Page 26 of The Alpha Dire Wolf (Bloodlines & Bloodbonds #1)

Sylvie

T he first sip of coffee the next morning had barely brushed my lips when the door rattled under a very perfunctory, business-like knock.

“Go away,” I said to my mug. I needed time alone. Time to process what the heck had happened last night.

What seemed like precisely thirty seconds passed before another formal knock. That repeated again, as I took a matching sip of coffee each time, trying to pry my eyelids open.

“Fine,” I growled on the third knock, getting up and going to answer it. That sort of persistence was unlikely to be random.

I pulled open the door to reveal a short man, perhaps all of five and a half feet tall, looking directly at me with a beaming smile.

He wore a tan jacket that had to be warm in the summer, even before the three-piece suit I could see peeking out from beneath it.

A thin-brimmed bowler hat topped his head, which he now reached up and doffed with one hand in a very professional manner, bowing slightly at the same time, brown eyes light and matching the smile on his face.

The other hand held an old, worn black briefcase that was half lost among the folds of his coat.

“Hello.” I barely got the word out before he started speaking.

“Hello, my name is Walter Mayhew, LLP. I represent Mayhew, Mayhew, Mayhew, and Farnsworth. May I come in?”

Even an auctioneer would have blinked and needed a moment to process the torrent of words that came racing out of the little man’s mouth.

“What?” It was the best I could come up with on three sips of coffee.

“My name is Walter Mayhew, LLP. I represent Mayhew, Mayhew, Mayhew, and Farnsworth.” Pause, though I suspected it more for me than for him. “May I come in?”

He was so nice, so polite and even charming that I was already starting to back away from the door to let him in before I realized a rather important point.

Despite the spiel, I had no idea who he was.

Nor was I in the mood to have more strange men in my house at that point, no matter how nice seeming.

I furiously buried the question about whether Lincoln was truly still a stranger or not. Now was not the time for that box to be opened.

“How can I help you?” I asked instead, making it clear I wasn’t opening the door for him. Not yet, at least.

Walter Mayhew’s smile became so big it was like turning on a high beam.

“Of course you may. My firm, and me specifically, I might add, was in charge of your grandmother’s estate.

What is now your estate. All of it.” He cocked his head sideways.

“Assuming you are the Sylvie Anne Wilson, granddaughter of Helen Wilson, that I was told so much about and shown so many pictures of.”

“That is me,” I confirmed, grateful he spoke at a more reasonable speed. “Um, come in, I guess.”

“Is this not an opportune time?” Walter asked apologetically. “It’s five past eight. I figured you would be awake now.”

“Just come in,” I said, his cheerfulness too much to handle on less than half a cup of coffee.

“Thank you. Thank you.”

I walked back to the kitchen at the rear of the house, grabbing my mug while Walter hung up his jacket and took off his shoes.

“May I trouble you for some tea?” he asked the instant he entered the kitchen, taking a seat at the table with surprising casualness. Like he’d been here before.

“Uh, I’m sorry, my grandmother didn’t drink tea. I don’t have a—”

“Second cupboard on the right above the fridge. Behind the peanut butter.” Walter pointed in the indicated direction.

Frowning, I looked from him to the cupboard, and then back before shuffling over and opening it. Sure enough, a box of English Breakfast could be seen peeking out from behind the peanut butter.

“Thank you,” Walter said as I put the kettle on to boil.

“You apparently knew my grandmother well,” I said, inviting explanation as I reclined against the counter, mug in hand. I was growing certain that one cup was no longer going to be enough.

“Well enough,” he admitted, lifting his briefcase onto the table. “I’ve been here once a week for the past two months, working with your grandmother to make sure everything was square with her estate.”

“Was there reason to think it wouldn’t be?”

Walter shrugged and then tugged his suit back into position with one hand. “Your grandmother was a very thorough person.”

“I am only beginning to see just how thorough,” I agreed, thinking of all the things I’d learned of her since her passing.

“And, because of that, she wanted to ensure none of your extended family came nosing around what are now your things.”

“Extended family?” I shook my head. “I’m it, Walter. Just me. My parents are dead.”

“Ah,” he nodded, growing solemn. “She was most concerned with one Jeremiah Wilson, and a Kristian Wilson, in particular.”

I blinked in surprise. “My uncles? They’re alive?”

Walter shrugged. “She didn’t know. However, she also did not act as if they were dead. Simply an unknown.”

“Nobody has seen or heard from them since I was a toddler, to the best of my understanding,” I said. “We just assumed they were dead.”

“Well, regardless of their status, I’m here to make sure they don’t run any interference if-and-or when they learn of your grandmother’s passing.”

At that point, the kettle boiled. I made the tea according to Walter’s preference, and served him the mug. He bobbed the bag several times and then let it sit a moment.

She had it all planned out. Everything. Yet another sign that none of this was random. Including the letter she sent me. The warning.

“Walter,” I said suddenly, pinning him to the chair. “Tell me something.”

“If I have the answer, I will,” he said, picking up his mug and blowing on it.

“How did my grandmother know when she was going to die?”

The mug of tea died a fraction of an inch from his lips as Walter paused. For the first time, he looked down.

“She was very thorough, your grandmother,” he said cautiously.

“You said that already,” I pointed out. “You also said you’ve worked closely with her.

Over the past two months, making sure everything would go smoothly.

Which meant she knew she was going to die.

I saw her twice in that time. She never said a word to me about it, nothing.

Never hinted or showed any signs of health or cognitive decline to me or anyone else.

I was her only family, Walter. Why would she not tell me? ”

I turned away, swiping at the tears on my cheeks.

I hadn’t meant to let so much burst forth on the poor lawyer, but once I’d started, I hadn’t been able to stop.

The grief was still fairly raw. With Lincoln around last night, I had been able to forget about it for a bit, to think about something else instead.

Now, dealing with her estate, it was all coming back.

Walter got up from the table and laid a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Your grandmother and I never really talked about her death or if she was unwell. We would go up to her sitting room, and your grandmother would stare out at the forest while we discussed what would happen after the fact. How it had to be absolutely ironclad, her will. She had me redraft the documents four times to make it airtight. She wanted it all to come to you, without issue.”

My shoulders bobbed with a repressed sob. Why couldn’t she have just told me herself?

“But that was all,” he continued, sitting back down. “I wish I could be of more help, but she never mentioned it to me. Not even once. I never saw any signs that she was sick. Have you asked the coroner? Was there an autopsy?”

“No,” I whispered. “She wouldn’t want that. I can’t authorize it. She was eighty-six. It’s probably she died simply from old age.”

Walter mumbled some generic, compassionate words of support. I never really heard them in the moment, but it was a nice gesture. He was a kind person, I could see why my grandmother chose him as her lawyer.

“Your grandmother really was a wonderful lady,” he said some minutes later.

“I know.” I smiled sadly. “She was the best, and I miss her dearly.”

Walter cleared his throat. “She was also an organized, thorough person.”

I frowned. “You’ve said that twice now. Why bring it up again?”

“Because, Sylvie, she obviously had a reason for doing things this way, for setting it up the way she did. Something’s there. I don’t know what it was, or why she didn’t tell you, but whatever the reason is, I suspect when you discover it, you’ll understand.”

“Yeah, maybe. I suppose you have things for me to sign?” I said, pointing at his briefcase, eager to move on.

There were a bunch of forms to sign, handing over the house to me, and all funds as well.

“The last thing is a lockbox at the bank. Once these forms are signed and notarized, a copy will go to the bank and then you can access it.”

I signed those as well.

“There we go.” Walter clicked his briefcase shut, leaving half the paperwork on the table for my records. “That’s it. We’re all done for now. Have to submit it all, but for now, that’s all I need from you.”

“Okay. Thank you, Walter,” I said, making it clear I didn’t want him to stick around. I needed to be alone for some time.

Learning that my grandmother didn’t trust me enough to tell me what was going on had cut open a new hole, showing me a new type of pain. I’d never thought of myself as a disappointment to her. But apparently I was wrong.

Or was I?

I closed the door behind Walter and stood there, a whole new train of thought entering my mind.

Maybe it wasn’t that my grandmother didn’t trust me enough to tell me. Maybe she did trust me. Enough that she knew I wouldn’t let this go.

That I would figure it the hell out. For her.