Clockwork Genie: A Paranormal Romantic Mystery

By Kevin Paul Shaw Broden

Cecilia Orchard lives alone.

She writes fantasy and mystery stories to escape a humdrum data entry job that barely pays for her apartment, food, and bus fare. Then a handsome police detective arrives with news that she is the prime suspect in the murder of her grandfather whom she never knew existed. If inheriting a fortune from a man she doesn't know isn't madness enough, Cecilia finds herself the owner of a powerful genie that could make all her dreams come true, but what are her dreams and is she willing to make the wish? And can she uncover who really killed her grandfather? Find out in this paranormal romantic mystery that is part of the CLOCKWORK GENIE MYSTERIES.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin Paul Shaw Broden
• Release date: Nov 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465846198

Kevin Paul Shaw Broden

Seeking a career in comic books, Kevin Paul Shaw Broden took art courses throughout his education - only to eventually discover that no matter what the media, he was a storyteller at heart. Kevin has been telling stories ever since. His first published story was a science fiction tale that appeared in his college newspaper. Since then he has written for television animation, including the Japanese series MIDNIGHT HORROR SCHOOL. Kevin is a member of the Animation Writers Caucus of the Writers Guild of America, west, and a supporter of Women in Animation. He also wrote a well-received chapter story online called REVENGE OF THE MASKED GHOST, which has since been collected online with accompanying illustrations as REVENGE OF THE MASKED GHOST: 5TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION, along with a follow-up short story called "A Tale of The Scarlet Spirit: In The Clutches of Convicts". He hopes to do even more with these characters in the future. CLOCKWORK GENIE is Kevin’s first full-length novel, a paranormal romantic mystery originally debuting in late 2011 and re-released in a new edition in 2018, including new cover art. The CLOCKWORK GENIE MYSTERIES also includes a follow up short story called, "The Cop That Wouldn't Die: A Clockwork Genie Story". Additionally, Kevin's released short stories include the individually available titles "Murder on the Cosplay Express" and "No Easy Way to Die". For over the last fifteen years, Kevin has been illustrating and co-writing the online comic book FLYING GLORY AND THE HOUNDS OF GLORY which can be found at http://www.flying-glory.com The premise is: the granddaughter of the World War Two super heroine Flying Glory, Debra Clay discovers she has inherited super powers and convince her high school friends to become heroes to help promote their rock band.

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COPYRIGHT

CLOCKWORK GENIE: A PARANORMAL ROMANTIC MYSTERY

By Kevin Paul Shaw Broden

Copyright 2011, 2018 Kevin Paul Shaw Broden

Paranormal Romantic Mystery Cover - Smashwords Edition – First published May 2018.

Smashwords Edition – First published November 2011

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or a vendor partner and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Cover artwork by Kevin Paul Shaw Broden

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

# # #

TABLE OF CONTENTS

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

AUTHOR'S NOTE

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

ALSO BY THE AUTHOR – THE COP WHO WOULDN'T DIE

ALSO BY THE AUTHOR – REVENGE OF THE MASKED GHOST, 5TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

# # #

DEDICATION

This book is for Shannon Muir. Without her love and strong editorial powers, I would never have been able to raise this novel to the quality it was meant to have and still be a joy write and read.

I will love you forever, Shannon.

# # #

AUTHOR'S NOTE

A genie can take many forms, and when she first came to me; she whispered that she was a fantasy, and then changed her clothes and declared herself a romance. So, that turned out to be how I initially marked CLOCKWORK GENIE, my first novel from outline to finished product; the book for which I am perhaps better known, REVENGE OF THE MASKED GHOST, began as a web serial.

Yet that wasn't enough for this powerful genie living in my imagination. She made it clear I had missed her carefully laid clues that the story, like her character, was a mystery – and a murder mystery at that. So, with all said and done, CLOCKWORK GENIE revealed itself as a fantasy romance wrapped in a murder mystery. I worked on making sure those clues would be clearer to myself and readers as well.

However, genre wasn't the only issue my genie grabbed hold of. The cover of her story needed more to be revealed, so people better understood the contents, as on the virtual bookshelves of various e-book stores her name confused people into thinking my story was Steampunk. Sorry about that. Hopefully, the name and added subtitle of A Paranormal Romantic Mystery will bring the needed clarity, as will this author note. Also, since I first published CLOCKWORK GENIE my art skills have improved, and I believe my work deserves a cover better showcasing this aspect of my talents.

The genie still very much is the woman and novel she was before. Yet, by influencing others - such as in the sequel story The Cop Who Wouldn't Die - she has whispered that she's not through yet. I wait for her to reveal future stories in the world of CLOCKWORK GENIE MYSTERIES.

Kevin Paul Shaw Broden

Glendale, CA

May 2018

# # #

PROLOGUE

May I refill your water glass, Miss?

Thank you, the beautiful young woman replied, glancing only briefly at the waiter, then returned her attention to the old man that sat across the table from her. They were in a heated discussion, and didn’t want to be interrupted.

Tell me what’s wrong, she pleaded with her companion.

The waiter reached for the crystal water pitcher and slowly refilled her glass. It gave him an extra few seconds to have another close up view of the sexually alluring woman. She wore an emerald green evening gown, which the waiter was certain must have been purchased in one of the stores down the block from the restaurant here on Rodeo Drive. Her fiery red hair accented the dress perfectly and flared in the candlelight. The only thing odd about her outfit was the brown leather bomber jacket, but it didn’t block the waiter’s view of her ample cleavage. He couldn’t help but keep staring, for it was like the woman had been crafted from every man’s dreams; if the waiter hadn’t been serving her dinner he would almost swear she was a complete fantasy.

Nothing is wrong, said the older man, There’s nothing for you to worry about.

Once the water glass was filled, the waiter left the table so not to get caught in what he was really doing. The woman was so beautiful that it was hard to take his eyes off her. What was she doing with an old man like that? He could easily be her grandfather, but was probably some lonely rich dude looking for one last fling before the grave. She’s probably already wormed her way into his will, the waiter thought.

Even as the waiter approached his station across the restaurant floor he could still hear the argument. So could everyone else.

Please, Tommy, I know something is bothering you. It’s been bothering you for weeks now. Tell me what’s wrong.

Nothing’s wrong, Genevieve. It’s nothing that needs to concern your beautiful head over.

You know I can’t do that. If there is something you need, I must grant it. So tell me, what’s wrong. I’ll fix it. I’ll make the problem go away.

No. Now drop it. I want to enjoy this meal with you.

But I can--

Enough! Go home!

Even from across the room, the tone of his voice was commanding.

At the tinkling sound of a fork falling to the plate, the waiter turned around with the hope to see the beautiful woman stand and move in that dress, but she was gone. Her chair sat empty, and the old man ate his meal as if nothing had happened. The waiter looked about, it wasn’t a direct route for the door so she would have to move around the restaurant to get out, but he didn’t see her anywhere. It would have taken practically an act of magic for her to disappear like that.

Get back to work, the host said as he passed, and soon the waiter was busy once more and had forgotten about the alluring woman.

# # #

CHAPTER ONE

Cecilia Orchard was late for work.

She had stayed up late the night before, working on the latest of her short stories. This one had been reworked for the umpteenth time, and Cecilia never thought it felt quite right. Like her life, the story was going nowhere.

Korgan The Demon Slayer was a mercenary warrior and adventurer in an ancient land where dragons and ogres still fought the humans for existence. Sorcery was a tool controlled by the mighty kings while peasants survived in the dirt struggling to grow crops and hunt for food and praying nothing was hunting for them.

A tall man, Korgan had a well-tanned muscular body, with long sandy hair. Women looked upon him with desire, and when he left their towns all were satisfied. His sword was swift lightning, and rivers ran red with the blood of his adversaries. The Demon Slayer went where the adventure took him. More accurately he went where he was paid.

The Village of Mountshade was now willing to pay Korgan for his help. For this small village on land where nothing grew had been abandoned by the empire. The King didn’t even bother to send tax collectors. He considered them insignificant and would not waste his soldiers defending them.

So the people of Mountshade gathered their measly fortunes to pay Korgan, even promising him their most beautiful of daughters.

He arrived at the village hours before dusk but the shadow of the mountain was already stretching out towards them.

The leader of these terrified people welcomed him and then ushered the warrior towards the main house. Korgan was used to people being in awe of his arrival, but these people were more concerned with rushing about lighting bonfires, torches, and lanterns throughout the village.

Once settled in, usually it was custom that people would feed him before they told of their needs, but not here. The village elders quickly explained to him of the great demon that repeatedly attacked their village. Korgan listened as they described how the demon came down from the great mountain and was already approaching the village as they spoke.

We need you to slay this demon, great warrior, before it takes any more of our children.

Korgan stood and flexed out his muscular chest, proclaiming, That is what you are paying me to do, and that is what I shall do.

Those who heard his boast let out a great cheer of hope.

Good. The gods have finally sent us the help we have prayed for. Now, Korgan the Demon Slayer, go and slay the Darkness!

Around three in the morning, the last of the coffee was gone; Cecilia fell asleep at the small dining table she used as a desk. Her head rested on her arms against the laptop computer, which caused an X to repeatedly fill the last three pages of her story.

Her alarm clock was in the bedroom of the small apartment, so it took several minutes of constant beeping to awaken her at the table. Cecilia turned, half asleep, fell from her chair and hit the floor. Good thing for the old stained white plush carpeting, otherwise she’d have a goose egg swelling on her forehead. She reached for the bookshelf behind the table for support as she stood and ended up pulling down at least a dozen fantasy, science fiction, and detective paperback novels. Running out of time, she knew she’d have to clean them up later.

After a quick shower, and an even quicker bowl of cereal, she pulled her still wet dark red hair into a ponytail and grabbed her purse as she headed out the door. She reached the corner of Westmoreland and 6th Street in time to see the number 18 bus fly past on its way toward downtown Los Angeles where her office was waiting.

Cecilia would have to wait another twenty minutes for the next bus. Life hadn’t changed much for her since she had graduated from UCLA three years earlier. This was her life, rushing to work each morning to make just enough money to pay for the one bedroom apartment in the Wilshire Center area of Koreatown. Her dinner consisted of a burger and cola from the chain fast food joint down the block. She always had a slender and toned body throughout school, but was certain the burgers and fries were going to her ass. With so little time for a social life, Cecilia escaped into the fictional worlds that she read about, and the stories she wrote.

Dropping to the bus bench, she pulled out her cell phone. Cecilia pulled up a text editor app to make further notes on her current story. Cecilia had a dream of writing a great fantasy novel that would make it on to the New York Times best sellers list. Her dream included large enough royalty checks that would allow her to quit her worthless job and move into a better apartment while she worked on the next story.

She hadn’t gotten much support of her dream while in school. Her creative writing instructor didn’t like genre fiction and the class had been an uphill battle. There seemed to be an expectation in the class that everyone would write about their own traumatized childhoods, like an art therapy group. Cecilia didn’t feel traumatized, except by her annoying boss who waited in the door of his office to yell at her the moment she arrived, and a bus system determined to make her late.

Before Cecilia could start typing she noticed the phone’s message light was blinking. She punched in the code for voicemail and listened.

A very masculine voice spoke.

This is police detective Marcus Lambert calling for a Cecilia Orchard, please return this call at your earliest convenience. Here is my number.

The message was time stamped half an hour earlier when she was in the shower.

Why would the police be calling me? Cecilia spoke aloud, but there was no one there to answer. She racked her brain to think of a reason. One of her friends from college had gotten arrested not too long ago for public intoxication, but for her the only connection she had with the police was a jaywalking ticket when she attempted to cross Grand nine months earlier. That was another bill she didn’t have the money for, but Cecilia paid it nonetheless.

When the bus finally pulled up, she hadn’t gotten any writing done, and would have to call the number back at lunchtime.

The bus was two thirds full when Cecilia stepped onboard. She chose a window seat about half way back, knowing that it would quickly fill to standing room only by the time they reached downtown. There were half a dozen people she recognized as being her fellow daily riders, the students heading to and from school, workers, and that homeless guy in the back mumbling to himself. She recognized them all, though they never spoke to one another.

Once settled, she reached into her purse and pulled out a paperback novel. Its corners were crumbled from being shoved back in. Though she had some ebooks stored on her computer she found them hard to read on her phone. Besides, there was something real about holding a book in her hands, the smell of the pulp paper. The book’s title was The Fire Below, a crime thriller. Though Cecilia was a major fan of fantasy, she still enjoyed detective stories. When she had shown an interest in reading at an early age, her father had gotten her the complete collection of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories. He would regularly quote from the tales: When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbably, must be the truth.

~~~

Police Detective Whitney Manning saw her partner Marcus Lambert step over the police tape; having left the front of the massive house that contained a gruesome crime scene, as she pulled her red Mustang Mach 1 up the cobblestone drive.

Manning was returning from having driven their main witness home. Maria Sanchez was the housekeeper, and the detective felt badly for her having to come to work and discover her employer dead and his head smashed in.

The Detective expected the witness to go on about the tragedy, or talk about working for the victim. Instead, Maria found another topic of discussion.

Your mama must be very proud to have a daughter that is a police officer.

Uh, Manning was uncomfortable to suddenly be the topic of the conversation, she wasn’t at first--

I am very proud of my daughter Angela, Maria interrupted. She’s just started college. A very good study my Angela is. She’s going to be a real success in business, I know. Won’t have to clean toilets like her mother.

Manning nodded understandingly as the woman went on about her daughter.

The Detective was surprised at just how far the house keeper had to travel each day to work in the mansions of Bel Air. Sanchez lived in an apartment complex in the south eastern area of Beverly Hills. Most people believe the city is all millionaires, and don’t realize that there are lower income regions as well. The apartment building looked like it could use a good paint job, and by the number of people hanging around the front, there were probably more people living in it than was legally allowed.

Thank you for the ride, Maria said as she got out of the car.

Manning handed her a business card, stressing, if there is anything else you can think of, please don’t hesitate to call me.

Maria gave a slight nod, and then stood on the sidewalk as the Mustang pulled away.

Lambert waved as Manning pulled the car in next to his to rejoin the investigation, and she let out a little sigh. Immediately she cursed herself for it.

How’s it going, Whit, he asked as she got out. Lambert had started calling her that soon after Whitney Manning began working with him. She hated the nickname, but coming from him it was wonderful.

All things considered, the poor woman took it fairly well.

The African American detective focused on the case and put her emotions aside.

The housekeeper’s apparently been through a whole lot worse.

Worse? Because of working here?

No. Her life in the past was a real struggle. Raped by a former employer. Coming to work here was the best thing to happen to her while raising a child on her own. Sanchez is more upset for her employer than anything else. They seem to have been really close.

Did she know of anyone else that would have been in the house late at night? Lambert asked.

No, but she hesitated in giving me the answer. She may just fear for her own job at this point, but I’ll look into it, Manning answered and watched as Lambert glanced at her car.

I could hear that muffler rattle before you even reached the drive, Lambert said.

Hey, it’s a classic. I’m trying to find all the original parts, but on my salary that’s going to take a while.

He smiled at her, and she nearly melted. You’re probably spending all your money on books, he said, indicating the paperback novel lying on the passenger seat with a fiery red dragon on the cover. Looks interesting, but dragons and unicorns aren’t my thing, he gave her a good-natured jab.

Manning felt him look up at her and she blushed.

Well, I’m off, he said, and she hoped he didn't notice she was uncomfortable. I’ve got to meet with the family’s lawyer and go over anyone who might have benefited financially in the will.

See you back at the station, Manning said as he got into his dark brown Crown Victoria sedan. Only after he had pulled away did she start to breathe again.

~~~

Cecilia arrived at the offices of Hanley Data and Research thirty minutes late.

Kirk’s going to have your hide, said Min Seung, the young Korean woman who worked in the cubicle across from Cecilia.

Hush, Cecilia replied as she booted up her computer, Pretend I’ve been here.

You want me to lie? Min asked, surprised. Cecilia guessed Min wasn't so much surprised by the request, but that Cecilia would make it.

No, of course not, she began to protest, but was cut off.

Orchard! came the harsh voice of their boss, Kirk Farthing. Get in here!

Cecilia gave the obsidian haired Min a sick puppy look and only received an apologetic shrug back. She got up and headed down the long corridor towards her boss’ office.

Kirk Farthing had been a football player in college, with scouts and recruiters from the professional teams checking him out and enticing him with many offers to come play for them. His career ended before it began when a poorly played tackle tore out his knee. He was now an overweight low-level manager of a data entry firm with a bunch of employees who had no intention on remaining in his employ very long. There was no reason to get to know any of them, so he didn’t, as Cecilia had noticed.

Mr. Farthing, Cecilia leaned her head into the doorway of his office.

Get in here, he demanded and indicated the folding chair in front of his cluttered desk. He had no intention of making her comfortable.

She sat and put her purse on the floor at her feet.

This is now the third time you’ve been late in the last two weeks, he began like one of her former professors. A minute or two is excusable, but half an hour each time gets to be too much!

Cecilia nodded in agreement, but was not going to use the bus as an excuse.

Do you want to remain working for this company? Farthing asked a question Cecilia had no answer she was happy with.

She honestly hated this job; punching numbers into a database for the dumbest of surveys. A restaurant wanted their patron’s opinion of their newest menu selections, and the questions were written poorly. There was no way to express a negative answer when the question was written: Tell us how well you like our ‘Malibu Shrimp and Chicken in Mushroom Sauce’ with a range of Good to Heavenly. But she couldn’t complain, thirteen dollars an hour was better than nothing when she needed every penny to pay for her apartment, student loan, and other miscellaneous things like food.

I am very glad to have this job, Mr. Farthing, really I am—

You need to show it by actually being here, or would you prefer to start looking for another job?

She didn’t know how to answer that. There weren’t any jobs to be found in this economy. If she lost this one she might have enough money for another month in the apartment. Maybe if she skipped eating every other day.

I’ll try to get here on time, I promise.

That isn’t good enough, Orchard. It might help if you had a car.

Cecilia wanted to scream. There was no way she could afford a car on what he paid her, but she didn’t get a chance because her cell phone blared from her purse.

Sorry, sorry… she said as she fumbled in her purse for the phone, I thought I had turned it off, really.

Farthing looked on disapprovingly as the phone played a very annoying ring-tone and Cecilia dropped it once before finally answering.

H… Hello? she spoke while looking at her boss with apologetic eyes. Yes, that’s me. You’re a lawyer? Who are you representing? Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. No, I didn’t know him. Yes, I will be there. Where is your office?

She grabbed a loose sheet of paper off Farthing’s desk and jotted down an address. Thank you.

She hung up and stared at the phone in confusion.

So, was that little interruption fruitful? Farthing scowled at her. Perhaps you’ve heard of a better job someplace you can get to easier?

My grandfather died, she answered, still stunned by the news.

Farthing narrowed his eyes having heard that used as an excuse many times before. It was rather childish.

But, she looked up at him surprised and full of confusion, I didn’t know I had a grandfather that was still alive.

# # #

CHAPTER TWO

Cecilia Orchard was in shock and confusion.

She had vague memories of her Mother’s parents who were already elderly when Cecilia was born, and long gone when the terrible car accident took the lives of both Cecilia’s own parents. Her father never spoke of his own family. As far as she knew his parents were gone as well, and she was an only child and had no relatives now to speak of. So to be told that a grandfather she didn’t even know about had died did not bring tears to her eyes.

Farthing was going to fight her, but thought better of it when she said that a lawyer wanted to meet with her this afternoon. If he fired her right then, she wouldn’t have cared, but instead he said, Just be here on time tomorrow.

I will, said Cecilia, half listening to him as she got up and headed for the door.

Orchard, he called after her and she looked back, I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather.

Uh, thank you, sir. Cecilia responded, surprised.

Remember to file the bereavement leave paperwork or you won’t get paid, he added.

That’s more like him, she thought as she left.

~~~

After a quick lunch, that wasn’t much more than her breakfast had been, Cecilia walked down Grand to 5th Street and caught the 720 Rapid for the Miracle Mile. Once there, she had to walk back three blocks till she found the address the lawyer had given her on the phone.

The office of Albert Kramer, Esq. was on the fifth floor of an older building near Fairfax. Cecilia was as late getting here, as she had been to work. Out of breath, she was disappointed to find the restrooms on the floor to be locked because she was certain she stunk of sweat when she reached the office door.

My name is Cecilia Orchard, I’m here to see a Mr. Kramer, she said to the young blond woman at the reception desk. The nameplate read Amy Parrish.

Oh, yes, Mr. Kramer is expecting you. Just a sec, have a seat.

Parrish, who was no older then Cecilia and wearing too short of a skirt for an office environment, got up and stepped through an inner door while Cecilia sat on a well-worn chair. A man sat across from her reading a newspaper. He briefly glanced over the edge of the paper at Cecilia then returned to his reading. She feared he could smell her sweat.

After a moment, the receptionist returned to her desk. Cecilia made note that the tight blouse matched the skirt, and thought she could never pull that off, certainly not in an office setting. She also found it interesting that her office companion was not taking peeks at the receptionist.

A tall thin man with a salt and pepper receding hairline and wire rimmed glasses came out of the same door and stepped towards Cecilia.

Ms. Orchard, my name is Albert Kramer, he shook her hand as she stood. I was your grandfather’s legal counsel. If you’ll come into my office, we have much to discuss.

Once settled on to one of two chairs that were only a little more comfortable than the ones in Farthing’s office, Cecilia looked about taking in her surroundings as Kramer settled in behind his desk. The walls were covered in hundreds of legal reference books, all crammed in as if it had once belonged in a larger office. The window, which needed cleaning, faced east towards the towers of downtown Los Angeles. Somewhere over there was a tiny little cubicle with her name printed on it and a pile of surveys she wouldn’t get done today.

Kramer shuffled through some papers until he found what he was looking for.

I am sorry for your loss, he said. Looking at him, Cecilia felt that he honestly meant it, though she could not return an equal amount of sentiment.

Thank you, but you’ll have to understand I don’t really feel much loss having never known the man you claim to be my grandfather.

Well, Thomas Granger was a rather private man in the last years of his life.

Granger? No, that can’t be right. My father’s name was John Orchard, Cecilia stated. She couldn’t help be concerned that there was a scam going on here, and yet was still interested in finding out exactly what it was.

Yes, I believe that’s correct, Kramer glanced at a page of notes as if needing to confirm what she was saying, From my records, John legally changed his name when he graduated from college.

Cecilia found that extremely hard to believe. Her father was a caring man, deeply in love with his wife and took great care of his family. He would never do anything to upset anyone. This just didn't make any sense to her.

If what you say is true, and this is a big ‘if’, and my father had some kind of falling out with the Grangers, then why call me? How did you even know I existed?

Mr. Granger had not given up on his prodigal son, hoping one-day he would return. So he kept an eye on the Orchard family. There were certain things he hoped to pass on to John, but that was not meant to be. Since he has no other family, you become the heir.

Cecilia sat there stunned by this news. The heir? What did that mean? She didn’t know what to say next. She felt the lawyer watch her as the information sunk in.

Don’t think I’m being crass and rude, Cecilia said after taking it all in, but may I ask exactly what I am supposedly ‘inheriting’?

Kramer knowing smiled and looked down at his paperwork for the numbers. At the time of your grandfather’s death, including all business and properties, his net worth was 26.4 billion dollars.

Cecilia’s mouth dropped open.

There will of course be taxes to be taken out of the inheritance.

Of course, she nodded, but not really listening. None of this was real, it couldn’t be. She looked out the window again towards those towers and that tiny cubicle, and thought that somewhere between here and there was a cramped little apartment she could barely afford.

In addition to the overall numbers, there are the cars, the yacht, and five homes. Especially the house here in Bel Air.

Bel Air? she shouted, unbelieving.

Yes, it’s a beautiful old mansion sitting on ten acres of land.

Cecilia just stared at him.

I’ll be happy to show it to you later, but before we do there are certain matters that must be dealt with first.

He pressed the intercom button on his phone.

Ms. Parrish, you may send him in now.

Okay, chief, came the high-pitched yet friendly voice of the receptionist. Cecilia thought the response was somewhat disrespectful.

A minute passed slowly as Cecilia