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I told myself as the light changed color. Pressing the gas, I answered the call. “Logan here,” I said, using the hands-free.
“I’ve just arrived at your grandfather’s property, but I don’t see you,” Stan said, sounding concerned.
“I’m justentering the neighborhood now,” I replied.
Waving when he spotted my silver Mustang, he said, “There you are,” before ending the call.
Taking in the sight of one of Toronto’s greatest landmark flat iron buildings, the Gooderham, I’m reminded that Mia and I grew up in a well-to-do household. Martin - my father, is a very wealthy lawyer who took on some very high-profile cases at the beginning of his career that had him climbing the ranks at top speed. My mother, Judy, was an accountant before their divorce. Now she’s retired and married to a very wealthy financier - even though she’s wealthy enough on her own. My Opa made a fortune for himself and my Oma in real estate and the stock market. He had a very sharp mind and could talk to anyone about anything. Gunther Petersen was such a likable person. Everyone he dealt with respected him.
Growing up a Petersen, my sister Mia and I had a lifestyle that most people could only dream about. Being catered to and taken care of by maids, nannies, and whatever hired help we had at the time was natural to us.
Realizing the parking must be underground, I found a space on the side of the road and fed the meter. “Sorry about that,” I smirked. “It’s the first time I’ve been back in this neighborhood since I left for the Falls.” I shielded my eyes from the sun. “Caught myself reminiscing,” I confessed.
Knowing my grandfather for decades, Stan’s been his lawyer for as long as I can remember. “You grew up around here, didn’t you?” He asked, leading the way.
“Yes, sir,” I nodded. “Grew up just a couple of blocks from here,” I replied, jogging ahead of him to grab the door.
“So, it’s been some time since you’ve stepped foot in Gooderham?”
Lowering my eyes with shame, I let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, sir.”
“I can’t wait to give you the grand tour then! Your grandfather has made some upgrades over the past few years.”
And grand isn’t even the right term.
Reaching the top floor an hour later, we stopped outside of an apartment. “This unit is yours,” Stan said, leading me inside. “Your grandfather made sure the staff here kept the amenities stocked and the unit cleaned for your arrival.”
“I’m sorry, my arrival?” I ran both hands through my hair. “How long has he had this place for me?”
Stan’s face softened as he looked over his records. “Gunther acquired this unit back in twenty - thirteen,” he said, still reading over his notes. “Back in twenty-fifteen, he left strict instructions that this unit was to remain off the market and put into your name once you signed the ownership of the building.”
“Jesus Christ,” I said, rubbing the light stubble that had grown on my chin. “He’s had this in motion all this time?” My mind wandered. “How long did he know he was sick?”
Stan lowered his files. “Your grandfather started showing signs of dementia back in twenty-sixteen,” he whispered.
Seven years.
“I thought you knew all this?”
I shook my head.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Stan said, offering his sympathy.
Taking a deep breath, my head was spinning with the new information. “This place is amazing,” I expressed, taking in the sights and smells of the apartment.
“Gunther always had great taste in architecture. His sense of style really adds character to the place.”
“It certainly does,” I whispered, noting the vintage scent that still lingers in the air with every breath I take. It smells like heaven - if heaven smelled like a mixture of oak and floral.
Abandoning my thoughts by the window, I turned back to Stan. “So, this entire building is mine?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I still can’t believe my grandfather planned all this.” I joined Stan at the kitchen island.
“Shall I give you a moment to read over the papers?” Stan asked, mindful of my privacy.
“I’m sure everything is in order,” I said, skimming the documents. “Where do I sign?”
