I sighed again.Christ, he’s more work than Shiloh.The thought made me smile, and then it faded instantly because the fucker was leaving.
But I’d done what I could. I didn’t know if it was enough, but it wasn’t nothing. That was something.
I walked home and arrived at my complex to see a thin old guy in a gray suit outside my door. He knocked, peered in the side window, and then started for the stairs to leave.
“Hey,” I said when he came down. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Ronan Wentz?”
“Yeah.” I crossed my arms, tensing.
“I’m Joel Barker, your uncle Nelson’s attorney. We spoke on the phone.”
“Oh, right.”
“Can we go inside and talk?”
“Sure.”
We went into my place, and I offered him a seat at the kitchen table. “Beer?”
“Thank you, no.” Joel Barker was a short guy, bristly gray mustache, rumpled suit. He pulled out a worn briefcase and set it on the table. “I’m very sorry to hear of Nelson’s untimely passing. I’ve represented him for years. Can’t say he was a friend, but… My condolences.”
I sat down across from him as he unlatched the briefcase. “Did they find out what happened?”
“Pulmonary embolism,” Barker said, withdrawing some papers. “Fortunately, they don’t think he suffered.”
Maybe not, but he died alone. That was the part I hated.
“I am the executor of your late uncle’s will,” Barker was saying. “He made modifications to it back in March. You are his sole beneficiary.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning he left you everything.” Barker put on glasses and peered at the will. “‘I, Nelson Kenneth Wentz, being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath to my nephew, Ronan August Wentz, all of my earthly belongings to be disposed of, sold, or kept as he sees fit.’”
I thought of the mountain of shit in his apartment that I’d now have to wade through.
“‘Also bequeathed to my nephew, the residential complexes, Bluffs and Cliffside—’”
My head shot up. “Wait, hold on. He left me the buildings?”
“Indeed. May I continue?”
I sat back in the chair, my thoughts going a mile a minute.
“‘I also do hereby bequeath to him all liquid assets in my bank accounts, personal and business, in amounts totaling $63,976.’”
I stared. “Dollars?”
He smiled. “Cold hard cash.”
I thought about the state of Nelson’s apartment, how miserly he was with the tenants and his own well-being.
“He has that much?”
“Had,” Barker said. “It’s yours now. Just sign here. The check will be issued to you within thirty business days. As for your uncle’s remains, he has requested to be cremated.”
“And then what?”