Immortal Need (3 page)

“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” Ayah said with a hiccup. “He was so strong just yesterday. He ate all of his food, sat up with me laughing for hours, and even asked to go outside. I just don’t understand.”

“There’s always energy before the end. I explained that to you,” her sister said gently. Taylor had. She was a doctor, a neurosurgeon, who would explain the medical mumbo jumbo Ayah hadn’t understood when she’d first taken over their father’s care. Of them all, Taylor had taken the longest before leaving Ayah and her father in their childhood home when he became sick. It was also Taylor who would drop any- and everything to come to her father’s side when it was necessary. She’d told Ayah that many people had a burst of energy before death, childbirth, or a bad turn with illness. In the hospital, it was something that was monitored, though usually silently to spare families. If she hadn’t had such a demanding job, Ayah was sure that Taylor would have never left.

“I just didn’t want to believe it,” Ayah gasped, curling into her sister’s side.

“I know, Stinker. But you have to be strong.”

Stinker, the family had called Ayah that since she was a child. She’d had a penchant for fighting a bath before she’d turned three, and the name just stuck. Hearing it now was soothing.

“I know.”

“Sam will be here soon, and he’ll expect the family in the great room,” Taylor said then, pushing Ayah’s sable hair away from her face with a kind hand and then forcing her to look up. “He always hated someone being late. I imagine he’ll kill himself when he feels death is near just to beat the Reaper.”

Ayah laughed despite herself. Her father’s best friend, and lawyer, was an exceptionally punctual man. He’d be reading her father’s will today, something that Ayah didn’t quite understand. Her father had never been rich, and all that would be left was the house the children had grown up in.

Why all the fuss? It had been agreed upon some time ago that Ayah would keep the house. Aidan, her eldest brother, was a chiropractor and his wife a chef. George was a traveling choreographer who had danced with some big-name stars. Of all the children, only Ayah had made her home with her father. It was not to say she didn’t have the same ambition running through her blood that the others had. She was just, inherently, a family-oriented homebody.

Taylor had the looks of a model, all darkness and light wrapped around a curvy package. Even Aidan and George were gasp-worthy when women saw them. Ayah was the plain Jane in the family, and the one who took after their father. Her hair reached her shoulders in a straight fall, her nose a little too upturned, her green eyes almost too big for her bronzed face. Where Taylor was toned and fit, with a silhouette that would make a man’s mouth water, Ayah had learned to look at herself as a woman who was pleasantly fleshy.

As the youngest child, she had always taken care of the others, and her father, after her mother had passed away in a car crash when Ayah was thirteen. That thought firmly in mind, she mopped the tears from her face. She still had one final thing to do, one last step that would help her let go of her father. They had buried him just the day prior, and now she had to make it through the reading of the will.

“Come on,” she said then, coming out of her sister’s arms to stand. “Let’s get downstairs.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? We never should have left this all to you, Ayah, and for that I’m sorry. I guess…I guess we’re all just used to you being the one to rely on,” Taylor said, standing.

“I’m fine, really. I just miss him.”

“We all do, baby. We all do.”

The old colonial that she and her siblings had grown up in held loving memories with each step. She could remember her father playing hide-and-seek with them in the upstairs room when they were smaller, and she could remember holding her sister in her bedroom when she had her heart broken the first time. At the top of the stairs, her father had argued with George that dancing was no way to make a living. Then at the bottom of the stairs, she could see so clearly when her father had hugged George to his chest, three years later, when he landed a place in a dance company, and told him how proud of him he was and that he had been wrong. Pictures of birthdays, holidays, and the ever-expanding line of grandchildren covered the walls of the home. Memories, there were so many memories here, and now she would have to keep it going on her own. Would she ever be able to look at the mantel loaded with pictures of family weddings, starting with her parents’ photo, the same way? Or the settee her father had read to her on? She wasn’t sure, but tried not to dwell on it as she passed the warmly furnished family room and stepped into the great room.

Seven heads swung her way, their gazes showing varying shades of pity. She picked out the dark heads of her brothers first. Aidan’s gray eyes held unshed tears, and George’s brown ones were slightly red. They stood and came to her, leaving their wives at their seats.

“Hey you,” Aidan said, pulling her into a bear hug. He towered over her five-foot-six frame by six or so inches. His cologne smelled woodsy.

“If you hug me any tighter, I may have to make an appointment with you,” she teased, trying to hold herself together. Aidan laughed quietly, and then smiled at her in thanks.

“I can’t follow that, of course,” George said with a lopsided grin and hugged her, caressing her back and then releasing her. “Thanks, sis.”

“Of course,” she answered. They’d all thanked her at some point for the care of their father. They should have known they never had to say a thing.

“I suppose it’s my turn,” a deeper voice said behind her brothers. A face so like her father’s came toward her as her brothers shifted to her sides. Her uncle, Ronald, was perhaps one of the most handsome men, besides her father and brothers, she’d ever seen. He had salt-and-pepper hair, a strong jaw, his skin the color of dark mocha, and a lithe frame that belied his fifty years of age. He was Joseph’s younger brother and had the same brown eyes. She swallowed her tears as he pulled her into his embrace. The scent of pipe tobacco and peppermint reminded her so much of her father that she clenched him tighter to her. His arms tensed, his head coming down on top of hers, making her miss her father so much she ached with it.

“I’m here, Stinker. I’m here,” her uncle whispered.

“Thank you,” she said back, closing her eyes for a second before stepping back. He held her arms for a moment before releasing her.

Standing next to and slightly behind Ronald was her cousin, Jean Pierre, who stepped up to hug her. She’d expected him to grow up to look like Ronald, but he’d taken his fair blond hair and blue eyes from his mother. The man was not much older than her, and he looked as if he hadn’t quite grown into his skin just yet. There was an air of boyishness around his eyes that had always made Ayah laugh.

“If we could begin,” Sam, at the head of the room, in front of the chairs, said as Jean Pierre turned cold eyes toward the man. It was moments like that her cousin reminded her of her father.

“You will give the family the time we need,” he clipped out, his words quiet and yet powerful.

“It’s okay, JP. It really is. We need to get this done,” Ayah hurried to say, knowing that Sam would argue the point.

“Are you sure? This is a time for family and mourning. You take all the time you need,” he answered, never looking away from Sam, who adjusted his tie in affront.

“I’m ready,” Ayah said.

“Family of Joseph Rey Miller, I will read the last will and testament now,” Sam began.

He went over the date the will was signed, and the fact that any previous editions were revoked. As they’d thought, the home went to Ayah, but as a homestead property, it could not be resold. Not that Ayah would ever sell the property, but she was happy that her father had put it into writing. Some families, though she couldn’t imagine her family doing it, would fight over things such as this for the value of the property.

“Furthermore, he left his assets, excluding his shares in Miller Global, to the trustee, namely Ayah Renee Miller, of the Joseph Rey Miller Family Trust, with twenty percent of total amounts bequeathed to his living heirs: Aidan Ryan Miller, George Rey Miller, and Taylor Samantha Guzman. A combined fifty Miller Global shares will go to his brother, Ronald Gerard Miller, and nephew, Jean Pierre Miller, in a split of one share to Ronald and the other forty-nine shares to Jean Pierre, so that they are the sole owners of Miller Global.”

Ayah was shocked at that. She hadn’t known her father owned any shares in his brother’s company. Her uncle founded the company at a young age and had developed it into a powerhouse in the acquisition and building fields. Her father hadn’t wanted the headache of the corporate world, choosing instead to work with his hands in the small furniture shop he owned until his illness had taken it from him. The money he generated and saved from that company had been nearly wiped out by his medical care. That he’d held shares in a multimillion-dollar company and hadn’t told her was a shock that she could barely comprehend.

“Dad owned shares in Miller Global?” Aidan asked, his voice sounding as shocked as she felt.

“He gave me the seed money to start my company. I never forgot that. I made him a silent partner in the company as soon as I was able,” Ronald explained.

“And he’s given you the majority share back, always thinking of you, until the end,” Jean finished, eyes closing, with a soft smile. “Uncle Joe. I never expected this, never.”

“But, I don’t understand. What assets are you talking about then? Our father has given back his shares to the company, the house to Ayah, and his company’s funds were wiped out paying for his care,” Taylor piped up. “There shouldn’t be anything else.” Ayah could tell by the look of confusion on her face that Taylor had asked the question for clarity’s sake. None of them had thought anything except the house would be in the will.

“I see your father never told you,” Ronald began. “When he became my silent partner in Miller Global, he set up an aggressive money market investment plan for all monies from his shares. Those funds were to be locked away until his death. It’s why he wasn’t able to use them when he got sick. I don’t think he thought something like this would come up.”

“As his lawyer,” Sam added, “I tried to tell him to borrow against it, but he was adamant about leaving behind a legacy for his children. When you all became so successful, he amended the will to reflect that.”

“So, what are we talking about here?” George asked.

“The account has a standing balance well into the millions. I won’t get into exact numbers, as each of you benefiting will get a letter from me with a check for your amounts, but the sum is enough that even at the marginal percentage, beneficiaries would never have to work again. It rivals Miller Global’s net worth,” Sam stated.

“You have got to be shitting me!” Aidan said roughly. “Dad,” he moaned, and his wife took him in his arms.

Ayah could do nothing but sit there, stunned. She was a millionaire? Had enough money to rival her uncle’s entire company’s worth? She never wanted all of that. She had never thought that her father would do something like this. She hadn’t taken care of him for the money. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want to feel like he’d paid her for doing what she did out of love.

“No. I don’t want it,” she then said.

Sam continued reading the will. “Let me finish: the trust cannot be given, traded, or otherwise handed over to any other beneficiaries but the one specified. In Ayah’s case, there are also a few more stipulations, as your father knew you’d, and I quote, ‘be too stubborn just to take a gift when it’s given in love.’ Your shares can only be touched by you for the remainder of your life and must be withdrawn on a regular basis, or I have the power to purchase something for you that your father has listed. Either way, you will use the money. Also, upon your death, Ronald and any of his living heirs will then receive your assets, with thirty percent of the net amount to be given to Aidan, George, Taylor, and their living heirs, and the house to be given to the living heirs of Joseph Rey Miller, if you have no heirs, that is. This is the last will and testament of Joseph Rey Miller, I so execute this day…”

Ayah stopped listening. Her world was spinning. She was a millionaire, and her father had made it so she had to use it, one way or another, no matter what she thought. In the end, her father had paid her back, in the only way he could, for all of the hard work, tears, and love she’d given selflessly over the years. He’d given her a chance to make a life any way she wanted to, without having to rely on anyone. He’d given her what she’d always secretly craved: a chance for her to no longer be the rock. She loved her position and hadn’t done it for any return, but she often wished, for once, to be given what she’d given. On the nights when she was lonely, she’d wished she could let go and lean on someone else, just for a moment. Her father, it seemed, had truly known her.

Oh Dad,
she prayed silently,
my angel all the time. Enjoy heaven. You deserve it. And find Mom. I know she’s waiting.

The others filed out slowly, kissing her or hugging her, and she didn’t respond, too shocked to do much more than blink. Taylor said something to her about cleaning up the house, but Ayah just sat there. Even after she heard the door close a final time, with words of love from Taylor ringing through the house, she sat there. Nothing, nothing, had prepared her for this.

It wasn’t until goose bumps rose on her flesh, and the house grew dark, that she forced her body to move. She stood slowly, joints popping, and walked from the room. She walked on autopilot to her room. Tomorrow…tomorrow she’d think about this, give her mind a chance to assimilate what had happened. Tonight, she just wanted to sleep and to recharge. She reached her room and opened the door, ready for the sight of her soft yellow comforter on her four-poster bed, and the feel of the cool sheets as she slipped under them.

What she wasn’t prepared for was a giant of a man sitting on her bed, with a sword strapped to his back.

The scream bubbled up through her even as the man moved, faster than she ever thought possible, and grabbed her. She wailed into his hand as he covered her mouth.