Page 17 of She Doesn't Have a Clue
“Or starting a business, or a charity foundation,” Steven said. “He wanted his children and his grandchildren to work for their money, same as he had.”
“Yeah, except he made all his money back in the twenties running rum up the coast of Seattle,” Richie said, rolling his eyes. “Significant and impactful, sure, but I doubt anyone would think he was contributing positively to society. Meanwhile, if I want to so much as buy toilet paper,I’ve got to run it up the flagpole through the Bitch Bull. She’s denied every request I’ve ever made. Twelve times! Twelve times she’s poisoned the board against my perfectly legitimate business plans. I swear, if she tries to intervene next month, I’ll—”
“Richie,” Steven said sharply, glaring at him. “I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?”
“Of Rebecca, you bet,” Richie said venomously. “She can’t hold our inheritance hostage forever. Speak of the she-devil now.”
Richie turned his sullen attention toward the bridal dais as the chandeliers dimmed and a single spotlight flared to life, illuminating Abraham.
“Everyone, please, can I have your attention?” he called, holding up a hand to block the glare of the spotlight. “Dessert will be served shortly, which means it’s time for speeches! And, first up, we have the honor of hearing from a woman who needs no introduction, but who absolutely deserves one. What hasn’t she done, folks? Top of the Forbes list, Ernst and Young’s Entrepreneur of the Year for six years running, and she even served a stint as a US diplomat in Japan. Please join me in welcoming and extending our sincere gratitude to the woman who made this weekend possible, our esteemed and revered host, Ms. Rebecca Hempstead!”
The room politely cheered as a woman in a bold floral caftan climbed the short steps to the stage. She towered over Abraham, lean and willowy like a former athlete. Kate would have guessed her to be in her forties based on her flawless skin, but the steel gray of her bob haircut and Kate’s own googling put her closer to her sixties. Kate had always heard that meeting celebrities in real life was underwhelming, but Rebecca Hempstead managed to be the opposite; sparkling and perfectly put together, tall and imposing while still portraying feminine grace. This was the woman who moved the market before breakfast, who made politicians scramble to get a few minutes with her, who held the Hempstead family reins in an iron fist.
“Good evening,” Rebecca said, her voice rich and smooth, as if the generations of fine breeding and top-tier schooling had smoothed any accented edge. “And welcome to Hempstead Manor. I see some veryfamiliar faces in the crowd tonight—John Berry, president of Washington National Bank, the very bank my grandfather started over a hundred years ago. And Prince Abdullah,As-salaam alaikum! George and Agatha, so good to see you taking a break from the campaign trail. And what an auspicious gathering to bring such luminous dignitaries like yourselves together! When Kennedy asked for my blessing to hold her wedding here, where her own parents were married so many happy years ago, how could I refuse her?”
Richie made a choking sound, earning himself a glare that would have melted steel.
“After all, it was such a tragedy to lose my brother and his wife in that gondola accident in Switzerland all those years ago, with nothing left of them but this lovely family heirloom necklace that Kennedy wears to this day.”
Kate leaned toward Jake. “Actually, I read they found a whole foot in a shoe, too, but I guess that doesn’t fit into the wedding speech as nicely.”
Rebecca pulled a tissue from her pocket, dabbing at eyes that looked awfully dry from table one’s perspective. “I know that for many of you, this weekend is your first time touring the grandeur of our estate. And during the lengthy, numerous, laborious preparations for this weekend, in which I opened my home to strangers, I began to understand what an unrealized gift we have here on our ancestral island. The statuary my grandfather collected from the European art scene; the incredible architectural wonder of Edwin Frothington’s neoclassical Romanian castle; the rich history of Hempstead Island as a central point of activity during Prohibition. And, of course, my own humble contributions from a lifetime spent hunting nature’s most devious animals and collecting them in my own personal menagerie.”
Kate shuddered at the idea of this Chuck E. Cheese funhouse of horrors being billed as a “menagerie.”
“And so,” Rebecca continued, her smile turning indulgent, “with such a gift in mind, I realized I could no longer keep it from the annals of history. To let time turn its face away from all that the Hempsteadshave accomplished would not only be foolish, it would be a true erasure of historical significance.”
Richie stiffened in his seat, his posture suddenly as rigid as a Catholic schoolgirl come Sunday morning. “Where is she going with this?”
“I don’t know,” Steven said, “but I don’t like it.”
It was true that Rebecca seemed to be picking up steam, barreling toward some destination only she knew, even as she took a dramatic pause to make eye contact with every important person in the room. The room, in turn, held its breath, Kate’s lungs burning with the need to breathe even as she couldn’t grant them release until she knew what, exactly, Rebecca Hempstead was up to.
“That’s why,” Rebecca said, eyes gleaming, “in the spirit of great estates like the Rockefeller family’s Kykuit before us, I’ve decided to gift Hempstead Island to the San Juan Islands Historical Trust upon my death. And to support such a generous endowment, I’ll also be directing the Hempstead Family Trust to support those preservation efforts in perpetuity.”
The collective gasp in the room couldn’t have been more dramatic if it had come from a studio audience. But the applause that followed drowned out the thunder raging overhead. Richie sank back into his seat in horror, and Steven had gone preternaturally still, as if Rebecca had dealt him a death blow. Kate couldn’t see Kennedy beyond the glare of the spotlight fixed on Rebecca, but she couldn’t imagine the woman still sported her bridely glow after her aunt basically stripped her of her entire inheritance right then and there.
“Holy shit,” Kate whispered. “Is she saying what I think she’s saying? She’s turning over the entire Hempstead family fortune to make this place a public park when she dies?”
“Hell of a wedding present,” Jake said.
“She can’t do that!” Richie whispered harshly. “She can’t, can she?”
“If she’s announcing it, knowing Rebecca, it’s already done,” Steven said, looking lost.
“We have to stop her!” Richie hissed. “Call an emergency boardmeeting, take her to court, something. Get her checked for incompetence, put her in a loony bin. Something, Steven! We can’t just let her do this. That’s my inheritance, too, damnit!”
“I don’t think your aunt sees it that way,” Steven said, shaking his head. When he spoke again, his voice was a harsh whisper. “What the fuck am I going to do now?”
“Thank you, thank you!” Rebecca announced with a polished laugh. “But this weekend isn’t just about me, or about the historic value of Hempstead Island. This weekend is about the future.” Rebecca lifted a glass, her smile wide and wolfish. “To Kennedy, and the future.”
Chapter Ten
“Well, that was certainly… something,” Abraham said as Rebecca departed the stage on a swell of gossip. “Uh, next up we have… the maid of honor, Cassidy Smith!”
Kennedy’s cousin took the stage, her voice shaky and her paper crinkling through the mic as she started her speech. Rebecca was a bright spot in the darkness as she moved from table to table, stopping to speak with guests, waving to other members of important families as she approached their table like a tropical hurricane. The closer she got, the more Richie vibrated and Steven turned to stone.
“Richard, Steven, don’t you two look cozy and conspiratorial this evening,” Rebecca said in a low voice with a sharp smile, leaning down to emphasize her words. A soft cloud of bright citrus and earthy cinnamon notes wafted toward Kate, subtle and rich. “Still plotting to go behind my back to the trust board and convince them to sell Hempstead Island to build your ridiculous luxury resort? You see how well such an endeavor has turned out for Kennedy.”