Savannah Secrets. Fiona Hood-Stewart

It’s the capital I’m interested in—that’s what I’ve been waiting for all these years.”

      “Naturally,” Meredith said dryly, discomfort fast changing to disdain as Joanna’s performance evolved, “you will have to continue fulfilling the requirements—”

      “Requirements,” Joanna spat, prowling the Aubusson carpet of Rowena’s stately drawing room, hands clenched. “How dare she do this to us? How dare she?”

      “As I was saying,” Meredith continued, ignoring the outburst, “the trust’s requirements will still need to be met.” She swallowed, knowing what would come next. “As the heir to her affairs, Rowena’s grandson, Mr. Grant Gallagher, has been named cotrustee with me. We will be the ones to determine if the requirements are met.”

      Joanna erupted. “You mean to tell me that not only has she named some godforsaken bastard of Isabel’s her heir, but that she’s made him a trustee to what’s rightfully ours?”

      “Oh, Joanna, shut up,” Charles said tightly. “Meredith, what do we know about this Gallagher person?”

      “Well, it’s not the best news, I’m afraid. Grant Gallagher is a well-known corporate raider. Remember the Bronstern affair last year?” She glanced up.

      “Of course. What has that got to do with it?”

      “Everything,” she replied, trying to keep the bitterness from her tone. “He was responsible for breaking up the company. I don’t know how many people lost their jobs.”

      “My God,” he muttered, “then there’s no hope of his declining the inheritance, I guess.” His hands fell in his lap and he looked suddenly years older. And very sad, Meredith realized, feeling rather sorry for him, but also wondering why he seemed so devastated. Married to a wealthy Bostonian wife, Marcia, he was probably in a far better position financially than the rest of them.

      “This is just so unfair,” Joanna continued, her voice shaking as she paced the room.

      “Hardly unfair, Joanna. She didn’t need to make that trust in the first place. Basically, it all goes on the same,” she pointed out reasonably.

      “You actually expect me to go groveling to some bastard child of Isabel’s for my share?” Joanna stared at Meredith, shocked.

      “I’m afraid you won’t have a choice. Mr. Gallagher and I will have sole discretion as to the disbursement of funds. In other words, you will have to receive our approval.”

      “The bitch,” Joanna whispered again hoarsely, staring out of the bay window onto the luscious garden she’d been so certain would one day be hers. “The fucking hypocrite.”

      “Joanna,” Charles reprimanded, “this is hardly the time to be criticizing our benefactress.”

      “Benefactress my ass,” she hissed, her mouth twisting hideously. “She’s manipulated us, forced us to kowtow to Isabel’s droppings. It’s disgusting. Don’t you see, Charles? She did it on purpose to humiliate us. God, I hate her,” she exclaimed again, clenching her fists.

      “Joanna, this is no time for tantrums,” Charles admonished.

      “Charles is right. There’s little use getting upset,” Meredith countered in the vain hope that the meeting would not deteriorate further. She glanced at the other relations, who had remained silent. Ward was picking at a thread on the sleeve of his old tweed jacket. He had no real understanding of what was going on around him, but from time to time he pretended to listen. “I see no reason why Gallagher or I should refuse any reasonable requests.”

      “You don’t understand,” Joanna threw back bitterly. “She’s humiliating us before this bastard, making us, her legitimate heirs, beg. It’s disgraceful.”

      “I think you’re becoming unnecessarily dramatic,” Meredith answered quietly. “Soon we’ll have more information on Gallagher and get a better idea of where matters stand. But for now, I’m afraid you’ll just have to be patient.”

      It took Meredith another twenty minutes to calm Joanna down and bring the meeting to a close, but finally she was seated in her Jeep heading home, returning the calls she’d been unable to take during the afternoon and looking forward to another lonely evening.

      That night, after the kids were in bed, Meredith sipped a mug of hot chocolate and tucked her slippered feet under the old cashmere throw, thankful the day was behind her. It was always hard to be the bearer of bad tidings. In a way she sympathized with the Carstairs relatives. After all, Rowena had always implied they’d share her estate once she was gone. But what surprised her most, what she couldn’t fathom, was why Dallas had been so summarily cut out of the will. She and her grandmother hadn’t seen eye to eye, but surely that didn’t merit abandoning her?

      Meredith leaned into the cushions and cupped the mug thoughtfully. She’d arranged for a phone conference with Dallas for the following morning, and was dreading telling her the news. Dallas had gotten a rotten deal all round. The property in Beaufort where Doug Thornton had raised thoroughbreds and where Dallas had spent the better part of her youth was mortgaged to the hilt. Presumably the only reason the bank hadn’t foreclosed was because they knew of Dallas’s expectations. Now that those were dashed, what would the girl’s options be?

      Taking a sip of piping hot chocolate, Meredith pondered whether Dallas could contest.

      Analyzing the case from a legal standpoint, she realized probably not. The will was tight as a drum. Although it was her duty to see that the wishes expressed in the will were carried out, her sense of justice revolted. Somebody, she realized, pulling the file toward her, had to help Dallas. The girl couldn’t be allowed to flounder out there on her own.

      Should she appeal to Gallagher? No, a man with his track record would hardly have an ounce of compassion. And he certainly wouldn’t feel any sense of loyalty to a family he hadn’t even known existed. To him, Rowena’s estate would be nothing but another windfall that some crazy old lady had seen fit to bequeath him.

      And all at once she wondered if Rowena had known Gallagher, if they’d met. Somehow she didn’t think so. Surely if Rowena had been aware of who Gallagher really was, she wouldn’t have structured things as she had. On the other hand, Rowena was too smart to have made such a decision without a great deal of thought.

      After flipping through several paragraphs of the long, detailed document, Meredith decided to go to bed. Tomorrow she would take steps to contact Grant Gallagher, and she would find some way to help Dallas.

      Her determination to go to bat for Dallas increased as she remembered all the times over the past few years that she’d tried to ease the strained relationship between grandmother and granddaughter, and how Dallas had come to confide in her. She felt she couldn’t betray that trust, couldn’t let Dallas down, even though the girl refused to admit that she needed help.

      By the time she turned out the lights, she’d sketched out the beginnings of a game plan. The first step was getting through to Gallagher.

      Dabbing another lotion-bathed cotton pad over her cheeks, Joanna peered at her reflection and sighed. She must calm her frenzied mind. She must think straight. Act. But how? Of course she would be in touch with Ross Rollins to see what could be done from a legal standpoint, but surely there must be something else she could do to sway things her way?

      Rising from the dressing table and heading toward her lace-canopied bed, Joanna took off her peach-colored silk dressing gown and feathered mules, then climbed wearily into bed.

      What a day. She’d woken up so happy, so certain that finally she’d hit the jackpot.

      And now this.

      She slumped against the pillows and wondered if she should visit her fortune-teller to see what she had to say. Oh, what the hell. That was just another expense. And God knows she had enough of those with a drawer full of bills sitting in her desk waiting to be taken care of.

      But remembering the fortune-teller made