I stood outside the office staring at the gold plaque next to the door.

Peter Claybrook.

I read the name over and over again. Peter Claybrook. Uncle Peter. I had a mental image of him drunk in my house during one of my parents infamous New Years Eve parties. I had been thirteen at the time and had watched wide-eyed as the most upstanding of citizens of our lovely little village became more and more intoxicated. The night had ended when my Uncle Peter had tried to hitch a ride upon the family dog, a Newfoundland named Bear. Uncle Peter had fallen off in the most spectacular fashion and cracked his head open on the kitchen floor. The next day, after he had returned from hospital with one hell of a hangover and six stitches, he would swear blind that he didn't remember a thing but he never went near Bear ever again.

I looked up at the towering offices. Kensington was one of the wealthiest boroughs of London and everything seemed to gleam with the golden hue of the impossibly rich. I had walked past countless yummy mummies clad in the highest of red soled Louboutins clambering out of expensive Range Rovers with their gorgeously chubby offspring balanced precariously in their arms decked out in the latest baby fashions from Chanel and Prada. I kept my promise to Steve and had let him dress me for the meeting with my brothers. My instruction had been smart/casual. He had ignored the brief almost entirely as was his way. I had been forced to talk him out of an emerald green maxi dress that had a slit up to my left hip. Also axed was the beautiful white long sleeved maxi dress with a sheer top and yet another slit that left my left leg completely exposed.

"I'm not going to fucking Vegas, Steve." I had moaned when he had produced an eye-wateringly short champagne coloured bandage dress from Charlotte's wardrobe. "I'm going to Kensington."

"So you're saying no to body-con?" He looked at me incredulously.

I nodded. "It's a firm no to anything that is considered body-con."

"Well that's most of your wardrobe gone then babe." He looked at Charlotte.

She shrugged. Bulletproof as ever following the crying episode that had happened earlier. "It means that most of your wardrobe is out too dickface."

I had eventually left the house an hour and a half later wearing my Tibi leather shorts that Steve had convinced me to buy for my first date with Tristan after he had learnt that I was going to Sketch, one of the trendiest restaurants in London, a place where my usual converse and skinny jean uniform wasn't appropriate, a plain white silk vest that did a magnificent job of showing off my recently acquired golden tan and a light grey blazer that fell level with the hemline of my shorts. Charlotte had loaned me her beloved Louboutins that she had been gifted when she was dating a very rich, very married doctor from the private hospital where she had gained a placement during her second week of University. She hadn't known that he was married until his wife had turned up to meet her beloved husband for lunch with their three young children in tow. All the presents that he had given her, the cartier diamond earrings, the seemingly endless supplies of Agent Provocateur lingerie and the must have Mulberry handbag had been thrown back in his face but she had kept the beautiful electric blue 'Balota' Louboutins as they were perfect for crushing his balls under should he ever try and speak to her again. He had dutifully kept his distance ever since and had crawled back to his wife with his tail, and balls, between his legs. Steve had fiddled about with my hair as I had applied my makeup – a quick slick of bronzer over my cheeks to highlight my tan, a smudge of brown eyeliner along my top and bottom lash line and a coating of waterproof mascara.

"Perfect." Steve had grinned.

I had stumbled out of our front door, suddenly acutely aware that in the five inch heels I now stood at a very loft, 6ft3. I felt like Bambi on ice. Bambi on ice that had several shots of tequila to calm her nerves.

I was still staring at the sign on the door.

Peter Claybrook

I checked my watch. A vintage Rolex that had belonged to my grandfather. I had found it when we had cleared his house out after his passing when I was fourteen. Typical to form, George had tried to claim that it was his. I had flat out refused. I had a feeling that today was going to be a very similar affair. It had just turned 2:45.

Finally, my Bambi legs found their strength and I walked up the three steps towards the large Oak door. I pressed the bell and a voice floated through the intercom.

"Name?"

"Lola Jacobs. I'm here to see Peter."

"Come on in"

My stomach turned with unease as I pushed the door open. The office always looked and smelt the same way. The walls were decorated with dark oak panelling that was waxed every morning so that the light from the small half window above the door rebounded from it, making the space appear lighter than it was. The heels of my shoes clicked across the original tile flooring and the sound reverberated around the small hallway. I suddenly felt very silly in my very high heels and leather shorts. I poked my head around the door to the small office where Uncle Peter's receptionist sat. She indicated the stairs to me. I nodded at her and headed towards the grand staircase and made my way upstairs to the office. I had sent a silent prayer to whichever Guardian Angels I had left that my brothers would be late. I had wanted five minutes to sit alone to try and figure out what I was going to say to them. None of them had bothered much after our parents had gone. It's not that I expected them to drop everything, I know that all had busy lives and various commitments that prevented them from leaving their respective homes that were scattered across the globe, but still, there had been nothing. Just the barrage of missed calls, voicemails and texts when I had skipped out on the first three meetings with Uncle Peter. I hated them for it.

Uncle Peter had been waiting for me when I had reached the top of the stairs.

"My receptionist is very jealous of your shoes." he grinned, opening his arms wide and enveloping me a hug.

He was a giant bear of a man. Thick, broad shoulders, meaty hands, and a solid chest that I pressed myself into. Even in my shoes he was a good four inches taller than me. His hair was starting to betray his age, the edges were coloured in various shades of grey and the thick chocolate brown mop that had been his pride and joy was peppered with white hairs. His face looked crinklier. His laughter lines were deeper, and his cheeks had started to sag ever so slightly. It had been a long time since I had received a hug that had made me feel as secure as this one. I didn't want to leave. It was almost as if I was standing with my dad.

"They aren't mine." I mumbled. "They're Charlotte's." I pulled away from his hug. "She calls them the ballbusters."

He laughed. A big deep belly laugh. As with most men, my Uncle Peter was completely stupefied by Charlotte.

"Very appropriate for a meeting with your brothers."

I grimaced and looked up at him. "Speaking of..." I flicked my eyes towards the door of his office.

"Will and Archie are here." he smiled as I rolled my eyes. "George is running late as his flight was delayed."

My ears perked up and I looked up at him with hopeful eyes. "Shay will be joining us later on after she has dealt with some personal errands."

"Brilliant." I sighed. "Right..." I steeled myself towards the door. "Let's just get this over and done with hey?"

"No time like the present." he nodded. "If it helps, they are both quite nervous to see you."

He pushed the door open. Archie and Will stared at me. I stared back. Silence. None of us could do or say anything. They looked exactly the same. Still handsome. Jawlines that Johnny Depp would covet and cheekbones that could slice through glass. If it wasn't for the fact that Archie now sported a buzz cut I wouldn't have been able tell the difference between them. I narrowed my eyes at them as Uncle Peter gave me a small push into the room. Archie looked down at his phone.

"Oh..." I finally found my voice. "So you do have a phone then?" I threw my bag down on a vacant chair. "It's just that since mum and dad died, I haven't heard from either of you." I stood in front of them both with my hands on my hips. Uncle Peter moved behind his desk. I could see the smile on his face.

"Don't be like that Lo..." Archie started.

"No!" I shouted. "You both had your chance to talk to me." I glared at him. "You didn't bother so you've both lost that privilege." I spat. "Now you can listen to me talk."

"My work schedule has been -"

"-ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" I cut William off. "YOUR WORK SCHEDULE?!"

"Uncle Peter..." William said, avoiding my gaze.

He held his hands. "I'm going to go ahead and suggest that you both listen to what she has to say." He advised them.

"Mum and dad died." I erupted. "They died! And I had to deal with everything." I looked at my brothers. "EVERYTHING."

"And we appreciate that but-"

"-BUT NOTHING." I shouted at Archie. My resolve vanished quickly and tears sprang to my eyes. I silently thanked the creator of waterproof mascara. Will and Archie were the easy ones. If I couldn't get through this exchange without crying there was no hope. George would eat me alive. "I thought the whole point of having siblings was that I always had somebody there to help me through difficult times." I sagged into the chair. "But I've had nothing." I set my jaw and glared at them. "I needed you and you weren't there. None of you cared."

"That's not true." Archie shifted. "I mean..." He tailed off. "It is true but..." He held his head in his hands. "Lo." He looked at me. There were tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry." He reached over and grabbed my hand before I could move it. He was stronger than me so I didn't stand a chance trying to tear it away from him. "I didn't know what to do."

"I didn't know how to be there for you." Will chipped in. "Dad has always been the one to do everything." he rubbed his hand across his eyes. "The three of us have always just been able to focus on our own stuff and never had to think about anybody else..." He looked up at me. "I didn't know how to be there for you."

"Pick up the phone?" I muttered. "Email? Text? No? You weren't capable of any of those?" I shot at them. "I have been to hell and back." I sniffed as the first of my tears found itself rolling down my cheek. "I needed all of you." My voice wavered. "I know that we aren't that close anymore but still... It's mum and dad."

Archie stood up and pulled me from my chair. "Christ you're tall in those shoes..." He laughed.

"They're for stomping all over the balls of mean boys." I pouted as he wrapped his arms around me. "I miss them Arch."

"I miss them too, kid." He squeezed me tightly. "And I don't want to think about you doing anything with boys balls." He laughed. The sound reminded me of my dad. "So the less said about that the better."

"Point taken." I grinned.

We untangled ourselves and I looked over at William who shifted uncomfortably. PDA's had never been his bag. He was practically recoiling in horror. I rolled my eyes at him and sat back in my chair.

"Have either of you spoken to His Royal Highness?" I asked. "I had an interesting text conversation with him this morning. He's as charming as ever."

The door to the office opened and George strode into the room. "I don't have to be charming because I'm rich."

He was wearing a charcoal grey three piece suit and carrying an expensive looking tan leather briefcase. He looked exactly same. Right down to the smug expression plastered on his face.

"Brothers." he nodded at them before turning to me. "And my beautiful, wonderful sister." He leant down and pressed a kiss onto my cheek. My jaw tensed involuntarily. "London fashion must have changed." He noted as he placed his briefcase on the floor and took the chair next to me. "When women attend important meetings in LA they generally try to avoid looking like common prostitutes."

"Advice that you might want to extend to your lovely child bride." I smiled back at him. "Or, Sparkletits as I like to call her." I turned away from him.

He opened his mouth to retort but was silenced by an icy glare from my Uncle Peter who had begun to flick through a stack of papers on his desk. I noticed four white envelopes huddled amongst the papers. Uncle Peter caught me staring at them.

"So now that I finally have the four of you here -"

"-No thanks to you Lola." George hissed.

"Oh, I'm sorry that I didn't have time between my crippling depression and drinking myself into a black hole to attend the first three meetings." I spat. "Oh and let's not forget the arranging of the wake, the meetings with the ministry of defence and the general dislike for breathing the same air as a poisonous little reptile like yourself for longer than completely necessary."

"Listen you idiotic little whore I -"

"- ENOUGH." Uncle Peter slammed his fist down on his desk. The severity of the noise made me jump. "BOTH OF YOU NEED TO STOP." He stood up, placed his palms flat on his desk and leant over us. "You are here for the reading of your parents will." He sat back down. "Do you think they would want to see you arguing like this? Have a little bit of respect. If not for yourselves, at least do it for them." He started shuffling the papers again. "And George..." My brothers head snapped up. Uncle Peter leant forward. "If I hear you speak to your sister like that again, I will throw you out of this office myself." he growled. "Do I make myself clear?"

George nodded, frozen to his chair.

"Fantastic." He sighed. "Now, if there are no more interruptions..."

The door to the office flung open dramatically causing all five heads in the room to swivel around at an alarming speed.

"Hi guys!"

I grimaced. Shay. The child bride. Sparkletits as Steve had dubbed her in honour of her unwavering love of leopard print, Swarovski crystals and dressing like a Russian mob wife. Born and raised in LA, she was all orange tan, pneumatic tits and shiny white veneers that looked too big for her mouth. She was an "aspiring actress" and had some tenuous link to one of the partners at George's entertainment law firm. She had found herself in his office after a sex tape showing her in several compromising positions had found its way onto the internet. George had managed to get the tape removed and she had thanked him by, I assume, giving him a real life experience of the positions from her sex tape. They were engaged and wed within the year. She knew she was never going to find herself on the Hollywood Walk of Fame so had hitched her wagon to George's rising star. However much I detested my brother, I had to admit that he was fantastic at his job. And Shay? Well I assume she was fantastic at sucking cock by the way George allowed her to spend his money. Case in point? The seven Roberto Cavalli shopping bags that she had unceremoniously dumped at the door.

"How are my gorgeous brothers?" She kissed Will and Archie on the cheek before turning to me. "And my beautiful sister?" She squeezed me tightly. "Love the shoes!" She squealed. "And those legs! Where have you been hiding them?"

I tried to see the best in everybody. It was a talent. There's generally a lot of shitty people in the world. Shay was one of them. She was nice to your face. But every person in that room knew that she was the reason why we very nearly missed her and George's wedding. We also knew that she had somehow managed to convince him that a pre-nuptial agreement wasn't necessary. I hadn't pegged George for a romantic fool but one flutter of those false eyelashes and he was putty. I turned to look at him. He stared at her like she was his sun, moon and stars all rolled into one. And for that I felt an unwavering pang of jealousy. Not because it was George, no – incest wasn't my thing – but because he genuinely loved her. Worshipped her, even. I wanted somebody to look at me that way.

"What did we get then honey?" she asked George, the excitement in her voice was unmistakeable.

"What did you get?" I glared at her. "This isn't Christmas."

"I know, but y'know..." She shrugged and grabbed George's hand. "They're gone now so they don't need it."

I stared at her, dumfounded. She batted her eyelashes at me. The picture of butter wouldn't melt sweetness. I scowled. "Do us all a favour George?" I hissed. "Put a muzzle on your wife."

"Sweetie..." She trailed her fingers up his arm. "Ask your sister if she gets fashion tips from hookers." She smiled at me. One of those horrible fake smiles where her eyes shone with malice. "She looks awfully similar to the ones that hang out on Sunset after 2am."

"Speaking of..." I smirked at her. "They asked how you were." I turned and looked at my Uncle Peter, who was holding his head in his hands, overwhelmed by the disastrous scene unfolding before his eyes.

She narrowed her eyes at me. George's fingers had wrapped themselves around her thigh and he was applying pressure. She didn't say anything else.

"Are we all done with the name calling now?" Uncle Peter asked. "It's just, we have important business to take care of."

I smiled at him. He looked exasperated. Finally he picked up the most official looking piece of paper from his desk. He shot one last look at the five of us, before he put on his reading glasses.

"This is the last will and testament of Mr and Mrs Thomas George Jacobs." he read. "In the eventuality of the death of Mr or Mrs Thomas George Jacobs, all assets and possessions are to be left to the surviving partner." he cleared his throat.. "If both should pass, we bequeath all possessions and the total of our combined savings to our four children, George Jr, Archie, William and Lola."

He looked at George. "To our eldest son, George. We bequeath a total of £150,000, a quarter of our total savings."

Next, he turned to Archie. "To our second born, Archie, we bequeath a total of £150,000, a quarter of our total savings."

William also received the same amount. Uncle Peter turned to me.

"To our only daughter, Lola. We bequeath to you a total of £150,000. In addition to this, I, Mrs Hazel Dorothy Jacobs, leave to you my entire jewellery collection, including, my wedding and engagement rings."

He stopped speaking and placed the piece of paper back on his desk. The room sat in silence. It seemed so... final. Now that their wishes had been fulfilled and we had been given our portion of their inheritance there was nothing left. I felt tears prick at my eyes. A quick look to my right, saw Archie holding his head in his hands. William too looked visibly upset which was unusual for him as I was beyond convinced that he had no concept of emotions.

"So what about me?"

That voice. The fucking voice. I rounded on her quickly.

"What about you?!" I asked.

"Am I being left with nothing?" She looked up at Uncle Peter. He had moved from exasperated to perplexed. "Nothing at all?!"

I looked to George. He was staring at his hands, his face contorted into a deep frown.

"I at least wanted to have, like, a necklace or something." she pouted. "Your mom had some amazing diamonds that she could have left to me."

"Are you kidding me?" I laughed. "You're fucking delusional." I shook my head and stood up. "Have you been sniffing the glue from your tacky hair extensions?!"

"I think what Lola means to say..." Uncle Peter stared at me, a warning tone in his voice. "Is that you haven't been in the family for very long so it's highly unlikely that you were going to be named in the will."

"No..." I said sharply. "What I mean to say, is that you are a psychotic bitch..." I sniffed. "With tacky hair extensions."

She stood up and walked towards me. "I've tried to be nice to you." she hissed. "But it's not my fault that you're a stuck up bitch"

"Anybody is stuck up compared to you!" I shouted. "Because you will always be that girl that let some fake talent agent fuck you on his couch ON FILM." I screamed. "So fuck you for thinking that you are entitled to ANYTHING that my parents worked for you stupid, stupid girl."

Archie was behind me, his hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. William sat, impassive as ever, watching the commotion with a bemused look on his face. I knew that the money wouldn't even make a dent on my siblings wages. They earned at least three times that in their respective high flying careers. George was still frowning.

"What about the house?" he asked. "You haven't mentioned the house."

All heads turned to Uncle Peter, who exhaled loudly. "I was waiting for that."

He shuffled the papers on his desk and produced the four white envelopes that I had seen before. Each envelope had a name on it. It was my dads handwriting. I had spent enough time trying to copy it for when I wanted to bunk off school.

"You're all going to want to sit down for this."