The Inheritance Read Online Free Page B

and done with. A few drinks, one plate of food, five fake smiles and I’m back at my hotel room, staring at the television until it’s late enough to head out to a bar.
    The repass is held at my father’s condo, smack dab in the middle of the Gold Coast, lined along Lakeview Drive. The penthouse suite. One of two, but in the other you can’t see Lake Michigan.
    The condo’s filled with people, new faces absent from the funeral, men and women (mostly men) with the right idea, arrive at the repass with a practiced excuse and shamelessly enjoy the free food and booze. There’s a caterer set up in the kitchen, waiters and waitresses floating about the room with silver trays resting on the palm of their hands, offering sandwiches or quiches or fruit or a wide variety of smoked cheeses, Wisconsin’s finest. Two bartenders mix drinks near the balcony, behind a black pop-up bar that mixes well with the room.
    I haven’t been to my father’s condo in years and nothing looks the same. Not the furniture, not the color of the walls, not the wood beneath my feet. Even the structure is different, most of the walls knocked out to craft a trendy, ultra-modern open layout. Ashleigh, or some other woman after Darlene, must’ve talked him into it, the mass demolition of what once was. As if tearing up the carpet and re-doing the shower will erase the smell of the other women my father’s been with. As if a new end table will make him forget that they are not the first and they will not be the last.
    Except Ashleigh, I suppose. She is the last.
    She arrives after us, her eyeliner spotting her cheeks, her eyes red and blotchy. The room turns to watch her, maneuvering through the party like a ghost, pale-faced and silent as if she’s decided to follow my father into the dark.
    “Is that her?” a man nearby whispers, cradling a rocks glass of scotch.
    “It can’t be,” says the man beside him. “She doesn’t look anything like Julian.”
    Oh .
    Occasionally a small cluster of people, all turned towards one another, cast a glance in my direction. I can hear the whispers from across the room: Is that her? Julian’s daughter, Julian’s kid, Julian’s big fat burden wrapped up in a black dress and brown hair.
    Gina abandons me for Marcella, someone’s wife, someone important. Darlene and her family quickly inch away, towards the couch where they gently eat off one plate, three of the most beautiful people in the room. I’m standing alone, my arms wrapped uncomfortably around myself as the whispers grow louder and the looks more frequent.
    “That has to be her,” someone says, two feet away. “Look, she’s got his eyes.” Sparkling green, the only thing I’ve ever thanked him for.
    A group of women, desperately clinging to their youth, spot me and slowly make their way over. I turn away from them, as if something’s caught my eye. Something dire. I weave through the crowd, bumping shoulders with men who can’t go more than an hour without discussing business. Stocks and funds and how much money did you earn last quarter, Richard, Jesus Christ I would kill my mother for that amount .
    I head straight for the kitchen, the only room absent of guests but filled with staff, the cooks lighting burners to keep the food warm, the waiters and waitresses leaning against the wall, waiting for orders.
    They tense up when they spot me, lips zipping close. I know they’ve been talking shit about every single last person in the living area. I don’t care.
    “Can one of you get me a drink?” I ask. “Vodka soda? I just cannot go out there right now.”
    They’re college students, no older than twenty-two. My peers and yet I feel so far removed. They pass bored glances between the four of them before one pushes himself off the wall and says, “Vodka soda?”
    I press a twenty dollar bill in his palm. “Please.” He grins. It’s an open bar. The twenty’s a thanks.
    He returns in minutes and I flash him a smile before expertly