walk-in vault.
But there was even more.
The patriarch of the Wanamaker family had a highly sophisticated ocular scanner installed at the entrance and a web of security laser beams to thwart unauthorized access.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. He never loved the old man more.
“Before you ask”—Granddad chuckled—“only your father knows about this, and yes, he has right of entry.”
Arnie whistled with appreciation and awe. “Wow.”
The vault room was a deep, wide, and bowed in a half-moon configuration. Glass display cases interspersed with various-sized compartments gave the place a jaw-dropping vibe.
In the center of the room were two padded chairs and an ornate presentation table—the kind you’d find in the foyer of a mansion.
Overhead, a magnificent crystal chandelier twinkled, giving the space a classy touch.
He was so busy taking it all in that he barely noticed when Senior produced a tablet and an object similar to a key fob.
“Let me see,” Senior muttered. He was studying the tablet intently. “Okay, here we go.”
He tapped, swiped, and tapped again. Then he pointed the fob, and like magic, one of the display cases lit up, and he heard the distinctive sound of electronic locks moving.
“Everything in this case belongs to your father. And you. Some of it is Wanamaker stuff, but what you’re here for is your mother’s legacy.”
Arnie was speechless. He had a watch collection and a weird assortment of tie tacks and cuff links, but they were nothing compared to what he was looking at. He’d seen personal collections before. Impressive jewelry displays were nothing new to him, but seeing his mother’s jewels and collectibles in a stunning display left him flabbergasted.
“What you see on display are things from your mother’s life and marriage to your father. The Patterson heirlooms are in a bank vault. They’re all yours, of course.”
“Whatever, I don’t care about the Texas hillbillies and their oily treasures.”
“Now, now, my boy. Don’t snarl. That family and their drama make us look good. Your mother rather graciously graded them on a curve because she had to. Maybe you should do the same.”
“Oh, fuck them. Bunch of obnoxious twats. Mom’s brother, Billy Tom Joe Bob Sonny Jim, sends a Christmas card every year, but other than him and maybe his daughter, I have no use for another back-stabbing, dysfunctional bloodline.”
Senior found great amusement in Arnie’s snarky statement and chuckled. “You certainly didn’t win first place in the cousin’s sweepstakes.”
“Right?”
Stepping closer to the display, the still chuckling old man murmured, “Here we go.” He nodded at the display of dark blue velvet where his mother’s engagement ring sat.
“Your father commissioned the design. It’s a fourteen-karat white gold infinity band curving in twists of twinkling diamonds. The oval-cut center diamond is two carats.”
“Wow.”
“Will it do?”
More emotion than a guy could be reasonably expected to contain rushed into him. He heard his mother’s voice whisper, “Happy ever after, Arnie.”
“Yes,” he blurted out awkwardly. “Yes, yes.”
Senior’s smile was all teeth. He opened the case and gestured to it. “Go ahead. It’s all yours.”
Arnie’s hand trembled as he reached for the sparkling diamond stunner.
“Last year, after mentioning your involvement with a young lady, I took the liberty of having a jeweler inspect the setting and then clean and polish it.”
With the ring clutched in his hand, he threw his arms around his grandfather and smothered him with a hug. He murmured, “Do we have your blessing, Pops?”
“She’s a keeper, Arnie.”
They both wiped tears as the hug ended.
He studied the ring. “I hope it fits.”
Senior laughed. “If it doesn’t, grab some duct tape and tape it to her finger. Do whatever you have to for that young lady to say yes.”
“Are Dad and Stan coming tomorrow?”
Darnell Senior nodded and relocked the case. “I asked them to give us today. Poor Summer. She’s been through a lot.”
“Listen, Granddad, I want you to make a call for me.” He took out his phone, went to his list of contacts, found the name, and sent the info to his grandfather.
“The invitation is for dinner here, tomorrow. Do whatever you have to.”
“I guess this means I better have a chat with my housekeeper. What should I tell her? How many guests are you expecting?”
“The usual. Cocktails, hors d’oeuvres, sit-down meal. I want the full Monty. Fresh flowers, of course,” he snicker-drawled. “Sunflowers if you can get them. Oh, and a magnum of champagne.” He made a quick guest list in his head. “Small, maybe seven or eight people.”
“I’m on it,” Senior assured him.
All of a sudden, Arnie asked, “Hey. Is there anything in