “the trust’s requirements will still need to be met.” She swallowed, knowing what would come next. “As the heir to her affairs, Rowena’s grandson, Mr. Grant Gallagher, has been named cotrustee with me. We will be the ones to determine if the requirements are met.”

Joanna erupted. “You mean to tell me that not only has she named some godforsaken bastard of Isabel’s her heir, but that she’s made him a trustee to what’s rightfully ours?”

“Oh, Joanna, shut up,” Charles said tightly. “Meredith, what do we know about this Gallagher person?”

“Well, it’s not the best news, I’m afraid. Grant Gallagher is a well-known corporate raider. Remember the Bronstern affair last year?” She glanced up.

“Of course. What has that got to do with it?”

“Everything,” she replied, trying to keep the bitterness from her tone. “He was responsible for breaking up the company. I don’t know how many people lost their jobs.”

“My God,” he muttered, “then there’s no hope of his declining the inheritance, I guess.” His hands fell in his lap and he looked suddenly years older. And very sad, Meredith realized, feeling rather sorry for him, but also wondering why he seemed so devastated. Married to a wealthy Bostonian wife, Marcia, he was probably in a far better position financially than the rest of them.

“This is just so unfair,” Joanna continued, her voice shaking as she paced the room.

“Hardly unfair, Joanna. She didn’t need to make that trust in the first place. Basically, it all goes on the same,” she pointed out reasonably.

“You actually expect me to go groveling to some bastard child of Isabel’s for my share?” Joanna stared at Meredith, shocked.

“I’m afraid you won’t have a choice. Mr. Gallagher and I will have sole discretion as to the disbursement of funds. In other words, you will have to receive our approval.”

“The bitch,” Joanna whispered again hoarsely, staring out of the bay window onto the luscious garden she’d been so certain would one day be hers. “The fucking hypocrite.”

“Joanna,” Charles reprimanded, “this is hardly the time to be criticizing our benefactress.”

“Benefactress my ass,” she hissed, her mouth twisting hideously. “She’s manipulated us, forced us to kowtow to Isabel’s droppings. It’s disgusting. Don’t you see, Charles? She did it on purpose to humiliate us. God, I hate her,” she exclaimed again, clenching her fists.

“Joanna, this is no time for tantrums,” Charles admonished.

“Charles is right. There’s little use getting upset,” Meredith countered in the vain hope that the meeting would not deteriorate further. She glanced at the other relations, who had remained silent. Ward was picking at a thread on the sleeve of his old tweed jacket. He had no real understanding of what was going on around him, but from time to time he pretended to listen. “I see no reason why Gallagher or I should refuse any reasonable requests.”

“You don’t understand,” Joanna threw back bitterly. “She’s humiliating us before this bastard, making us, her legitimate heirs, beg. It’s disgraceful.”

“I think you’re becoming unnecessarily dramatic,” Meredith answered quietly. “Soon we’ll have more information on Gallagher and get a better idea of where matters stand. But for now, I’m afraid you’ll just have to be patient.”

It took Meredith another twenty minutes to calm Joanna down and bring the meeting to a close, but finally she was seated in her Jeep heading home, returning the calls she’d been unable to take during the afternoon and looking forward to another lonely evening.

That night, after the kids were in bed, Meredith sipped a mug of hot chocolate and tucked her slippered feet under the old cashmere throw, thankful the day was behind her. It was always hard to be the bearer of bad tidings. In a way she sympathized with the Carstairs relatives. After all, Rowena had always implied they’d share her estate once she was gone. But what surprised her most, what she couldn’t fathom, was why Dallas had been so summarily cut out of the will. She and her grandmother hadn’t seen eye to eye, but surely that didn’t merit abandoning her?

Meredith leaned into the cushions and cupped the mug thoughtfully. She’d arranged for a phone conference with Dallas for the following morning, and was dreading telling her the news. Dallas had gotten a rotten deal all round. The property in Beaufort where Doug Thornton had raised thoroughbreds and where Dallas had spent the better part of her youth was mortgaged to the hilt. Presumably the only reason the bank hadn’t foreclosed was because they knew of Dallas’s expectations. Now that those were dashed, what would the girl’s options be?

Taking a sip of piping hot chocolate, Meredith pondered whether Dallas could contest.

Analyzing the case from a legal standpoint, she realized probably not. The will was tight as a drum. Although it was her duty to see that the wishes expressed in the will were carried out, her sense of justice revolted. Somebody, she realized, pulling the file toward her, had to help Dallas. The girl couldn’t be allowed to flounder out there on her own.

Should she appeal to Gallagher? No, a man with his track record would hardly have an ounce of compassion. And he certainly wouldn’t feel any sense of loyalty to a family he hadn’t even known existed. To him, Rowena’s estate would be nothing but another windfall that some crazy old lady had seen fit to bequeath him.

And all at once she wondered if Rowena had known Gallagher, if they’d met. Somehow she didn’t think so. Surely if Rowena had been aware of who Gallagher really was, she wouldn’t have structured things as she had. On the other hand, Rowena was too smart to have made such a decision without a great deal of thought.

After flipping through several paragraphs of the long, detailed document, Meredith decided to go to bed. Tomorrow she would take steps to contact Grant Gallagher, and she would find some way to help Dallas.

Her determination to go to bat for Dallas increased as she remembered all the times over the past few years that she’d tried to ease the strained relationship between grandmother and granddaughter, and how Dallas had come to confide in her. She felt she couldn’t betray that trust, couldn’t let Dallas down, even though the girl refused to admit that she needed help.

By the time she turned out the lights, she’d sketched out the beginnings of a game plan. The first step was getting through to Gallagher.

Dabbing another lotion-bathed cotton pad over her cheeks, Joanna peered at her reflection and sighed. She must calm her frenzied mind. She must think straight. Act. But how? Of course she would be in touch with Ross Rollins to see what could be done from a legal standpoint, but surely there must be something else she could do to sway things her way?

Rising from the dressing table and heading toward her lace-canopied bed, Joanna took off her peach-colored silk dressing gown and feathered mules, then climbed wearily into bed.

What a day. She’d woken up so happy, so certain that finally she’d hit the jackpot.

And now this.

She slumped against the pillows and wondered if she should visit her fortune-teller to see what she had to say. Oh, what the hell. That was just another expense. And God knows she had enough of those with a drawer full of bills sitting in her desk waiting to be taken care of.

But remembering the fortune-teller made her sit up straighter, brow creased as another thought crossed her mind. What was the name of that famous voodoo priestess Rowena had frequented? Miss Mabella. That was it. But now she also recalled that Miss Mabella was not easily available. There were times when she disappeared to the bayou, wouldn’t speak English, would only communicate in Gullah with her close entourage.

She shivered, pulled the coverlet up to her chin, both encouraged yet scared that she’d remembered the woman’s name. She knew it was dangerous to dabble. But still, Joanna wondered whether she was worth investing in. After several moments’ reflection, she decided in favor. After all, things couldn’t get much worse. She must use some kind of intervention if she wasn’t going to be screwed. And from all she’d heard, Miss Mabella had a trick or two up her sleeve.

The question was how to contact her? Perhaps she would ask Josie, her cleaning lady, tomorrow. Josie had an aunt who lived in what she believed was the same neighborhood as Miss Mabella. Maybe she could make contact for her.

With a sigh Joanna turned off the light. Grant Gallagher, indeed. Fuck him. She was damned if she’d allow anybody, much less some illegitimate son of Isabel’s—whom she’d never liked, anyway—to take what should be hers.

No siree!

Despite her laudable resolve of having a quiet morning, Meredith found it impossible to relax. Tweaking her hair back and donning her glasses, she rummaged for the Carstairs file. Sitting at her highly polished mahogany desk, an heirloom from her great-grandmother Rowland, Meredith admitted ruefully that relaxing was not her forte. Plus the task ahead of her was no light challenge. Setting the thick manila folder next to her laptop, she got online, determined to find as much information as she could about the man she already considered her adversary. All her legal training taught her never to get emotional about a case. Ross would have told her it was none of her business, that technically the man was her client now, and that her only agenda should be to defend his interests.

But how could she when so much was at stake for Dallas?

Typing his name into Google, Meredith learned it was distressingly easy to acquire information on Grant Gallagher—the man was probably a publicity hound. There were newspaper headings, articles and pictures of him at nightclubs with beautiful blondes hanging on to his arm. The fact that he appeared to be outrageously handsome only made her glare more coldly at his wolfish smile. No doubt his behavior in the bedroom matched his ruthless actions in the boardroom.

Logging off, she pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, realizing that even if the man willingly lived his life in the public eye, there were details in this folder that were intensely private. Details that he wouldn’t want to share; information about himself that even he didn’t know. Despite her contempt for him, she felt as if she were committing a violation. Rowena’s detectives had been nothing if not thorough, she reflected, her lips curling cynically.

She skimmed once more over his case history. He didn’t have much of a childhood, she admitted grudgingly, her brow knit. Grant had been adopted at birth by a wealthy couple unable to have children, who then divorced when he was four. Both parents had subsequently remarried several times. Judging by the frequent changes in address and the different schools he’d attended throughout Europe, it was obvious the man had lived an erratic youth in which his adoptive parents had figured little. They probably cared even less.

She studied a glamorous photo of Raymond and Gina Gallagher, clipped from some sixties-era society page. Although a handsome couple, they looked more impressed with themselves than with each other. Grant had probably been adopted to serve as a plug in a leaking tub. When the plug failed, the tub had drained and the child was left to fend for himself. Well, not entirely. There seemed to be some serious financial security. But that kind of life couldn’t have been easy.

His experiences hadn’t impeded his getting ahead at the expense of others, she recognized, reaching for the bottle of Evian that she’d carried in from the kitchen. She would have imagined that someone who’d had an emotionally deprived childhood, albeit a financially secure one, would be sensitive to the needs of others. But apparently empathy wasn’t a word in Gallagher’s lexicon.

Meredith sighed, remembering her own happy childhood, her loving parents and sibling. Even when she’d been at her most rebellious—like the time she’d led a third-grade boycott of the Webelos for not admitting girls into their organization—her family had been there for her, offering their love and support. She’d been one of the lucky ones.

Slipping the documents back into the envelope, Meredith rose from the desk and headed upstairs for a shower, trying not to think about her upcoming phone appointment with Dallas. She had all of fifteen minutes to get herself cleaned up and dressed before she had to head to the office. Time to get the show on the road, she realized with a grimace, yanking off her tracksuit and heading for the shower.

“It doesn’t matter, I wouldn’t have taken a penny of her money, anyway.”

Dallas’s voice sounded harsh and determined, and Meredith sighed. She’d just pointed out a minor loophole in the will that she thought might give Dallas grounds to contest, but the girl wouldn’t listen, despite the dire situation she was facing. Rarely had Meredith met anyone more stubborn and unyielding.

“Dallas, please, you need to think this over carefully. Let me give you the name of an estate attorney I admire. She can at least help you figure out where you stand.”

“Nope. I don’t care. I’ll just let it go.”

“But that’s ridiculous. I know the mortgage company is breathing down your neck. At least let me talk to them, explain how things are, tell them there’s still a chance you’ll recover something, or at least enough to pay off a large chunk of the debt. That should keep them at bay for a while.”

“Meredith, why won’t you understand? I hated Grandma Rowena. She fucked up all our lives. I don’t want any of her money. It’s tainted. This guy Gallagher’s welcome to it.”

“You know, technically he’s your half brother,” Meredith said thoughtfully. She didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her before, but of course these two shared the same mother. They were siblings. Surely that had to count for something?

A short silence ensued. “So? What if he is my half brother? I don’t know him, he doesn’t know me. Just because we were born of the same mother doesn’t mean we signify anything to each other. Why should I care about him? Or he about my problems, for that matter?”

“You’re right, I guess,” Meredith responded sadly. “Look, I’ve already sent him a letter to advise him of the inheritance, and I presume I’ll be hearing from him shortly. I’ll keep you informed.”