Chapter 13

13

Dakota

" R eady?" Chelsea asks.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," I mutter. "And pay for my ticket."

We're outside Fair Ridge Cemetery in Chappaqua, NY. It's a sunny but cold Saturday afternoon, the wind blowing through the forest behind us. Leaves rustle in the biting breeze, traveling like whispers past my ears while shivers run down my back. My best friend and I are dressed in black, wrapped in thick winter overcoats. The weather in late November in upstate New York is a dramatic shift from San Francisco's mellow temperatures.

"We can do this," Chelsea says.

Walking slowly, I try to take it all in. The cemetery is somber and calm. It's eerily quiet as we make our way up the main trail.

"The funeral is over, see?" she replies, pointing at a thinning crowd of people at a walkway to our right.

I stop, frozen, as I try to make out as many details as possible. They're all filthy-rich folks. I can tell from the suits, the elegant black dresses, and royal ascot-style hats, not to mention the leather and fur coats that scream luxury from yards away.

Chelsea went to great lengths to make this trip happen. She got a trusted friend to take care of Maisie in our absence. Lucky for her, I know the woman well enough to trust her with my daughter, if only for one day. We're due back this evening, and our plane tickets are already booked.

It's been a whirlwind of a week, especially with that foreclosure notice looming over my head.

And that is why I had to concede, why I had to come.

If there is even the slightest chance that I might inherit something from Katherine Monroe, I'd be a complete idiot to refuse it. Not when I'm at my absolute lowest and trying to keep the wolves at bay. I'm not going to make it if I don't figure something out.

"Take a deep breath," Chelsea says. "The lawyer's letter said the will reading will take place in the Fair Ridge Pavilion after the funeral service."

"Come on. Let's get this over with," I say, then hook my arm through Chelsea's to take the brisk walk toward the pavilion.

The cemetery itself is relatively small, with hills of grey tombstones as far as the eye can see. Majestic trees rise and cast long shadows across the grass; most of their branches are naked. It's quiet and eerily beautiful. We walk past the dwindling funeral crowd, and I catch a glimpse of a large, framed portrait of Katherine Monroe mounted on an easel next to her ebony casket.

A pastor shakes hands and exchanges pleasantries with some of the attendees. Steam rolls from their mouths as they speak. Shuddering, I keep scanning their faces. I'm looking for Callie but if I'm to be completely honest, I'm not even sure I remember what she looks like. I only saw her once on that wretched day. I was eighteen and grieving, but it was the thought of seeing her again that made me dread this entire trip. I will eventually have to face her, and it makes my skin crawl.

"Are you okay?" Chelsea asks as we're walking, our short heels clicking across the hard pavement. "You look pale."

"No, I'm not okay. This entire thing is so uncomfortable," I mutter. "Let's just get it over with. I want to be back in San Francisco and away from these people as soon as possible."

Up ahead, the pavilion rises next to a tiny but elegant chapel with gilded archways and Renaissance-style marble statues of angels guarding the entrance. It is a beautiful sight, and I know it's intended as a diversion to make people forget about death and burial.

"It must've been bad," she says.

"What?"

"The fight your dad had with Katherine. It must've been really bad in order for him to be basically expunged from the family. Every single Monroe has been buried here. Generation after generation. Your dad's the only one who isn't here."

"You're right; it must've been bad," I say, lowering my voice as we approach the pavilion. The biting cold makes my cheeks tingle, but I welcome the chill. It's a nice change of pace. "From what I recall, Dad was one of the sweetest and gentlest people in the world. Sally thought so, too. She actually said it once when I was in high school. She said had my dad not been such a sweet fellow, she never would've let my mom marry him."

"Like it was up to Sally," Chelsea chuckles. "Come on, Dakota. You know as well as I do that love can be blind and can make you do stupid things."

"True, and I'm living proof of that. But Grandma Sally did have a point. She cared deeply about Dad. I remember how crushed she was when they died. Not only did she lose her only daughter that night, but she said she lost a son, too."

It brings tears to my eyes just to think about the many grim evenings and the hole their deaths left behind. It was a dark time for me, and I wasn't sure if I'd ever feel normal again. Sally did an amazing job of stepping in and trying to fill my parents' shoes. I only wish I'd had her longer.

"How do you feel about all this, by the way?" Chelsea asks.

"About what?"

"Your other grandma dying."

I shake my head slowly. "I'm sorry she passed away, but I don't feel any attachment to her. I'm just curious as to why she wanted me here. She never gave me a reason to even consider her as family."

"Clearly, you'll never be a Monroe, not a real one," Chelsea mockingly mimics her.

I can't blame my friend for being so upset on my behalf. She was there. She witnessed the whole thing, and she understood how deeply it hurt. Once we step foot inside the pavilion, however, we both assume a somber and respectful demeanor.

"Welcome," says a gentleman in a tailored black suit as he approaches us. I recognize him quickly. He's the lawyer who delivered the letter. "I'm glad you were able to make it," he says, then offers us his hand to shake.

We oblige and offer soft smiles.

"Thank you," I reply. "I wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to attend the funeral, given how things went the only time I ever met Katherine."

He nods politely. "I'm Theodore Rawlings. I've represented both your grandmother's and the Monroe estate's interests for the past six years."

"It's nice to meet you," I say. "Why am I here?"

"Give it a minute; we're only expecting one other person," he replies.

"Just one?" I ask, befuddled. From what I know, the Monroe family is huge.

He nods, then points at a handful of chairs off to the side. "Please, have a seat. Callie should be here in a moment. Once she joins us, I'll be able to unseal and read Katherine's last will and testament."

"I'm nervous," I whisper to Chelsea as we sit down. "I do not want a repeat of our last meeting."

"It's going to be okay. I'm right here, and I've got a mean left hook."

"Yeah, you're not helping," I grumble but laugh anyway. "I just hope she's not looking for another argument. I didn't want it then, and I certainly don't want it now."

I look up at Mr. Rawlings. "How many members are left in the Monroe family? Is it really just Callie and me?"

"No, you have plenty of uncles and cousins of varying degrees. But Katherine amended her will precisely two years ago, naming you and Callie as her only beneficiaries."

Holy shit.

"Chelsea, hold my hand," I tell my best friend.

She does, and upon realizing how clammy it is, she stifles a grin. "Shit's about to get wild, isn't it?"

"And then some."

The sound of heels clicking along the marble floor makes us both turn around just in time to see my half-sister approach. I hold my breath as I watch her sashay toward the center of the pavilion, draped in a modest but form-fitting black dress with a black fur jacket covering her long arms and bony shoulders.

Callie could easily dominate a runway with her supermodel looks.

I feel kind of dowdy all of a sudden.

Diamonds sparkle in her ears, and the contempt in her gaze sends shivers down my spine.

I have a feeling I'm not going to like what happens next. Chelsea and I stand and nod slightly to greet her. "Hey, Callie. Sorry we keep meeting under such grim circumstances," I say. "Please accept my sincere condolences for Katherine's passing. It can't be an easy time for you. For what it's worth, I know how it feels, and I promise it—"

"It gets better?" she scoffs and rolls her eyes at me. "Please. Just sit down, and let's get this over with." She looks at Mr. Rawlings. "The rest of the hyenas are out of the cemetery."

Mr. Rawlings releases a soft sigh as he brings out a sealed envelope.

We all sit down, quietly waiting as he breaks the seal. "As you can see, this is untouched," he says. Callie looks at me for a brief moment. I see something flash in her eyes, but I'm not sure what to make of it. Disdain? Grief? I don't know. But she is still a human being who grew up without a father. In that respect, I feel for her.

Mr. Rawlings clears his throat. "I, Katherine Elizabeth Monroe, being of sound body and mind, hereby declare this to be my last will and testament." He goes on to read through the formal stuff first, carefully changing his inflections from one paragraph to the next. It's obvious that Katherine was a very particular woman and was determined to leave behind a legal document that no one could contest. "By the same sound body and mind, I have reached the following suppositions in these later years of life."

He keeps reading. "My family's fortune took many decades to acquire; our reputation and prestige were built over time, yet most of those bearing the Monroe name have not risen to its glory, nor have they made themselves worthy of gaining anything pertaining to this estate."

"Bitter to the very end," I mumble.

I notice a muscle twitching in Callie's sharp jaw. She's sitting inches away from us; her sweet floral perfume fills my nostrils as she listens to each word left behind by her grandmother. Her grandmother, not mine, not really.

"My Catholic upbringing and values would never allow me to do things in any other manner other than the one in which I am about to," Mr. Rawlings continues. "Therefore, Catharina ‘Callie' Monroe, my darling firstborn granddaughter, is entitled to the Astoria Mansion and its surrounding grounds. The deeds have been prepared, and the legal paperwork is already drawn up. The Astoria Mansion has been the Monroe family home since our ancestors first came to this great country, and it will stay in our family forevermore.

"By special injunction, it cannot be sold or given away, and should Callie refuse it, it will be passed down to her firstborn when the time comes. Should there not be a descendant of hers left, the Astoria Mansion and its present contents will be transferred to the next of kin under the same stipulation. But I do hope Callie understands the immeasurable value of this gesture."

I look over to see Callie fighting back tears; her lower lip is trembling, and her brow is slightly furrowed. "Of course, she left it to me; it was my childhood home. I'm the only one who deserves it," she sniffs.

"On the matter of my financial estate, I hereby bequeath the amount of 80.2 million US dollars to Dakota Angelica Monroe, my second-born granddaughter," Mr. Rawlings reads, and I damn near choke on my own saliva.

" What ?" Callie snaps, suddenly white as a sheet of paper.

Chelsea exhales so loudly that I'm pretty sure there's not a breath left in her body.

"What?" I say, not sure I heard the man right.

"The amount includes every bearer bond and bank account currently held under my name," Mr. Rawlings continues. "The details and the currencies in which this money is registered are listed in a separate addendum document for legal purposes and future reference. The Internal Revenue Service has been fully apprised, and the taxes have already been deducted for this particular purpose."

"Okay, this is crazy," I blurt out and sit up straight. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Mr. Rawlings pauses and smiles. "I understand it's a shock, but if you could just bear with me and allow me to read through everything, it might make more sense."

Glancing to my right, Chelsea is shocked into speechlessness; her blue eyes are as round as saucers.

However, to my left, Callie is seething.

Mr. Rawlings continues to read. "The financial estate is the result of years of investments that my husband and I made. Some of the deeds and bonds were inherited, but the rest can be traced back to our first decade in the stock market. That being said, there are conditions that must be met in order for Dakota to come into possession of the aforementioned funds."

Callie is close to exploding; her glossy red lips are twisted with rage and disgust. Her silence is creeping me out, and quite frankly, I wish she would explode or at least say something .

Calmly, Mr. Rawlings produces a separate document and proceeds to read aloud from it. "My darlings Callie and Dakota, I may have lived a long and fruitful life, but I have made my share of mistakes. I may have been too faithful to my religion, too devoted to my church and priest, perhaps so much so that I ended up turning away my only son after he divorced his first wife, Helena. At the time, I was enraged by Michael's decision.

"I gave him an option, never yielding before him. He had to choose his family or the open road. To my dismay, he chose the open road. Michael chose to leave us all behind. His wife. His daughter. His mother. His inheritance and his future as a Monroe. I didn't understand it, but my son insisted on doing things his way.

"I resented him for a long time. I couldn't fathom how a man could end his marriage and simply walk away. I didn't think it was possible and it was most certainly unacceptable, in the Lord's eyes, anyway. But I stood my ground and wiped him from the family altogether. Callie became my only focus. Together with Helena and our staff, we were able to raise her to become the wonderful young woman that she is today."

He pauses and takes a sip from a bottle of water.

"But as the years went by," Mr. Rawlings continues, "my resentment grew stronger. Your father was as stubborn as me. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. It's a Monroe trait, after all. When news of his wedding reached my ears, I was furious. Michael had found a life outside the Monroe circle. To me, it was unfathomable.

"I poured all of my attention and energy into Callie. One might say I spoiled her rotten while I also worked hard to imbue her with our family values, hoping that she may one day be a better Monroe than her own father was. Chaste, loyal, strong and educated. A wife fit for a king or a future president of the United States. There are four senators on my side of the family alone. I expected better from my offspring."

"My God," Chelsea whispers.

"I fear I may have transferred some of my bitterness onto Callie," Mr. Rawlings reads.

I can almost hear Katherine speaking through him, her voice softening with doubt ever so slightly. She no longer sounded like the stern and resentful woman I met at Sally's funeral.

"But time passed, and Callie grew into a true Monroe. The news of your father's passing hit me hard, and I didn't see it coming. I wasn't prepared for it. I was ready to go into my grave, knowing I'd be leaving my son behind, still living his life. It wasn't supposed to happen the way it did. It changed the way I saw everything, but I had yet to realize it. Furious and aggrieved, I kept my distance. I reached out to Sally to tell her that Michael had a place in our family cemetery, but she rejected my request. She said Michael needed to be with his real family. I took it to heart."

He pauses, giving me a second to process this new information.

I can see Callie's anger subsiding if only just a little. She lost a father that day, too, even though she didn't really remember him.

"Please, continue," I tell Mr. Rawlings. My voice cracks. It's getting harder to sit here.

"Sally forbade me from ever contacting you, Dakota. I respected her wishes. Frankly, I didn't see the point. You were never truly a Monroe, despite what your birth certificate says. I remained focused on Callie, her needs, and her education. Yet when I was informed of Sally's passing, I knew I had to come see you."

"To what, humiliate me at my grandma's funeral?" I scoff. Callie gives me a hard look, but I have zero patience left for her tantrums. "Don't even say a word," I hiss at her.

"I didn't handle it as well as I should have," Mr. Rawlings reads. "As soon as I saw you, I became enraged. I had planned a different approach, but my anger got the better of me. The way you dressed, the way you spoke, the way you behaved. It screamed of Sally, not of my son. Callie came with me, not because she wanted to offer her condolences, I'm afraid. She simply wanted to see the other daughter. The one for whom she got left behind. We were both in a terrible state of mind, and we said terrible things to you, Dakota. True things, I'm afraid, but the way in which they were conveyed left plenty to be desired."

"I guess this is as close to an apology as I'll ever get," I mutter.

"What, eighty million dollars doesn't say sorry well enough?" Callie shoots back.

"I don't care about the money. I didn't even know you existed! You're the ones who came after me, although I never did anything to hurt you."

"Ladies, it's almost over. Bear with me, please," Mr. Rawlings pleads.

"My dear Dakota, I wasn't there for you while you were growing up. My dearest Callie, I was by your side, perhaps a little too much. In both instances, particularly after Sally's passing, I decided to keep a closer eye on you two. I needed to understand who would best carry my name and my legacy forward, which brings us to why you're here today. I do not wish to start a war between the two of you, but you both need to prove yourselves as Monroe women if you wish to inherit my fortune. May your lives be as beautiful as you can make them. Best, Katherine."

Mr. Rawlings exhales deeply, then goes back to the last page of the will. "Terms and conditions are as follows…"

"Fucking finally," Callie grumbles, crossing her arms.

"Callie will inherit the Ascot Mansion and all contents listed within. Furniture, art, every single item in the house is her property, effective immediately, accompanied by a security fund that will provide her with a monthly allowance of five thousand dollars."

"Five grand? What the hell am I going to do with peanuts?" Callie exclaims, but Mr. Rawlings gracefully ignores her and keeps reading.

My skin crawls as an ominous sensation creeps its way up my spine. Eighty million bucks suddenly sounds too good to be true.

"It is all I am willing to give to someone who grew up with everything while Dakota was raised well beneath the Monroe standards," Mr. Rawlings says, reading Katherine's words. "However, eighty million dollars does not come without a price."

"And there it is," I mutter, then hold my breath, preparing myself for what comes next.

Dakota will only come in possession of these funds if she is legally married before December 25th of this year. I have become aware of her movements and failures over the years. I know about her daughter and her divorce.

"While I do not agree with ending a marriage at all, the fact that the husband left puts Dakota in a more favorable position than it did her father, which is why I am willing to give her this chance. Her daughter needs a father. This family needs a man to help her carry the Monroe torch, if only with his presence in society. Therefore, it must be done in this specific manner. Should Dakota fail to present Mr. Rawlings with a valid marriage certificate before midnight on December 25th, the inheritance will revert directly into Callie's possession, irrevocably."

As I begin to realize the complexity of the mission that Katherine left me with, I feel like a ragdoll left out in a storm, thrown hither and yon, cast away by the wind, and pulled into the sea. Hope and dread mingle in the back of my throat as I try to wrap my head around everything.

I'm about to come into a ton of money.

But only if I'm married by Christmas.

What the actual fuck?