Who cared? But she went and seated herself behind her father and Holly and Sydney.
There were bequests to Mrs. Dreyfus, to Dorrey, and to Lansford, the retired butler. There were bequests to the organizations Gates Foxe had belonged to and helped run over the years. There were charitable foundations, environmental gifts. When the list had finally ended, Mr. Delmartin raised his thin face and removed his glasses. He looked at each of them in turn. He spoke slowly, as if measuring each word, as he probably was, Lindsay thought. “I don’t know if even you, Judge Foxe, know the extent of your mother’s holdings. They were, in a word, vast. She has always had the knack of choosing good financial advisers over the years and has prospered, adding to the fortune left her by her late husband.”
Royce said in his best unctuous voice, “She was a bright old woman. She was also renowned for her luck. Get to the point, Grayson.”
Mr. Delmartin didn’t look at all affronted. He put his glasses back on, picked up the thick sheaf of bound papers, and read:
“‘I leave one million dollars to my son, Royce Chandliss Foxe. I leave one million dollars to my ex-daughter-in-law, Jennifer Foxe. I leave one million dollars to my current daughter-in-law, Holly Foxe. I leave one million dollars to my eldest granddaughter, Sydney Foxe di Contini. I leave five million dollars to my great-granddaughter, Melissa di Contini. Finally, I leave my home, located at 358 Bayberry Street, to my granddaughter, Lindsay Foxe. Also I leave to her, free and clear, the remainder of my holdings, both financial and real, to do with as she pleases. She has kindness, and perhaps in the years to come she will gain wisdom and perspective and understanding of those around her. I hope that her inheritance will aid her in achieving happiness and the security she deserves.”
There was utter silence, impenetrable and disbelieving. Incredulous silence, silence that was like the eye of a storm. Dark feelings swirled and the silence was thickening, becoming acid and ugly. Then it seemed that everyone spoke at once.
Holly shot up from her chair, nearly knocking it over, her heavy face mottled with angry color. “But that’s absurd! Giving Lindsay this mansion! That’s impossible, I want to redecorate it!”
Royce grabbed her arm, pulling her back down. “My wife is perhaps unwise in her choice of words, Delmartin, but nonetheless, what she says is true. Leaving Lindsay anything is absurd. Leaving me, her only son, her heir, a paltry million dollars? Explain, now.”
Grayson Delmartin went through his ritual of removing his glasses, giving himself time to think before he spoke. “I was Mrs. Foxe’s lawyer, Judge Foxe, not her financial adviser or her family confessor—”
“Bullshit! You advised her all the bloody time. Are you responsible for this travesty?” He stared a moment toward Lindsay. His eyes darkened—her eyes—the blue deep now, turbulent with anger. “What’s your problem, Delmartin? Do you have a thing for girls who are over six feet tall and naive and stunted?”
Lindsay rocked back in her chair. She stared at her father, knowing she shouldn’t be surprised at anything he said, but this ruthlessness, this cruelty—
“Judge Foxe,” Grayson Delmartin said, “I beg you moderate your language and your opinions. Miss Lindsay Foxe is your daughter, not some sort of interloper who had no claim on the family. She is also Gates Foxe’s granddaughter. She is now very wealthy because she is also the sole inheritor of her mother, Jennifer Foxe. Since she is the sole beneficiary, I will cover it with her in private when we have finished with this.”
“Lunacy!” Holly shrieked. “Sheer wickedness! I won’t have it! That damned old lady, I’ll kill her!”
“We won’t ever be finished with this,” Royce said. He turned to Sydney. “Well, what do you think? You haven’t said a word. One million, Sydney, just one fucking million dollars. Jesus, and five million to your daughter. I’ll just bet the old bitch tied up that money so you’ll never see a dime of it. Probably Melissa won’t either until she’s twenty-five. What the hell are you going to do?”
Sydney just smiled gently at her father. She looked like the princess she was—cool, aloof, dignified, well-bred to her Gucci-shod toes. She turned toward her half-sister, her posture, her voice composed, gracious, soft. “Congratulations, Lindsay. It appears that you have quite shown all of us, haven’t you? Grandmother used to speak of waters running deep in some people. I never really understood what she meant until now. In any case, I do commend you for your outstanding manipulations and congratulate you.”
“I didn’t do anything. I have no deep-running waters, that’s nonsense and you know it, Sydney. There were no manipulations. My God, this is more a surprise to me than to any of you.”
“Ah, at last some truth out of you, Lindsay,” Royce said. “Excellent.” He rose with swift grace and strode over to stand over her. “Prove your honesty, your sincerity. Sign over your inheritance to me—to your father—to whom it should have gone in the first place. It isn’t right that you take my place in line. You will correct it now.”
Grayson Delmartin jumped to his feet. “Now, just a moment, Judge Foxe. I highly disapprove of this. You mustn’t try to coerce your daughter, particularly at a time like this. Such intimidation tactics are highly inappropriate and—”
“Stuff a sock in it!” Holly yelled at him. “Just shut up, damn you, you worthless old sod. Is Lindsay paying you a percentage for this? Did you doctor up this supposed will in her favor?”
Mr. Delmartin pursed his mouth closed. He gathered the papers together, taking his time, straightening each sheet perfectly, calming himself. He was trembling, which was strange to him, because he’d been in the eye of family will-reading storms before, some much worse in acrimony than this one. But the Foxes were supposed to be different. Money, he thought, money was the very devil. It blackened and tarnished and corrupted. It inflicted wounds that would never heal. He finished his straightening. He turned to Lindsay Foxe, who was sitting like a statue in a straight-backed chair. “Will you please come with me now, Lindsay?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m coming.”
Royce didn’t step back. His hands were fisted at his sides. His face was pale, his eyes hard and ugly. “You damned little slut, you no-account little bitch! Little, ha! You just stay where you are. I knew you were a hypocrite, a fraud, nothing more than a mealymouthed little thief. Jesus, I can’t believe you’d steal from your own father, steal my birthright. More fool I—” He slapped his palm against his forehead and delivered his blow, his voice low now: “However, blood will tell, won’t it? How could I forget? Didn’t you seduce your own sister’s husband? Didn’t you force her to shoot him because of what you’d done? Didn’t you prove exactly what you were when you were eighteen years old? Jesus, you’re despicable, Lindsay. I disown you.”
“If you disown her, Judge Foxe, you would no longer be a member of her family and thus she wouldn’t have any obligation, either moral or legal, to leave you a bloody nickel in her will. Were she to die and leave you nothing, you would have no legal grounds to contest it. You would, in short, be a laughingstock.”
Mr. Delmartin was pleased with his own parting shot. As for Judge Foxe, he looked distinctly displeased with himself and his loss of control. Good, Grayson Delmartin thought as he offered Lindsay his arm. Let the good judge stew on that. Together they left the library. Lindsay was stiff and pale as death, and she stared straight ahead. He led her to the drawing room as a person would another who was blind.
He sat her in a chair and pulled up another opposite her. He took her hands in his as he spoke. Lindsay pulled hers away, unable to bear a touch that brought her here, to the present, to the incredible present that had left everything destroyed, in tatters. But there was no lessening of the shock. Jennifer Foxe had left her daughter an estate nearing five million dollars, after taxes, and a paid-for penthouse condominium on Russian Hill, valued at another million.