tricks of time ― grayson hawthorne [the inheritance games]

002. COLD WELCOMING

His answer faded in the background of my head as I looked at the rest of the people. 

"Nice to meet you. I'm Skye Hawthorne. This is my sister, Zara, and her husband." I nodded towards them both with a small smile, and Zara extended her hand, and I shook it firmly. 

"Lovely to meet you. Do you mind if I ask— how did you know my father?"

Silence descended on the cavernous foyer. I swallowed. "I didn't."

"Well, we appreciate your presence. It's been a trying time these past few weeks, as I'm sure you can imagine.

"These are the Laughlins, they have served us for years. This is my second oldest son, Jameson," who looked up from a chessboard. He stood up to shake my hand with a small smile. He was tall too. 

Then, she pointed to Nash, who was clearly the least formal of the four, and slumped over a couch, long legs extended over an ottoman. He stood up, and I noted his cowboy boots, which just added to his height. He looked at me. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, with a long Texas drawl. 

He looked momentarily at me, before looking long at Leslie, who blushed. I narrowed my eyes at both of them. 

"Nash?" A man with slicked-back hair interrupted us. "Mr. Ortega would like a word." The man, who I took to be Zara's husband as he slipped a hand around her waist, didn't spare so much as a glance for me. Skye made up for it. 

"Lord. Sorry about this, Lilah. My sister 'has words' with people," she commented. "I have conversations. Lovely conversations. Quite frankly, that's how I ended up with four sons. Wonderful, intimate conversations with four fascinating men..." 

I felt my face go red, and so did Grayson's. 

"I will pay you to stop right there," Grayson said, a pained expression on his face.

A loud cough made us all freeze. 

"Now that everyone is here," a man in the front, mostly bald except for a few patches at the end, said as he caught my attention. 

"We are about to begin the will reading. Please, take a seat," the man said as he gestured to a sofa next to Nash and Xander. 

The three lawyers stood in triangle formation. The one who I'd spoken to, Alisa was on the right, with her brown skin, and self-assured expression. I assumed she was the Ortega in McNamara, Ortega, and Jones. The other two— presumably Jones and McNamara— stood to either side.

"You are here," Mr. Ortega said, projecting his voice to the corners of the room, "to hear the last will and testament of Tobias Tattersall Hawthorne. Per Mr. Hawthorne's instructions, my colleagues will now distribute letters he has left for each of you. These are to be opened only after the will reading, understand?" 

He gave us a few seconds to nod our heads, and then stated, "shall we begin?" The family looked at each other with hopeful smiles. 

"Okay then," and he began to read. I could feel the sound tension in the air, and everyone seemed to have their breath held. 

"I, Tobias Tattersall Hawthorne," the man read. "being of sound body and mind, decree that my worldly possessions, including all monetary and physical assets, be disposed of as follow." The man paused. 

"To Andrew and Lottie Laughlin, for years of loyal service, I bequeath a sum of one hundred thousand dollars apiece, with lifelong, rent-free tenancy granted in Wayback Cottage, located on the western border of my Texas estate."

I froze. Holy shit. 300,000 apiece?  

They leaned into each other momentarily, warm smiles coating their faces. But Mr. Ortega continued reading.