Legacy Locked

[ Readers- fiction writing is new to me. Recently I went on a family vacation and read David Baldacci’s fiction. This excerpt is my attempt to imitate that style in the world of family wealth. PLEASE add your comments and feedback below. ]

Chapter 1

When heavy rains pound on a tin roof it’s hard to listen. And harder to think.

Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood riffed “Come on, baby, let the good times roll...” Will didn’t need to hear the lyrics. He knew the song. “You only live but once, and when you're dead you're done."

Now another louder riff was drumming in his ears. “Trust nobody.”

Will stared at the patriarch’s oil portrait. Thick polished maple framed the man’s scowling face. His eyes were always squinted, as if looking into a storm. That man was never satisfied. His crease lines were deeper on the right side of his face, like a political statement or self-declaration. He always had to be right. To avoid scrutiny, his eyes focused on something off center, the next target to acquire. A new property. Another racehorse. A deeper asset map.

The wall of shelves was filled with trophies from decades of acquisitions. Bronze statues of racehorses from Secretariat to Barbaro to Seabiscuit. Custom-labeled bottles of Macallan whiskey. Lucite blocks of stock certificates from Morgan Stanley, Goldman Sachs, and regional investment firms. Man of the Year awards from the Williamson County Chamber and the Brentwood Rotary. Engraved bulls celebrating out-sized returns. A property map with potential acquisitions. Color coded pins- bronze-silver-gold for quicker decision making.

Jack Dawson was Will’s father. The patriarch in the oil painting. Finally unable to speak.

“Well, you old bastard, all those bourbons and Cohiba cigars finally caught up to you.”

Will kept muttering, “Now what do you expect us to do?”

He picked up the golf putter and drove an imaginary ball into the wall. But his eyes never tracked the ball.

Instead, he walked over to the old man’s desk, the Reliance oak desk. Another acquisition stolen from a Confederate landowner in that “War of Northern Aggression.” Amid more silver and bronze statues of racehorses he picked up the desk keepsake. Granite on the backside. Black trim on the front side. Gold letters designed to be eternal reminders.

“Protect our assets. Trust nobody.”

“How many times had Will heard Jack state that pledge? At the end of business meetings. With his sisters. Like an epitaph.” They didn’t need a family flag to remind their people. For the past 34 years, Will had heard those words uttered more religiously than a prayer before any meal.

Will never had anyone read him bedtime stories.

Will looked around the shelves and searched through the Reliance oak desk once again. Where would the old bastard hide those estate documents?

Another meeting with the Chamberlain attorneys was scheduled for Friday afternoon. But Will didn’t want to go empty handed.

He returned to the Reliance desk. As a child he had discovered a hidden drawer and imagined that there must be more secret drawers. He got down on his knees and stroked the ancient oak under both sides. No triggers. No succession plan. No career clarity.

His phone buzzed with a text from Emily. Jack’s first wife. The one woman who could have read him bedtime stories, if she had cared about him.

“Will, something’s wrong. I can’t find the documents that Jack left for me years ago. They were in my wall safe. Chat?”

The Chamberlain attorney meeting loomed like a deadline. Will needed to find those legal documents. And Emily needed to find them too. Will kept muttering, “How ironic that we are searching at the same time, in two different houses. Confusion from the grave. What a fine legacy from your sudden death.”

Will texted, “Not now. Busy.” And he made sure that his phone was muted.

Will stared at the silent oil painting. “Maybe you wanted us to be confused. Maybe you wanted us to fight over the properties until one of us emerged bloody and with a majority ownership. You always liked fights.” Will picked up the putter again and stared out the window at the heavy rains pummeling the tin roof and wall of windows.

He hoisted the Taylor Made Spider X club with practiced ease but had no distant green or target. He didn’t swing the club.

“Screw this...” he muttered. “Time to do something productive.”

Will walked away from Jack’s office to the South Wing, where he roomed.

Will stepped on his Peloton bike and pushed the buttons for a scenic ride in Tuscany. Time to spin. Time to recall some of the family history. Maybe there were clues from the past.

He thought about Emily, because of her text. Jack’s first wife. She was a beauty who never blossomed. One of her vices was Chardonnay, and Emily always preferred to drink alone. That way no one would tell her when she had too much. Now she lived alone, adored by her four gigantic white Persian cats. Never remarried. Never had children, which was a second reason for their divorce. Yet she retained the Dawson surname.

Franklin, Tennessee is a small town with provincial pride. And Emily had been a tennis player at Old Miss. That era ended at a Delta Gamma sorority party, under the rose awnings, when a sorority sister introduced her to a tall man who lived near Nashville. He wore white seersucker pants and a smirk. She fell hard and they were married a month after graduation. The charcoal and rose wedding invitations promised, “Jack and Emily forever.”

But after 7 years without children Jack was done with her. Both parties agreed to irreconcilable differences. No-fault divorces are easy to implement when there are few capital assets. Emily got the divorce and kept the Dawson surname.

Jack went back on the hunt and somehow fell into bed with a stunning brunette named Regan, a widow with 3 kids. Will was their eldest and only male. The girls, N and B, lived nearby but hated to talk about the family businesses.

“Emily, you were never part of this family” Will kept muttering. “You were always potential energy, like a rose that never blossomed. What can you do for me now?”

[ Readers- fiction writing is new to me. PLEASE add your comments and feedback below. I’m not sure if I should continue this effort. ]