a hundred million dollars.
"I don't owe money," he said. "And I don't think anybody owes me."
She shook her head. Still smiling. "As executor of Dad's will."
He nodded. It made sense that Leon should appoint her. A lawyer in the family, the obvious choice.
"I opened it up and read it," she said. "Today, at work."
"So what's in it? He was a secret miser? A closet billionaire?"
She shook her head again. Said nothing.
"He knows what happened to Victor Hobie and wrote it all down in his will?"
She was still smiling. "He left you something. A bequest."
He nodded again, slowly. That made sense, too. That was Leon. He'd remember, and he'd pick out some little thing, for the sake of sentiment. But what? He scanned back. Probably a souvenir. Maybe his medals? Maybe the sniper rifle he brought home from Korea. It was an old Mauser, originally German, presumably captured by the Soviets on the Eastern Front and sold on ten years later to their Korean customers. It was a hell of a piece of machinery. Leon and he had speculated on the action it must have seen, many times. It would be a nice thing to have. A nice memory. But where the hell would he keep it?
"He left you his house," she said.
"His what?"
"His house," she said again. "Where we were, up in Garrison."
He stared at her blankly. "His house?"
She nodded. Still smiling.
"I don't believe it," he said. "And I can't accept it. What would I do with it?"
"What would you do with it? You'd live in it, Reacher. That's what houses are for, right?"
"But I don't live in houses," he said. "I've never lived in a house."
"Well, you can live in one now."
He was silent. Then he shook his head. "Jodie, I just can't accept it. It should be yours. He should have left it to you. It's your inheritance."
"I don't want it," she said simply. "He knew that. I like the city better."
"OK, so sell it. But it's yours, right? Sell it and keep the money."
"I don't need money. He knew that, too. It's worth less than I make in a year."
He looked at her. "I thought that was an expensive area, right by the river?"
She nodded. "It is."
He paused, confused.
"His house?" he said again.
She nodded.
"Did you know he was doing this?"
"Not specifically," she said. "But I knew he wasn't leaving it to me. I thought he might want me to sell it, give the money to charity. Old soldiers, or something."
"OK, so you should do that instead."
She smiled again. "Reacher, I can't. It's not up to me. It's a binding instruction in his will. I've got to obey it."
"His house," he said vaguely. "He left me his house?"
"He was worried about you. For two years, he was worrying. Since they cut you loose. He knew how it could be, you spend the whole of your life in the service, and suddenly you find you've got nothing at the end of it. He was concerned about how you were living."
"But he didn't know how I was living," he said.
She nodded again. "But he could guess, right? He was a smart old guy. He knew you'd be drifting around somewhere. He used to say, drifting around is great, maybe three or four years. But what about when he's fifty? Sixty? Seventy? He was thinking about it."
Reacher shrugged, flat on his back, naked, staring at the ceiling.
"I was never thinking about it. 'One day at a time' was my motto."
She made no reply. Just ducked her head and kissed his chest.
"I feel like I'm stealing from you," he said. "It's your inheritance, Jodie. You should have it."
She kissed him again. "It was his house. Even if I wanted it, we'd have to respect his wishes. But the fact is I don't want it. I never did. He knew that. He was totally free to do whatever he wanted with it. And he did. He left it to you because he wanted you to have it."
He was staring at the ceiling, but he was wandering through the house in his mind. Down the driveway, through the trees, the garage on his right, the breezeway, the low bulk of the place on his left. The den, the living room, the wide slow Hudson rolling by. The furniture. It had looked pretty comfortable. Maybe he could get a stereo. Some books. A house. His house. He tried the words in his head: my house. My-house. He barely knew how to say them. My house.