simple one night stand. Genni grimaced and shifted in her seat. Nothing gave a girl confidence like knowing she was an accident.
Her upbringing had been...difficult. Grandma Maggie wasn’t exactly known for being warm. While not cruel, Margaret Winters was not the cookie-baking, bun-wearing, cheek-squishing grandma in the fairy tales. No...Margaret Winters had known loss. Too much of it, causing her to go through life with a stoic expression and a ‘get it done’, attitude.
With that as her example, it was no wonder that Genni had given up her teenagehood and any chance at college in order to care for Margaret as she slowly withered away from lymphatic cancer. Life was hard, but Winters women had learned to be survivors.
Genni tucked a dark chunk of hair behind her ear, a gift from her nonexistent father, since her mother had been blonde, and tried to force the memories from her mind.
“I give all I have, my worldly possessions and half ownership in the Boardwalk Mansion, to my granddaughter and sole living relative, Genevieve Winters,” Mr. Filchor droned.
Genni stiffened. “Excuse me?”
Mr. Filchor stopped and twitched his mustache. “I beg your pardon?”
“Would you read that last part again?” Genni’s heart began to pound. Surely she had heard wrong. Or maybe the lawyer’s mustache was interfering with his reading because that last sentence couldn’t have been correct.
Mr. Filchor cleared his throat again and studied the paper, tilting his head back so he could see better through his bifocals. “I give all I have, my worldly—”
“The next part,” Genni urged. A single bead of sweat ran down her spine, distracting her slightly. She sat back in her seat, pressing her shirt against her skin hoping the blouse would soak it up so she could focus. She would worry about the dry cleaning bill later.
Mr. Filchor glared at her above his glasses. “I was getting to that.”
She forced herself to nod, but not speak again. Genni’s clasped hands became clammy and her foot wanted to tap impatiently, but she wrangled her body into submission.
“My worldly possessions and half ownership in the Boardwalk Mansion, to my granddaughter and—”
“I think there’s been a mistake,” Genni interrupted.
Mr. Filchor hmphed, his mustache wiggling, before straightening in his seat. “What do you mean?”
Genni took a deep breath, keeping her voice calm. “You said half ownership. That can’t be right.”
Eyebrows almost as large as the mustache, rose high on a wrinkled forehead. “It is.”
“How can that be?” Genni leaned forward. “My grandmother owned that house. She owned it before I was born and I grew up there. I think I would know if someone else held a portion of the deed.”
Mr. Filchor sighed and took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Ms. Winters, but there is nothing incorrect in the will.” He looked up, his dark eyes were slightly sunken in his old age, but still as sharp as a man half his age. “Many years ago, when you were just a tiny thing, Maggie...Mrs. Winters was struggling to pay her taxes. She reached out to an old friend, who paid off the amount in exchange for half ownership of the home.” He wiggled his nose. “I don’t have to tell you that the home is right on the beach. It’s prime property.” He chuckled darkly. “It was a shrewd move on Mr. James part.”
“Mr. James?” Genni could barely breathe. Every dream she had held onto for the past ten years was slowly going up in smoke. All the sacrifices, the time, money and jobs, the lack of social life and loss of companionship in her life had been worth it, as long as Genni could one day open her bed and breakfast. It was a dream she’d had since she was a young teenage girl and now it was all for nought. There was no way she could renovate the mansion and open a business if she only owned half of the home.
The air felt heavy and thick. It was all just another blow to a Winters woman. When will I get a break? Am I just as doomed as grandma to live from one tragedy to the next?
Mr. Filchor nodded. “Yes, a Mr. Verl James. He was friends with your grandfather back in the day.” Mr. Filchor’s eyes became unfocused as he recalled the memory. “He hasn’t been back here since the day he paid off the taxes,” he mused. Dark eyes met Genni’s once more. “In fact,