I bolt. The next thing I know, I'm outside, the front door of Hawthorne House slamming shut behind me. Cool air hits my face.
"Camille! Are you okay?" Libby runs towards me, studying my face concerned. "Also: Are you insane? When someone gives you money, you don't try to give it back!"
I breathe in, breathe out. "Libby," I say through gritted teeth. "Give me a break."
Avery steps outside. She looks like the mess that I feel like, her mind probably trying to categorise this new information. She looks so young suddenly. No one gets to lay their hand on my family.
"I'm just saying that we're talking billions here. With a B. Think about what this means. You'll never have to worry about money again. You can buy whatever you want, do whatever you want."
"Right now, I just want to leave this place and never come back."
"I can only agree with Milly. This entire thing just screams dangerous," Avery says and I sigh in relief, just glad she's agreeing with me.
The massive front door of Hawthorne House slams open. I flinch, and Nash Hawthorne steps out. Even wearing a suit, he looks every inch the cowboy, ready to meet a rival at high noon.
I brace myself. Billions. Wars have been fought over less.
"Relax, trouble." Nash's Texas drawl is slow and smooth, like whiskey. "I don't want the money. Never have. Far as I'm concerned, this is the universe having a bit of fun with folks who probably deserve it."
The oldest Hawthorne brother's gaze drifts from me to Libby.
He is tall, muscular, and suntanned. She is tiny and slight, her pale skin standing in stark contrast to her dark lipstick and dyed black hair. The two of them look like they don't belong within ten feet of each other, and yet, there he is, slow-smiling at her.
"You take care, darlin," Nash tells my sister. He ambles toward his motorcycle, then put on his helmet, and a moment later, he is gone.
Libby stares after the motorcycle. "I take back what I said about Grayson. Maybe he's God.'
Right now, we have bigger issues than which of the Hawthorne brothers is divine. "We can't stay here, Libby. I doubt the rest of the family is as blasé about the will as Nash is. We need to go."
"I'm going with you," a deep voice says. I turn. John Oren stood next to the front door. I didn't hear him open it.
"I don't need security," I tell him. "I just need to get out of here."
"You'll need security for the rest of your life." He says so matter-of-factly, I can't even begin to argue. "But look on the bright side..." He nods to the car that picked us up at the airport. "I also drive."
I ask Oren to take us to a motel. Instead, he drives us to the fanciest hotel I've ever seen, and he must have taken the scenic route, because Alisa Ortega is waiting for us in the lobby.
"I've had a chance to read the will in full." Apparently, that's her version of hello. I narrow my eyes. "I brought a copy for you. I suggest we retire to your rooms and go over the details."
"Our rooms?" I repeat. There are six chandeliers in the lobby. Nearby, a woman is playing a five-foot-tall harp. "We can't afford rooms here."
Alisa gives me an almost pitying look that makes me recoil. "Oh, honey," she says, then recovers her professionalism. "You own this hotel."
I...what? I can't possibly own this hotel.
"Besides which." Alisa continues, "the will is now in probate. It may be some time before the money and properties are out of escrow, but in the meantime, McNamara, Ortega, and Jones will be picking up the tab for anything you need."
Libby frowns, crinkling her brow. "Is that a thing that law firms do?"
"You have probably gathered that Mr. Hawthorne was one of our most important clients," Alisa says delicately. "It would be more precise to say that he was our only client. And now."
"Now," I say, the truth sinking in, "that client is me."
It takes me almost an hour to read and reread and reread the will. Tobias Hawthorne has put only one condition on my inheritance.
"You're to live in Hawthorne House for one year, commencing no more than three days from now."
Alisa has made that point at least twice already, but I can't get my brain to accept it.
"The only string attached to my inheriting billions of dollars is that I must move into that mansion."
"Correct."
"A mansion where a large number of the people who were expecting to inherit this money still live. And I can't kick them out."
"Barring extraordinary circumstances, also correct. If it's any consolation, it is a very large house."
"Very lovely," I say. "And if I refuse? Or if the Hawthorne family has me killed?"
"No one is going to have you killed," Alisa says calmly.
"I know you grew up around these people and everything," Libby tells Alisa, trying to be diplomatic, "but they are totally, one hundred percent going to go all Lizzie Borden on my sisters."
"Really would prefer not to be ax-murdered," I emphasise.
"Risk assessment: low," Oren rumbles. "At least insofar as axes are concerned."
It takes me a second to figure out that he's joking. "This is serious!" But given how crazy everything is right now, I want to laugh, too.
"Believe me" he returns, 'I know. But I also know the Hawthorne family. The boys would never harm a woman, and the women will come for you in the courtroom, no axes involved."
"Besides," Alisa adds, "in the state of Texas, if an heir dies while a will is in probate, the inheritance doesn't revert to the original estate--it becomes part of the heir's estate."
I have an estate? I think dully. "And if I refuse to move in with them?" I ask again.
"She's not going to refuse." Libby shoots laser eyes in my direction. I stare back with a cold expression until she looks down. No one gets to tell me what to do. Besides, I have to consider all the options.
"If you fail to move into Hawthorne House in three days' time," Alisa tells me, "your portion of the estate will be dispersed to charity."
Sounds fair enough, I think. "Not to Tobias Hawthorne's family?" I ask, frowning.
"No." Alisa's neutral mask slips slightly. She's known the Hawthornes for years. She might work for me now, but she can't be too happy about that.
"Your father wrote the will, right?" I say, trying to wrap my head around the insane situation I'm in. Pretending this is all normal.
"In consultation with the other partners at the firm," Alisa confirms.
"Did he tell you why?" Why has Tobias Hawthorne disinherited his family? Why leave everything to me?
'I don't think my father knows why," Alisa says. She peers at me, the mask on her face slipping and revealing curiosity and something more, something I can't place.
"Do you?"