Tattooed Troublemaker - Elise Faber Page 0,54

my estate to charity!” my grandmother snapped. “That’s what’s wrong, young lady. Two hundred years of acquired family wealth, and you just want to give it away?”

“Hi, Grandma,” I said, turning to face her. “Nice to meet you.”

I heard Harriet inhale sharply, and my eyes drifted across the table.

“Since it appears that you’re in for a scene, here are all the gory details. This one”—I pointed at one Fran Hancock—“refused to acknowledge me when my parents died and because of that”—I turned back to face my grandmother—“I had to make my own way in the world. Not a bad thing, when you consider how some kids with money turn out—”

“Charlotte—”

“Charlie,” I corrected. “But you’d know that if you gave a damn about me. You’d also know that the time for having given a damn about me was almost two decades ago.”

“Just like your mother,” Fran snapped, and I supposed she expected the comparison would have hurt my feelings. Instead, it made me smile. This woman wasn’t anything to me. She had no power over me, not anymore. I’d made my own way, and I would continue to do so. “Wipe that obnoxious smirk off your face,” she said, tone whip-like. “Now stop being a spoiled brat. You’ll accept the estate, and you’ll run it in a manner I see fit.”

Yeah. So not happening.

I turned to Harriet.

“This is why you needed me?” I nodded at Fran. “Because she demanded it?”

Harriet nodded.

“Good.” I turned back to Fran. “You have a choice. One, you accept that the moment you die, and I inherit, the entire Hancock estate is going into the list of charities Mr. Gonzales helped me pick. I’m sure that Harriet can provide you with a copy.” I paused, eyes back across the table, waiting for the lawyer to nod in confirmation. “Or two, you find someone else.”

“The estate is worth two and a half—”

“I know how much it’s worth,” I said. “And maybe you and this entire law office think I’m insane for giving it up, and you know what?” I didn’t give her a chance to answer, just stood and headed for the door. “Maybe I am. But what I do know is that if I accept this, accept your money and all of the ties that come with it, I won’t be able to look myself in the mirror and be happy with the person I see reflected back.”

Fran rolled her eyes.

“Yeah,” I said with a smile. “I kinda thought you might not be familiar with that particular sentiment. You probably look and don’t see anything reflected back.”

Her face went pale.

I felt a slice of guilt at continuing my petty tirade.

But I couldn’t exactly regret saying it.

“Charlotte—” Harriet began.

“I’m done with this.” I reached for the door handle. “I’m done with you. Let’s go back to how it’s been for the last seventeen years. You stay in your lane. I’ll stay in mine.”

“I’ll pick someone else!” Fran cried.

I tugged the handle, yanking open the panel.

“Please, for the love of God, do exactly that.”

I strode down the hall, jabbed at the button on the elevator and when it took too long, I hightailed it down the stairs. Unfortunately, I didn’t remember that it was twelve flights of stairs, didn’t realize the elevator would beat me to the ground floor.

Didn’t realize my grandmother would be on the street when I pushed out the front doors.

“Charlotte,” she began in that imperious tone, after spotting me.

“Charlie,” I corrected, in what seemed to be the only predictable course I would have with this woman.

Because I definitely didn’t have any idea that she was going to grab at her chest and collapse less than a foot from me, her cane clattering to the sidewalk, eyes rolling back in her head.

Her knees gave way.

I caught her just before she hit the pavement.

“Fuck,” I muttered, grabbing my phone from my pocket and dialing 9-1-1.

I definitely was going to have to cancel those appointments.

I hated hospitals.

I hated, even more, being photographed holding someone before they were whisked off to said hospital, and even more than that being photographed walking into said hospital.

“Fucking stupid,” I muttered.

Why had I come? Why had I followed the ambulance in a taxi?

Why hadn’t I just gone home?

I didn’t care if the old bat died. Or well . . . I shouldn’t care, but it wasn’t like I wished Fran—and I was deliberately referring to my grandmother by her first name from this point on out—any ill will. I was a good person