As executor, yes, I interrupted. Not sole heir, not sole owner. Did you even read Richard's will completely, or just the parts that granted you authority? Uncertainty flickered across his features.
Of course I read it. The estate passes to me with provisions for your care. The estate, I corrected gently, is held in trust with you as executor under specific conditions. One of those conditions is obtaining written consent from me for any sale of real property.
Oliver's expression shifted from confusion to disbelief. That's not possible. Peterson reviewed everything. Jeffrey Peterson, I supplied.
Your personal attorney, not your father's. A distinction that appears increasingly significant. I crossed to Richard's desk, removed a key from my pocket, and unlocked the top drawer. From it, I withdrew a leather-bound document bearing the letterhead of Mercer and Associates.
This is the actual will, Oliver. Not the summary Mr. Peterson provided to you. Color drained from my son's face as he stared at the document.
Where did you get that? From your father, who gave me explicit instructions about where to find it and when to produce it. I placed the will on the desk between us. It seems Richard had concerns about how his affairs would be handled after his death.
Concerns that appear to have been entirely justified. Oliver reached for the document, but I placed my hand firmly on top of it. Section 14 paragraph C specifically prohibits the sale of this property without my written authorization. Paragraph D establishes that my residency cannot be terminated without my consent, regardless of other estate considerations.
This can't be legal, Oliver muttered, more to himself than to me. Dad changed everything before we could He stopped abruptly, realizing his near admission. Before you could what? I asked quietly.
Before you could complete the transfer of company assets? Before you could remove my name from the property deeds? Before your father realized exactly what was happening under his nose? Oliver stood so suddenly that the chair rolled backward and struck the bookcase.
You have no idea what you're talking about. Dad was confused toward the end, making accusations, seeing problems where none existed. Was he? I kept my voice calm despite the storm of emotions raging beneath my composed exterior.
Perhaps we should discuss those accusations at Friday's board meeting. I believe you're introducing the new owners of Bradford Precision Technologies to the executive team. Something in my tone must have alerted him because Oliver's expression shifted from defensive anger to wary calculation. What do you know about the board meeting?
Only what any informed shareholder would know. I smiled faintly. Though in my case, a shareholder whose stake was apparently worth just $10,000, rather less than one would expect for a company valued at $13 million. Wouldn't you agree?