Resilience

One

2 Months Later

<Vince>

My office intercom buzzes before my secretary's voice breaks through, "Mr. Hawking, you have Mr. Marsden from Marsden & Associates on the line."

"I'm busy, take a message," I instruct, returning my focus to the scattered documents on my desk.

The intercom buzzes again, but before my secretary can speak, I snap, "What now?"

She responds timidly, stuttering, "I... I'm sorry, Mr. Hawking. He says it's urgent and he's left multiple messages."

I look up, trying to quell my frustration. I don't have time for interruptions today. I've been in court all morning and I'm due back in an hour, according to the clock.

"Patch him through," I concede, my annoyance evident.

After a few seconds, the phone rings, and I pick it up. "Hawking," I bark curtly.

"Vince Hawking?" the voice on the other end asks.

"Speaking," I reply briskly. "My secretary mentioned it was urgent."

"Yes, Mr. Hawking, I'm Max Marsden with Marsden & Associates. I was calling about Barry Ellington's final will and testament. He left instructions for you as the executor-"

"I don't know any Ellington," I interrupt, disinterested as I locate the court form I need.

"He was your daughter's grandfather," the voice states. The air seems to leave my chest. "As I was saying, he appointed you as the trustee of your daughter's trust until she turns 25."

He continues speaking, but I'm momentarily unable to hear him. A daughter? That can't be right. I've always been cautious. Then it hits me. I'm wealthy; this could be a ruse. "How old?" I demand.

"I'm sorry, sir-"

"How old is the girl?"

"Eleanor Ellington?" he questions. I feel the tension in my body as I wait. "Let me check." I hear the rustling of papers and his breath through the line. "Ah, yes, here it is. She's 22."

I quickly calculate in my head. At 33, there's no conceivable way she could be my daughter. The tension eases from my shoulders with this realization, and I exhale deeply. Yet, my relief is short-lived as when my father comes to mind, Vince Hawking Sr. "Impossible," I mutter more in disbelief than fact. Our shared name has caused issues before.

The attorney stammers apologies over the line, but I ignore him, scrolling through my messages. I find the message I'm looking for, a sentimental, drunk text from my brother sent last year on the 20th anniversary of our mother's death.

"She's mine. What do you need from me?" I blurt out before fully processing it.

"But... ah, you said-"

"Forget what I said. Call it shock. What do you need?"

He clears his throat. "Understandable. As I mentioned, a few forms need your signature to assume control of her trust until she turns 25, and I have a letter for you from the late Mr. Ellington."

We set up a meeting for later in the week, and I hung up, intending to call my father. But curiosity got the best of me, prompting me to search her name on social media. "No results found." I tried three other popular sites with the same outcome. How could a 22-year-old not have social media in today's world?

I thrive on gathering all the facts before taking action. It's the lawyer in me; more information means more power. I immediately pick up the phone again, bypassing my father and dialing my lifelong friend.

"Griffin," he answered promptly.

"Xavier, I need a favor, it's time-sensitive."

"Go ahead," his gruff voice responded.

"Eleanor Ellington, 22 years old. Her grandfather, Barry Ellington, recently passed. An attorney called today, claiming her father is Vince Hawking Sr. I need any information you can find."

"Understood," Xavier assured me. I trust him implicitly. We've been friends since childhood, inseparable through school, women, and work. After high school, I pursued law like my father, while Xavier enlisted in the Marines, serving actively for 12 years until an injury ended his military career. Now, he owns his own security firm.

"Oh, and Xavier," I added as an afterthought, "keep this quiet from the twins."

(Don't own any pictures)