Page 24 of Just for Tonight

Funny thing is I thought it violated my father’s principles, too.

The desk is big, though, and pretty empty. I’ll give it that. The folding table that Mike set up is already covered with sorted papers, but I’ve only emptied a couple of drawers. There are way too many documents, but I don’t want to miss a detail. My father kept everything. I mean, everything. There are receipts here that he must have moved from the old house to this house after it was built. I’m wondering if there are any older than me.

The housekeeper brings me coffee and such is her warmth that she shuts the door firmly behind herself and everybody leaves me alone.

I had a funny feeling yesterday and today I’m on the hunt to prove my suspicions wrong. Anything is better than thinking about my colossal mistake with Mackenzie. I have until about four to think of what I should say if/when I call her, or maybe three. No one likes an implication that they have nothing to do, even on a Thursday night. I know I should apologize and that’s fine. It’s the next bit that I’m working on.

For the moment, though, I sort and organize.

By noon, I know I have to find the money. That’s the thing, you see. So far, I’ve found receipts. I’ve found invoices. I did not find money. No statements from investment firms, like the ones I collate quarterly for my clients. No monthly bank statements with fat balances. No lists of GICs or RRSPs or tax-free savings accounts. And really, when you keep every single piece of paper and you’re a rich man, that kind of stuff should be easy to find after your demise.

I’ve sorted all the contents of all the drawers and nada.

I find no joy in this quest.

My father’s laptop is in the top drawer of his desk and I’ve let it recharge all morning. I power it up, discover that his password is the one written on a piece of paper underneath the laptop in the drawer, and I’m away. The places he does business are all bookmarked and I use the info from Richard to access them legally as executor. I also check the recent browser history.

I don’t find money.

I find debt. Lots of it.

It’s funny that I always assumed my father was loaded. He made a lot of money. He inherited a bunch more when my mom died. He spent very little. He was frugal to the point of being a miser. And you know, if you earn more than you spend, it adds up. The money should have piled up. There should be mountains of it.

I mean, this laptop is a perfect example of his choices. It’s so old that it should be carbon-dated. The Smithsonian is going to call, demanding it as a donation. He drove a ten-year-old Buick sedan and he only got it because his twenty-three-year-old sedan needed an engine job.

The man never spent a nickle he could save instead. He had capital assets, like this house. He owned the better part of Empire. He had a majority share in Cavendish Enterprises. There should be buckets of money.

But there was Candace. Everything makes sense when I consider her spending habits and the detritus of my father’s fortune.

Thirty years of Candace. That makes my heart stop.

What if there is no money? As in, none. I made an offhand comment to Mackenzie last night, but I didn’t imagine it could really be true. It’s a staggering possibility and I am still reeling when someone knocks on the door.

I call out and the door opens. My visitor is my half-brother, Luke. My illegitimate half-brother, Luke, whom my father hated more than anything or anyone in the world.

I’ve never been much of a fan either.

“Hey,” Luke says as if he isn’t aware of that. “Got a minute?” He says this as if we talk all the time, as if we’re on good even friendly terms, as if we are buddies running into each other, I dunno, at a hockey game.

It startles me into wondering why we shouldn’t get along.

I was trained to hate Luke, to bully him, to make his life miserable at every presented opportunity. I was taught to do that by my father, and I did it because he told me to. I mean, I was eight. But my father’s dictate hasn’t been a good enough reason for me to do anything for a long time.

There’s no reason for Luke and I to hate each other. We’re half-brothers and virtual strangers. He seems like a good guy, actually, while I know that my father was a nasty piece of work.

This is a great opportunity to begin the eviction that Richard made me aware of.

“Absolutely.” I gesture to the chair opposite me. “It’s been a while.”

At my tone, Luke is visibly relieved. He’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, a leather jacket and boots and this despite the fact that it’s already a warm day. But then, I’m suited up, too. We all have our uniforms.

I vaguely recall hearing something that could have been a motorcycle, and recall that Luke is not only going to marry Daphne Bradshaw but just hosted his band’s reunion concert right here in Empire. Mike said Luke was shaking things up locally, and Luke is responsible for Merrie opening The Carpe Diem Café here. There’s something else, too, somewhere I’ve seen his name this very morning but it’s elusive.

Actually, I’m curious why he’s even shown up.

Where did I see Luke’s name?

He closes the door behind himself and settles into the chair. “It’s better than the rest of it,” he says quietly, his deep voice even lower than usual, as if we’re sharing a secret.