Читать книгу The Wyoming Heir - Naomi Rawlings - Страница 13

Chapter Three

“Sell it all,” Luke said from behind his grandfather’s desk. “The companies, the estate, everything but the stocks.”

The lawyer, Mr. Byron, cleared his throat. “You can’t.”

“Why?” Luke waved his hand over the will spread across the desk. “Is there some sort of stipulation that prevents me from selling?”

“It’s not done.” Mr. Byron folded his stubby arms across his chest and peered through his spectacles. “Your grandfather intended for you to continue running the companies he worked so hard to establish, not to sell them off.”

Luke stared at the papers he’d spent the past two hours poring over, the lines of neat handwriting growing blurry beneath his gaze. He’d inherited nearly everything his grandfather had owned. Fifteen accounting offices with an insurance company attached to each branch, and a smattering of investments both in Albany businesses and on the New York Stock Exchange. “This shouldn’t even be mine. My father should inherit it.”

“Your grandfather was very clear. He wanted the estate and businesses to fall to his only living grandson.” The lawyer spoke without inflection, as though the words didn’t threaten to shatter the life Luke had built out West.

The unreachable little spot between his shoulder blades started to itch. Had Grandpa thought Luke would feel obliged to stay, once he saw the vast holdings? According to Pa, Jonah Hayes had manipulated everything and everyone around him. When the old codger tried forcing Pa into a marriage all those years back, Pa left, and Grandpa disowned him. Was Grandpa trying to get back at Pa by pulling his pa’s only living son back East?

Luke stretched his arm behind his back and tried to scratch the nagging itch. He couldn’t spend his days in an office, staring at lists and numbers, instead of ranching. Falling asleep to the distant howl of wolves and breathing the sharp air of the first mountain blizzard. Working with his hands to brand the cattle, round them up and drive them east. Seeing the prairie change from summer to autumn to winter to spring, all while the bold, jagged Tetons to his west watched like slumbering giants.

No. He wouldn’t leave the West. Not for all the wealth of his grandfather’s estate. “If Grandpa left everything to me, then he shouldn’t care what I do with it, and I want it sold.”

“You don’t realize the scope of what you ask.” The lawyer shoved his spectacles back up on his nose, only to have them slide halfway down again. “Think of all the problems selling such large holdings will cause. With the economy as it is, you’ll get maybe half the true value of your grandfather’s companies.”

Luke clenched his jaw. Beating his head against a brick wall would be easier than talking to the lawyer. “I don’t care about the money. My ranch does well enough. But if Grandpa was bound and determined to leave me his estate, the least I can do is take the money from it back to Pa, who should have gotten all this in the first place.”

“I appreciate that you want to reconcile things between your father and late grandfather, but you must consider some of the other people caught in your decision. What will happen to all the employees at Great Northern Accounting and Insurance if you sell?”

How was he to know? The new buyers would likely keep some of the employees. It wasn’t as though he put thousands of people out of work just by choosing to sell Grandpa’s companies. He wouldn’t be shutting down the businesses, merely putting them in the hands of men actually interested in running them.

“And what about the staff here at the estate? Do you realize how many people’s livelihoods you will be terminating with the single command to sell?”

Luke raked a hand through his hair. He hadn’t thought of the servants, either. Whoever bought the estate would probably have his own slew of servants to replace Grandpa’s. He’d need to have a meeting with the staff next week, explain the situation and let all but the minimum go.

No. That seemed too abrupt. Maybe he would keep them on for an extra month and give them time to find new employment.

But how would they look for other jobs if they were working here? Perhaps he should give them each a month’s salary and then release them.

And where would they sleep and eat for the coming month? The servants all lived on the estate, and kicking them out meant they had no home, even if he sent each of them off with a heap of money. Would his former employees even be able to find other jobs? He didn’t need to live out East to know that many of the country’s wealthy had lost money since the panic had hit. People were cutting back and getting rid of extra staff, not hiring more.

“Have you ever fired a person before, Mr. Hayes?” Byron leaned over the opposite side of the desk, his brown eyes extra large behind his glasses.

Luke bristled. “Of course.” Cowhands who were lazy or dishonest or lousy with cattle. But he’d never before fired a good, honest worker. It seemed a shame for decent people to lose their jobs because of a business decision. His business decision.

This whole affair was too complicated by half. Why had Grandpa left everything to him in the first place? He’d made a big enough mess of his own family. What made Grandpa think he could run an estate, and one of the largest insurance and accounting corporations in the East? He needed to get Sam, take her back home and see Ma through until she passed. Surely Grandpa would have understood that he didn’t have time for servants and accounting companies and whatever else.

“You could look for a manager,” the lawyer supplied. “Someone who would run the companies in your absence and report back to you in Wyoming. Then you could travel here every two or three years to see that things are being managed properly.”

Luke rubbed the back of his neck. The manager idea wasn’t half bad. It made more sense than anything else at the moment.

“You would continue to make a profit off the companies, as well.” The lawyer pounced on Luke’s moment of deliberation like a cougar on an unsuspecting rabbit. “Think of it as an extra source of income. It’s a rather sound business decision to make. Of course, you’ll have to interview potential managers while you’re here. But once you’ve found a man, you’d be free to return to Wyoming.”

“I don’t want to commit to anything like that just yet.”

“Why don’t you ponder the decision over the weekend?”

Yes, he’d better think it through. He didn’t want a lot of strings tying him to the East. And yet... “Then the employees would be able to keep their jobs?”

“All but the ones on the estate.”

“I’ll give you an answer next week.”

“Excellent.” A smile curved at the edges of Mr. Byron’s pudgy lips. “Let’s move on to your sister-in-law’s inheritance then, shall we?”

The world seemed to freeze around him, his blood turning frigid at the mere mention of her. “My grandfather left money to Cynthia?”

“Yes, a tidy sum of—”

“I don’t want to know.” Luke turned away and crossed his arms, but the image came back to him like hot, glowing embers buried beneath layers of ash. Cynthia with her pregnant belly cradled between her body and legs while she kneeled on the ground. Her fiery hair tangling in the mountain breeze, her eyes shining with tears, her voice pleading with him. And lying beside her, his dead, blood-soaked twin.

“Your sister also stands to inherit a nice amount,” the lawyer continued.

Luke walked to the French doors and pushed them open, then sucked in a breath of cool outside air.

“Samantha will receive ten thousand dollars either when she marries or turns twenty-five.”

Luke drew in another deep breath and tried to wrap his mind around the lawyer’s words. Samantha. They were talking about his sister now, weren’t they? Not the woman who’d let his brother die. “Has Sam been told?”

“Yes.”

He stared out into the darkening valley, rife with the music of insect sounds and toads and the faint rustle of the breeze. Returning to Wyoming beautiful and single, Sam would have been the talk of the Teton Valley. But with a ten-thousand-dollar inheritance, she’d attract every bachelor west of the Mississippi.

“In addition to her inheritance, your sister also has a separate fund to pay for the rest of her schooling.”

“What?” The calming air he’d just inhaled deserted his lungs.

“The remainder of Samantha’s year at Hayes Academy is, of course, already paid for. But this fund contains money for further education. College—not just a bachelor’s degree but a master’s program, even a doctorate, if your sister so desires.”

Luke turned back toward the lawyer and stalked to the desk. Grandpa’s will just kept getting better and better. “That’s ridiculous. She needs to go home to her family. Not chase some dream she has little hope of achieving.”

Perhaps if she wanted to be a teacher or a nurse, he could understand her desire to attend college. But architecture? She’d be laughed out of her classes. And even if she managed to graduate, who would hire her?

The lawyer cleared his throat. “Educating women was one of your grandfather’s passions, and something he devoted much time and money toward. He wouldn’t want any less for his granddaughter.”

Educating women. Why wasn’t grade school enough of an education? That was all the education he had, and he managed just fine. In fact, he’d wager Grandpa didn’t have more than a grade school education either, and the man had built a financial empire.

Luke poured what was probably his third cup of coffee and sank down behind the polished mahogany desk, brow furrowed as he stared at the pages of the will.

Why was God doing this to him? He hadn’t asked to inherit this estate. He just wanted to put his family back together and go home where he belonged, but now Grandpa’s will made it possible for Sam to stay with or without his approval. He took a sip of coffee and set the mug on the desk.

You shouldn’t set that on the wood. It could ruin the finish.

He blew out a breath. His sister was right—not that he cottoned to being reminded. Still...he grabbed a page of the will and stuck it under the mug.

His head ached, he was covered in road dust, and his face needed a shave. What he wouldn’t give for a good scrubbing in the stream, but first he needed to talk to Sam again. Or at least try talking to her. Hopefully their next conversation would go a little better than the first two they’d had. “Can we continue this discussion tomorrow? I’ve had about all I can take for tonight.”

The lawyer turned from where he stood shuffling through his own copies of the papers. “We’re about done, as it is. Let’s cover the charities quickly, then you can have the weekend to look over the will. Perhaps you’ll stop by my office in Albany on Monday with any further questions? Or if you wish, I can come here.”

“Albany on Monday’s fine.” He’d walk there barefoot, if doing so would end this fiasco for the night.

“Here’s the list of institutions your grandfather contributed to over the past five years.” Mr. Byron handed him three sheets of paper. As though the twenty-five names on one sheet wouldn’t have supplied his grandfather with enough philanthropic opportunities. “I’d expect the majority of these charities will send representatives to speak with you about donations in your grandfather’s memory.”

He’d figured that much when he’d talked to the headmistress at the academy earlier. He’d probably spend a week doing nothing more than explaining to the representatives that he would be heading West before he decided what to do with the funds.

“This is one you need to be particularly aware of, though.” The lawyer slid yet another piece of paper across the desk. “You may not know it, but your grandfather was the founder of Hayes Academy for Girls and stayed rather involved in that institution. It’s assumed you’ll fill the role he vacated.”

Luke frowned as he glanced at the papers for Hayes Academy—lists of finances and supplies, students and faculty. Easy enough to make sense of and not so very different from the accounts he kept of the ranch. “There’s a projected deficit. Am I in charge of raising money for my sister’s school?”

The lawyer shoved his drooping spectacles onto his nose yet again. Following the pattern, they slid right back down. “Either that or donating it yourself.”

He was never going to get back home. It took every ounce of pride in his body not to bang his head on the desk.

“Hayes Academy for Girls was your grandfather’s crowning social achievement. He remained rather proud of the school and very involved in its running, right up until his heart attack.”

Luke ran his eyes over the lists of expenses on the papers again. Looked like things could be managed a little better, but what was he going to do with the mess? He might be able to tell his lawyer to sell an estate, but he couldn’t exactly tell the lawyer to sell a girls’ school that he didn’t even own, could he? “All I see is projected expenses based on current enrollment. There’s no ledger?”

“The manager of the accounting office in Albany has the official ledgers, but the mathematics teacher, a Miss Elizabeth Wells, keeps her own ledgers and reports to the accountant. You might check with her about the school’s current financial state, particularly in regard to the day-to-day details. She stays more informed about such things than the accountant or the school board.”

Miss Wells. Lovely. He could just imagine how that conversation would go. Howdy, Miss Wells. Now that I’ve pulled my sister out of your school, I want to scrutinize every last figure you’ve recorded in your books. “How much, then?”

Byron’s eyebrows furrowed together. “How much what?”

“How much money did Grandpa’s will bequest to them?” Luke spread the papers into a bigger mess across the top of the desk. “For all the figures on these papers, I can’t find the amount.”

“Your grandfather made no bequests for a single charity. Everything was given to you, with the exception of the sums for Cynthia and your sister. He probably assumed once you saw the extent of his philanthropic endeavors, you would continue donating in his stead.”

Luke stuck a finger in his collar and tugged. Likely another way for good old Grandpa to trap him in this uppity little eastern town. “How much did my grandfather usually donate?”

The lawyer pointed to a number on one of the sheets.

“Two thousand dollars for one school year?” Luke jumped to his feet, the thunderous words reverberating off the office walls. He could understand five hundred dollars, or maybe even a thousand. But two thousand dollars so girls could learn fancy mathematics? “That seems a little extreme.”

The lawyer’s eyes darkened, and he jerked the paper away. “On the contrary. As I already mentioned, your grandfather advocated educating women, and it’s only natural he use his money toward that end. Since its inception, the school has been very successful at seeing its graduates enter colleges across the country.”

Luke leafed through the pages. “But it looks like donations are down...enrollment, too. It isn’t much to say the graduates go to college, when there’s no one to graduate.”

“That is hardly the fault of the school,” Byron insisted. “The current economic state has, of course, caused some students to delay their educations. And of late, there has been a bit of local opposition to the school.”

Byron handed him two newspaper articles: An Editorial on the Necessity of Educating Young Women by Miss Elizabeth Wells, and Excessive Amount of Charity Money Wasted on Hayes Academy for Girls by a certain Mr. Reginald Higsley.

Luke let the papers fall to the desk. “The derogatory article appeared at the beginning of the week. Has the school board printed an answer?”

The lawyer shook his head. “Your grandfather always handled situations such as this personally. But if you’re concerned about the articles, you may find it interesting that your grandfather was a rather large investor in the Morning Times.”

Luke sunk his head in his hands. “I see.”

And he did. He hadn’t even been in Valley Falls a day, and his life had been upended, flipped around and spun sideways a couple times. He was never going to survive here for a month.