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Gemma Fox has...
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"It's left to who?"
"She can't handle that; the longest she's been at a job is six months!"
"There has to be some kind of mistake."
"It wasn't supposed to go to Gemma!"
"Your Aunt Hazel really was insane."
I wish I could say that my family's objections were just the ramblings of a bunch of assholes, but no; they were completely, 100% correct.
I, Gemma Fox, 22-year-old college dropout, had no business running a company, let alone a sprawling, ancient family staple that had been passed down for four generations. With every strong and capable woman that inherited the hotel, it thrived under her management. But it was my Great-Aunt Hazel who put it on the map, and now she had left it to me to carry on her legacy.
Hazel must have had a long evening at the hotel bar when she made that decision.
"Seriously, though, you must have it wrong. Could you please check again?" my mother asked the lawyer in that snotty voice reserved for people she viewed as beneath her. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder and leaned in, pursing her Botox-filled lips.
Mr. Cartwright, the balding middle-aged lawyer who represented my great-aunt, was in no way intimidated by her. "Mrs. Fox, I assure you, there is no mistake. I spent twenty years in school; I am fairly certain I know how to read. But in case you didn't comprehend it the first time: The Hotel Reynard and all its assets are left to Hazel Fox's great-niece, Gemma Diane Fox. I hope that clears it up."
I snorted behind my hand, and my oldest brother, Trevor, glared at me across the oval conference table. I cleared my throat and sat up in my chair, clasping my hands on the smooth surface. Trevor and I may have gotten along when we were younger—he used to take up for me on the playground when the older kids picked on me—but in our later teen years, he had become more and more critical of me and my life choices. A carbon copy of our mother.
"But what about Raven? She's older than Gemma by eighteen months. She should've been the one to receive the hotel, right?" Trevor asked, and I shot him a dirty look.
Raven spoke up then, and my glare slid to her as she said, "Not to mention that I have my degree in Hospitality and am currently the manager of the Hilton in downtown Boston." Her eyes darted to me on the word degree, as if to rub it in my face that she graduated, and I didn't.
As we were walking into the attorney's office, I heard them discussing how much they thought the hotel was worth and all the plans they had with that money. It was assumed, based on her age and career, that Raven would inherit the Reynard. But now the only thing that Hazel owned that was worth a damn was bequeathed to me.
