Chapter Two
'… I just heard the news today, it seems my life is going to change…" Creed's lyrics pound in my ears. Well, the bit about the news is pretty accurate, but I'm sure as hell not feeling any joy. What I feel is burning anger.
Edward Winston, only son of a stinking-rich New York family and, apparently, also my biological father, has named me in his will. Dad doesn't know how much money he left me, only that Charles Atkins, who he's now spoken to, called it a 'significant sum'. He gave only basic information, which included the fact that Edward Winston had been a Harvard medical student when he met Elizabeth. I feel sick at the realization that she almost certainly named me after him.
He must have known she was pregnant, and he'd probably also known she'd struggle after he left because she had no family or other support. Elizabeth Masen's parents died in a boating accident when she was just a toddler. She'd lived with her only remaining relative, her maternal grandmother, who died from a stroke when she'd been barely eighteen. I know this because Elizabeth told Mom during one of their conversations. She turned twenty-one just after I was born, so she'd been twenty and alone when Winston left her to return to his wealthy family and easy life.
Now, decades later, he decides to include me in his will? Well, fuck him—I don't want his money. I hope he rots in hell!
The music stops suddenly, and I snap my eyes open to find Rose standing over me
"Turn it on, Rosalie," I growl.
"What's wrong?" she asks, even though she knows because, after our discussion, Dad told her and, naturally, updated Mom on my reaction. I refused to be present, choosing to go straight to my room where I've spent most of the last two days.
I want to tell Rose to get out, but I can't be mad at her when she looks at me like that. "There's a lot of shit going on that I don't understand, and I sure as hell don't like it!"
She crawls over me to lie with her back against the wall. "Tell me," she mouths, and that simple invitation, like it's always done, loosens the tightness in my chest.
"Why don't you want to go? Don't you want to know more?" she asks when I've told her how I feel and confessed that I have no intention of going to New York.
'What difference will it make? The fact is, he didn't care—he never cared."
"He cared enough to leave you something, Edward."
"Money! I bet that was never a problem for him."
"Just go, or you'll never know anything about him or why he left."
Dad used pretty much the same argument. He said I'd regret it when I'm older, that I owed it to Elizabeth and myself to go. I stormed out of his office after he insisted I accompany him, but I know the conversation is far from over. And he'll definitely be calling me out on my behavior because I was so confused and mad that I shoved some things off his desk on my way out.
I mean, what the hell? When Elizabeth said I only had her, I'd stupidly invented some mythical, perfect man, one who'd died doing something heroic. In my childish imagination, he'd wanted us— me—but had no choice. I didn't once consider that he'd known of my existence, that he chose to ignore me for seventeen years. What if he'd lived another forty; would he have acknowledged me in that time? Some fucking hero!
Rose scrambles over me to leave but turns back at the door. "I love you, big brother," she signs.
"Love you too, Sis," I say out loud.
The next morning, I tell Dad I'll go to New York.
.
.
"Edward, are you all right?" Dad asks, placing his hand on my shoulder. We're in the offices of Babcock, Atkins, and Hanes. All marble, glass, and lots of expensive-looking art, it's clear this is a law firm for very rich people.
"I'm fine," I tell him, even though I'm not.
"Don't worry, Son; I'll be right there with you," Dad assures me, and I return his smile gratefully. No matter what I learn today, Carlisle Cullen is my father—my only father and a man to be proud of.
Dad's a striking figure of a man, good looking, tall, and fit. He's always been at ease in any situation, but there's something different about him today. I'd been a bit shocked when he walked through our interconnecting doors this morning. An architect and owner of a construction company, Dad usually dresses in a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt when visiting sites, which he often does. For days spent in his office, he wears a pair of dress slacks and adds a tie and jacket for client meetings. I've never seen him look quite as businesslike as he does right now.
Yes, he looks even more impressive in the dark suit, white shirt, and red and gray striped tie, but it's the resolve in his eyes and the set of his jaw that strikes me as unusual. If Charles Atkins thought he'd be meeting someone easily influenced or intimidated, then he's about to find out just how badly mistaken he was. My Dad looks ready to face down anything or anyone. My chest swells with love and pride when I realize that he's here not only to learn about the contents of Edward Winston's will and support me; he's here to lay claim to me as his son.
Sitting in this opulent place, I finally understand why, when he saw my expression this morning, Dad said, "appearances count, Edward, remember that." And, for the first time, I feel grateful that Mom insisted I pack the charcoal slacks, white shirt, red tie, and black blazer she bought me. I complained, practically whined, that teenagers did not wear stuff like that. Her reply had been, 'well-dressed teenagers who are going to important meetings in New York do.'
As proud as I am to call Carlisle dad, I want him to feel the same way about me, especially today. I want Edward Winston's lawyer and through him, his family, to know that from the moment I entered Carlisle and Esme Cullen's home, I didn't need his money and that I sure as hell don't need it now. I almost choke on the resentment I feel when comparing what I imagine his life must have been like to the one Elizabeth and I led. I can't wait to reject his belated attempt at making amends and then get out of here.
Dad promised me a day of sightseeing after our meeting. Rose and Mom, of course, eagerly suggested places to visit. Dad said no more than five, and so The Empire State building was included because Mom and Rose once watched and enjoyed some old movie. Times Square made the list because Rose and I have fond memories of staying up to watch the ball drop on New Year's Eve. Emmett, when he learned about the trip, insisted on a visit to Yankee Stadium, and given that Dad also had it on his list, there was no way we were going to skip that. And finally, both Dad and I wanted to visit The Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.
"Mr. Cullen?" someone calls out, and Dad stands as a middle-aged woman approaches. I get to my feet as well. "Yes. I'm Carlisle Cullen, and this is my son, Edward," he replies.
"Mr. Atkins will see you now," she announces, smiling politely, and then turns her gaze on me. Her smile slips, and her eyes widen before she schools her expression into one of professional blandness. Do I look like him? I wonder; the thought makes me feel ill.
"This way, please," she says, practiced smile in place once more.
.
.
"Thank you for making the trip, Mr. Cullen, Edward," Charles Atkins says as we settle into the leather chairs across from him. He didn't have quite the same reaction as his secretary when seeing me, but I've sensed his eyes on me several times since greeting us.
"Well, it seemed the only way to get the answers Edward needs," Dad gets straight to the point.
"Yes, of course. Let's get on with it, shall we." Winston's lawyer looks a bit uncomfortable, although, I don't know why. He's not the one who left a pregnant woman to fend for herself and his bastard kid.
He opens a brown leather folder and stares at it briefly before raising his head to address me.
"Mr. Winston, your father, died in mid-February. He and his pilot were killed on what should have been a routine flight to Aspen to join his family for a weekend of skiing." He pauses expectantly. I say nothing; if he expects me to show interest or sorrow, then he's in for a big disappointment. I'm not interested in learning about Edward Winston's lavish life. I just want him to get to the part about the money so I can tell him I don't want it.
"Mr. Atkins, something puzzles me. How did you trace Edward, and how can you be certain he's Mr. Winston's son?" Dad asks, and Atkins retrieves something from the brown folder and hands it to dad. It's a handwritten letter with a photograph clipped to one corner, which Dad stares at it for long moments before his mouth curves into a smile as he slowly runs a finger over it. I'm curious but try not to show it because I can sense Atkins watching me again.
Dad reads the letter. His eyebrows draw together, and his mouth forms a straight line. "Did he ever respond to this?" he asks.
"I'm afraid I don't know. Mr. Winston did leave something for Edward, though; you may find answers in there." Atkins reveals a sealed envelope, which he offers me. I shake my head, refusing to accept it.
"This is a stressful situation for my son, as I'm sure you'll understand, Mr. Atkins. He didn't want to attend this meeting, but my wife and I insisted—not because Edward needs anything from Edward Winston, but because he deserves it. My son hasn't accepted that premise yet, so I'll take that for safekeeping for whenever Edward feels ready to open it."
"Of course," Atkins says, his tone apologetic.
"I'd also like his mother's letter and that photograph, please," Dad adds, and now I know it's a letter from Elizabeth, one she'd, apparently, written to Winston. So, she did contact him, and it's equally clear that he'd deliberately ignored us.
Atkins nods. "With your permission, I'll have Diane make a copy for our files and include the originals with what Mr. Winston left for Edward."
"Thank you," Dad replies before turning to me. "Son, do you have any questions? Something you'd like to know about Edward Winston or his family?"
I'm glad he hasn't referred to him as my father. "Just one," I answer, and both Dad and Atkins look at me expectantly. "Does he have other children?"
"He does," Atkins says after a moment's silence—a moment in which I curse myself for asking because, of course, I suspected. I already knew the answer, but that doesn't stop the fresh wave of betrayal washing over me, nor the anger that follows.
I lower my head and breathe deeply through my nose, fighting not embarrass Dad and myself by losing control. When I look up, Atkins is nervously staring at Dad, but Dad's watching me. His mouth turns up into a smile, his message clear, and the weight I felt pressing down on me is lifted. I'm his son; Edward Winston may have donated his sperm, but Carlisle Cullen is my dad.
"He has a son and two daughters, their names are…." Atkins continues, but I cut him off.
"I didn't ask for their names, I asked if he had other children, and you've told me."
"Of course, I'll just get on with the legal proceedings," he says after nervously clearing his throat.
"Your father, Edward Winston, has left you thirty million dollars.
Thank you for reading. I'll post another chapter later this week.
I reiterate that this story is a companion piece to Counsel and is being posted on this site because readers who have read the Twilight version when it was available requested it. I no longer have copies of the original manuscript and am, therefore, unable to provide copies of it.
I would, however, like to offer 10 (ten) complimentary eBook copies to the first ten interested readers who email me at:
shenda at shendapaul dot com
Delete spaces and replace the words 'at' and 'dot' with the normal symbols. Also, please note, that I can, at this stage, only send the eBooks via Amazon, so only readers with access to a Kindle or Kindle app will be eligible. I have not yet figured out how to gift copies via Barnes and Noble or iBooks.