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When Peter entered the room, he nodded to his grandfather’s attorney, Robert Corbett, and then spoke to his aunt Amelia before he took a seat in one of the wingback chairs. His cousin Jake had commandeered his grandfather’s leather recliner.
“Now that everyone is present we can begin,” Corbett said. “First I want you to understand that although the will is in Richard’s wording, it is legal.”
Heads nodded and he began. “To my daughter, Amelia, and my daughter-in-law, Deborah, I leave half of my personal property to be divided equally between you, except for the house. That goes solely to my daughter. Robert will put all the hereby and wherewiths in later if they are needed.”
His grandfather’s verbiage sounded strange in the lawyer’s hushed tones. Peter glanced at his cousin, then his aunt, fearing they might resent Grandfather leaving so much to his daughter-in-law. But no frowns appeared.
Peter hadn’t expected to receive the house. In fact, he didn’t expect to receive much of anything. He was here because his mother had delegated him to represent the family at the reading of the will since she couldn’t come.
Robert Corbett continued, “The other half goes to my two grandsons with the exception of the following bequeaths.”
Peter blinked back his surprise. Sitting across from him, Jake did the same thing. Even though Peter and his grandfather had put their past differences behind them, he hadn’t expected to be left a quarter of the estate.
Not that he ever wanted any of Richard Elliott’s money, but he had wanted his approval—something he wasn’t sure he had until now. That’s what a will was—a person’s final judgment of his heirs. He took in a satisfied breath and released it.
The attorney went on to list the few people his grandfather had left personal items to, including Millie and Gunner. They would remain in their little cottage behind the main house along with a nice pension.
While the attorney searched his papers, a mantel clock chimed four times. Peter slipped his grandfather’s pocket watch out and flipped it open. Four o’clock. Right on the money.
He closed the watch and ran his thumb over the smooth case, remembering how his grandfather had given it to him after he’d won a race against Jake, using less than honorable tactics. But instead of admonishing Peter, he’d simply said that winning wasn’t everything, and he hoped the watch would remind him of that. It was a lesson Peter wasn’t sure he’d learned yet.
He would deeply miss his grandfather, miss the long talks even though they usually disagreed, miss the challenges, and even the contests his grandfather came up with.
And Peter would miss sitting with him in his walnut-paneled den. Correction. The house now belonged to his aunt, something his cousin already seemed comfortable with as he leaned back in the leather chair and propped his ankle across his knee.
Jake, like Peter, had taken his lanky, six-foot-one frame from the Elliott side of the family. Height and blue eyes were the only physical traits he and Jake shared. Jake had more of the Irish in him from the O’Neils, with his dark hair and somewhat darker complexion, than Peter who had the fairer Scottish coloring and blond hair. But they both had the Elliott competitive spirit.
The attorney cleared his throat. “Now, to the business end.”
Amelia stood. “Is there any need for me to stay for this?”
Corbett looked up. “No, it deals with the two grandsons,” he said. “If you wish to leave while we conduct this part of the will, you are welcome to do so.”
She glanced at Jake, her eyes questioning him.
Color flooded his face. “I can handle this, Mother.”
“Good. I have a house to show at four-thirty.” She kissed her son and hugged Peter. “Come to dinner later this week.”
“Thank you, Aunt Amelia,” he said. “Let me know which night.”
He’d always liked his aunt—she’d had fun games for them to play when they were growing up and never tried to get him and Jake to compete against each other. In fact, she’d tried to get her father to stop his games. To no avail.
After the door closed behind Amelia, Robert Corbett shifted his gaze back to the document while Jake maintained an air of indifference, and Peter studied the dark red carpet.
He didn’t understand why Corbett said this part of the will dealt with him and Jake. Jake, he understood. His cousin was already operations manager at the furniture factory, and it was only natural that he would step into his grandfather’s shoes.
Peter would be surprised if he were mentioned at all, since his grandfather never got over his spurning the family business to gallivant around the world and then choose a government career.
“The reins to Elliott Manufacturing will pass to the winner of the following contest.”
Peter jerked his head up. “What?”
“What?” Jake’s indifference evaporated as he echoed the question.
Corbett peered over his glasses. “I assume your questions reflect surprise rather than an inability to hear or understand, so I will continue rather than repeat myself.”
He resumed reading. “I can hear both of you squawking about right now, but it will do you no good. At the time of this writing, Robert will attest to the soundness of my mind.”
Peter and Jake exchanged glances, and Peter knew his cousin was thinking the same thing he was. Not another one of Grandfather’s crazy contests. For as long as Peter could remember, Richard Elliott loved to pit his two grandsons against each other. “Iron sharpens iron,” he’d always said. Trouble was, it sometimes sharpened it to a nub.
“I tried to talk him out of this, but he would not be dissuaded.” Corbett placed the will on the desk and handed each of them an envelope. “The terms of the contest are laid out in these papers. If you will take your—”
“Is this some kind of joke?” Jake asked.
“I can assure you, Mr. O’Neil, it is not a joke. Your grandfather put a lot of time and thought into this. It was his belief that the director of Elliott Manufacturing needs all of the skills this contest will require. Now, I will give you a minute to look over the instructions and terms.”
Peter opened his envelope and slid out the papers. As far as he was concerned, the contest was over. He had no desire to run the company and would gladly cede the directorship to Jake.
He liked his life just the way it was, much preferring his involvement with the children’s shelter and his job as head of the Department of Human Services in Cedar Grove to running a furniture manufacturing business. And he looked forward to starting the teenage community center he’d mentioned to Cal. Getting it approved by the city council and obtaining the funds needed to run it was all the challenge he wanted.
Peter skimmed the papers and abruptly stopped, frowning.
A half million dollars. He blinked and looked again. No, he’d seen right. He raised his gaze to the lawyer, who sat with his hands clasped together on the desk, his face unreadable. Peter sneaked a glance at Jake. His wide eyes indicated he’d seen the figure, too.
“Now, if you are ready, I’ll go over the broad points of the contest. You can read the fine print later at your convenience. You are welcome to make notes on the papers I gave you.”
Without waiting for an answer, he began reading.
“Okay, boys, you both know that for several years, it’s been in my heart to start two things in Cedar Grove. A place for senior citizens to meet and another one for teenagers. A year ago I purchased a building that would be suitable to house either of these projects. I’m assigning the youth project to Peter and the senior citizen project to Jake.
“You have ninety days to form a nonprofit organization and to come up with a five-year business plan, as well as obtain approval and backing from the city, which will include twenty-five thousand dollars a year to help run the operation. The rest of the money to run it will come from the half million dollars the winner receives. Whichever one of you is the first to get approval gets the building and the half million dollars. He also becomes CEO of Elliott Manufacturing.
“However, in obtaining city backing, neither this contest nor the subsequent funding can be mentioned. If the city doesn’t believe in the project enough to invest in it, you don’t have their support.
“As for a director for your project, it can’t be either of you. If you can’t get someone to volunteer to head it initially, you haven’t done your job. Whichever of you wins will then have the pleasure of hiring a director.”
Jake leaned forward. “I don’t think it’s fair that Peter has the advantage of being on the city council.”
Peter snorted. “That’s no advantage when I have two people who almost always vote against me, no matter what it is.”
Getting this project through wouldn’t be a slam dunk. He could probably count on two other members to vote his way, and the mayor if there was a tie. Then there was Cal and his crony, George Bivens—the two picked apart any proposal presented to the city council that didn’t come from either of them. That left G. Nicole Montgomery.
While she didn’t always vote against him, she asked hard financial questions. Which shouldn’t surprise him, since she was the bookkeeper in her dad’s small family-run company. Of the six council members, Nicole was the one who focused more on the money aspect of a project. Everything would have to be in order, and the numbers would have to add up, for her to vote for it.
If he couldn’t sell her on the city spending twenty-five thousand dollars a year, she would sway the other members to vote against the proposal. Even the ones who usually voted with him.
“It’s still not fair,” Jake shot back. “And I don’t think you should vote when I present my proposal to the board meeting.”
“Didn’t plan to. Or on mine, either,” Peter replied. He turned to Corbett. “When do the ninety days start?”
“And who will run the company until the winner is declared?” Jake asked.
“The ninety days starts now, and Jake will continue to run the day-to-day operations.” Corbett took two letter-sized envelopes from his briefcase. “This is from your grandfather and to be read in private.”
Peter took the envelope, and his breath hitched at his grandfather’s large, flowing scrawl. It was hard to believe he was really gone.
* * *
AFTER PETER AND the attorney left, Jake wandered around the den, mentally forming a plan to win the contest. Becoming CEO of Elliott Manufacturing had been his lifelong dream. He couldn’t believe his grandfather hadn’t left it to him outright, instead of making him jump through hoops.
But, if it took jumping through hoops, he’d do it. He stopped in front of the bookcase and ran his fingers over the spines of a few of the books. The Hunt for Red October, The Firm... He paused to count a series collection and smiled. Every one of the Jack Reacher books was there.
Yeah, his grandfather was a man’s man, and for as long as Jake could remember, he’d wanted to be like him. On another shelf above the books were several of his grandfather’s carvings, and Jake slipped a small whittling knife from his pocket.
Out of everything Richard Elliott had ever given Jake, the knife meant the most. It’s my favorite knife, he’d told Jake. It’s small enough to carry with you—that way, if you can find a piece of wood, you’ll never be bored.
Like everything else, the knife was an object lesson. Jake no longer remembered what underhanded thing he’d done to Peter, but his grandfather had caught him at it. Winning is good, but it’s not the most important thing. How you win is much more important, and I want this knife to be a reminder that win or lose, it’s all about honor.
He wished he could say he’d always followed his grandfather’s words. If the truth were known, probably the opposite was true, especially when it came to women...or Peter.
Jake crammed the knife back in his pocket. He didn’t know why he still carried it, unless it was to remind him of his connection to his cousin.
He and Peter were so different, even down to their styles of running businesses. Peter, a textbook type A personality, liked having his finger on the pulse of every aspect of a project, where Jake usually took a more relaxed stance. And while it might look like he wasn’t really doing anything, the job always got done.
He looked up as Millie entered the den.
“Oh! I thought everyone was gone. I’ll come back later.” She turned to leave.
“Don’t go,” he said, suddenly tired of his thoughts.
Millie hesitated. “You miss him, don’t you?”
“Yeah. It helps that you and Gunner are staying on, though.”
“Mr. Elliott was a generous man, and Gunner and I want to help keep this place like he wanted it.”
“I know what you mean.” Jake sat behind his grandfather’s desk in the leather chair.
Millie’s fingers fluttered to her face. “Oh, my goodness, how you remind me of him.”
“Me?” Jake had never thought he looked like his grandfather. That honor went to Peter.
“Except for your dark hair, you could almost be him sitting there.”
Jake sat a little straighter. He’d always been told he favored the O’Neils, especially his father. Not something he liked to hear since Keith O’Neil was the poster child for wild living and divorce after leaving Jake’s mother.
“Are you going to do it?”
He frowned. “Do what?”
“Build the senior center Mr. Elliott wanted.”
“You know about that?”
She nodded. “Your grandfather and Gunner and me used to talk about it. He—your grandfather—drew up a plan...” She glanced toward the walnut file cabinet in the corner of the room.
His heart speeded up. He and his grandfather had discussed the senior center he wanted built, but Jake had no idea there was a plan. If he could get his hands on it, he’d be light-years ahead of Peter.
“Do you know when the city council meets?” he asked Millie.
“The first and third Tuesday. They’ll be meeting tomorrow night.”
His mind whirled. If he worked at it, he could present his proposal to the city council at tomorrow night’s meeting. But he needed a director...or maybe two.
He eyed Millie. “You and Gunner are pretty familiar with what Grandfather wanted, right?”
She beamed at him. “We are.”
The couple might not have MBAs, but they knew what the senior center needed. He raised his eyebrows. “How would you and Gunner like to be the directors of the Richard Elliott Senior Center?”
“Why, that’s exactly what your grandfather suggested,” she said.
“Good. It’s settled, then. In the beginning, there won’t be any pay, though.”
She put her hand on her hip. “Wouldn’t take it if there was any.” Then she frowned. “But how will you get the city council to put money into it? Your grandfather was worried about that.”
Jake was as well, especially since he wasn’t that familiar with the council members. The only member he knew was the one for his district, Boyd Anderson. He wished now that he had attended a meeting or two. But at least the mayor was a good friend.
“Isn’t that nice Nicole Montgomery on the city council?” Millie asked. “I know you could charm her into voting for it.”
He searched his memory. He wasn’t familiar with her as a council member, but he’d gone to school with a Nicole Montgomery. The image of a dark-haired teenager floated to the surface—could that be her?
“Do you know where I could find her tomorrow?”
“She’s the bookkeeper for her daddy at Montgomery and Sons Construction Company,” Millie said. “And her mother is in my book club—we meet tomorrow night. I’ll work on her.”
He stood. “Good. Now, let’s see if we can find Grandfather’s plan for the center.”
If he could get Nicole Montgomery on his side along with the mayor, Peter wouldn’t have a chance.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_f1140786-0ee6-53bf-b4bd-79969176e6a8)
NICOLE MONTGOMERY CAREFULLY put the sixtieth candle on her father’s birthday cake, and wondered which of her brothers would make a crack about Daniel Montgomery not burning down the house. “Do you want the cake in the dining room?”
“On the buffet.” Her mother turned to get something from the refrigerator.
Nicole pushed open the dining room door and couldn’t keep a grin from sliding across her lips. She shook her head. As usual, her mom had gone all out. Blue and white streamers hung from the ceiling and birthday balloons floated up from their tethers, competing with Christmas decorations that had been up since the day after Thanksgiving.
