CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The ringing of the doorbell knocks me awake. I think it's the first time I can't remember a single thread of my dreams. I do feel a light airiness to my lips, like I'm smiling without effort. Edwin pops into my mind, and then his voice fills the void. Orange. Pizza. The only two things I know about him. The only two things I'll never forget. The only two things that will see me through to the end of this.
I kick my shorts up from the floor and scramble for a tank from my drawer. I rush downstairs and see the fuzzy outline of a woman behind the glass of the door. Note to self: replace that damn glass. It always sets up a horrible mystery of who's on the other side—and so far, it's only usually someone I wasn't hoping to see.
I open the door and a stoic lady in her early forties barges past me. She's in a fitted ivory pantsuit with white buttons. Her dark chestnut hair is pulled back in a taut ponytail that I can only assume is giving her a massive headache and would also explain her miserable expression. She's toting a Louis Vuitton briefcase ... and she looks like she means business.
She wheels around and eyes me up and down. "Mr. Hillstone, I presume?"
"Um ... can I ask what you're doing inside my house?"
She lets out a sarcastic laugh. "You mean Ed and Estelle Greene's house? Right, right. Would you like to take a seat?"
"Listen lady, if you don't get out of my house, I'm calling the cops."
"I don't think that'll be necessary. I'm the Greene's estate attorney, Miranda Augustus. I was called late yesterday evening with news of Estelle's sudden passing." She takes it upon herself to pull out a chair from the dining table and takes a seat.
"I didn't know that Bud and Estelle had a lawyer." I shut the door, walk over and take a seat across from while she opens her briefcase and pulls out a manila envelope.
"Of course not. Why would you? Now, Mr. Hillstone—"
"You can call me Gavin."
"Right. So, let me get to the point and be as direct as possible. You have twenty-four hours to pack your belongings and vacate this property."
"What?"
"You hold no legal rights to the property or assets owned by the Greenes. The District of Columbia will auction off the property."
"They can't do that! They're my family! I have, like, rights to this place."
"Ah, yes. I thought you'd mention that." She pulls another folder from her briefcase and slams it on the table. "Do these look familiar to you?"
"My adoption papers," I say, suddenly nervous.
"You're a sharp one." She smirks, shifts in her seat, and crosses her legs. "Don't you find it a bit coincidental that both of your grandparents—both of which you have not seen in years—both happen to pass just within weeks of each other? And just after your arrival? Mr. Hillstone, I know there's no hard evidence but it is all very ... convenient."
My heart sinks and anger piles over me.
"I did some digging this morning once my office was notified. You've lived in Saddlehorn ever since your real parents died in a fire, you are the product of an alcoholic and abusive adoptive father, and your adoptive mother died before your very eyes. Very tragic, I must say." She forces a frown. "But then what? You discovered you had living relatives? And just after Jet Hillstone was sent to jail? I can understand why you'd like to seek redemption ... possibly start over? Or maybe revenge? Retaliation for being left alone all these years?"
"I would never—"
"You know, I made a call to your adoptive father. He says you ran away before your eighteenth birthday. He also mentioned that you had quite the temper. Do you find all of this as interesting as I do—hmm?"
I feel my teeth grinding. "Get out! Now! You have no idea what you're talking about. Being with Estelle and Bud was the first time in my life that I've ever felt love and returned it. I'd kill myself before ever harming them! Ever!"
"I see." She uncrosses her legs and rises from her seat. "But unless you can provide legitimate proof that Mr. and Mrs. Greene named you as the heir to their assets, then I will see you in twenty-four hours, Mr. Hillstone." She digs into her purse. "Here's my card. If you find anything, please don't hesitate to call me. Do have a wonderful day." She marches toward the door, checks her reflection in the mirror, and walks out.
I can barely breathe. What am I supposed to do? This can't be happening. This can't be real.
I sprint upstairs and yank my phone from the charger. "Mr. P—Perry."
"What's going on, Gavin? Are you okay?"
"No. This lady Miranda just left. She gave me all these papers. She said she's Estelle and Bud's attorney. She said I have to move out within twenty-four hours—that since I was adopted I have no rights to anything. What do I do? She even hinted that I killed them! Me!"
"Damn it!" he says. "Did she leave a card?"
"Yes." My eyes follow the curves and shapes of the black ink that spells out her name. "Can she even do that?"
"I don't know the laws here, but I can only imagine. You can stay with me if you want. We may be a bit cramped. It's more of a one-bedroom bachelor pad—but my place is yours."
"No. I can't just hand over everything. This is all I have left of them. I won't! I refuse!"
"Look, as soon as I get off work I'll swing by and we'll come up with a solution. Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry about it? Let me call you back. Mario's aunt and uncle can help me."
"Mario's aunt and uncle? Why would they be able to help you?"
I sigh. "There's a lot more you don't know yet. Just swing by after." I hang up and dial Mario's number.
"Yo! How are you feeling?"
"Not good at all. I need Ralph and Jeanie's help."
"What happened?"
"Are they home now?"
"Yeah, of course. They've canceled like every work trip until this whole Edwin ordeal is resolved."
"I'm heading over. Are you in class?"
"Yeah, right. You think I'm going to school with everything going on? No way."
"I'll see you in an hour."
