A Secret to Die For

Chapter 1-2

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Newell,” Mr. Johnson said after introducing himself. He escorted Brian to his plush office at the end of a long hallway. “If you’ll have a seat, please, I’ll explain everything to you.”

Brian debated between the sofa and one of two armchairs arranged around a coffee table at one side of the room, opting for a chair. When he was seated, Mr. Johnson took the other chair, pressing his fingertips together as he studied Brian.

“I’ll begin by telling you something that I know you are not aware of,” Mr. Johnson began. “The man you knew as your grandfather, James Newell, was your father’s step-father.”

“Are you serious?” Brian blurted out.

“Quite serious,” Mr. Johnson replied. “Alistair McDermott was your father’s birth father. Soon after your grandmother divorced him, she married James Newell. From what Alistair told me, the divorce was contentious, to put it politely, and your father was only a baby when it happened.”

“I’d ask her and Grandpa James why they didn’t tell me about Alistair,” Brian replied, “if they were alive. Unfortunately…” He shook his head with a sigh.

“I understand.”

“Have you told my father?”

“No, I haven’t. One of the stipulations of Alistair McDermott’s will is that he not be informed.”

“He’s dead, too, I take it. When?”

“Two weeks ago, of cancer. He was eighty-four.”

“Six years older than Grandpa James, when he died.” Brian tapped a finger to his lips. “You said he had a will. I presume, since you wanted to talk with me, I’m mentioned in it, which means he knew about me.”

“He did. He kept track of your father, because he was his son, even though he stayed out of his life.”

“Obviously, from what you said, he had no interest in being anything to him other than his sperm donor,” Brian replied tightly.

“True. His stated reason was that he had no desire to become a second-hand parent when your dad already had a new father in James. He made it one of the stipulations of the divorce that your grandmother was not to tell your father about him.” Mr. Johnson smiled dryly. “I suspect he didn’t want your father to try to contact him when he was older, in an attempt to get money. He was a very wealthy man.”

“Dad would never have done that!” Brian protested.

“Perhaps not, but it’s a moot point, now. He is not an heir, and as I told you, it’s stated clearly in Alistair McDermott’s will that he is not to be informed that he is Alistair’s son. If you tell him, all of Alistair’s money will go to several charities.”

“Where do I come into this?” Brian asked.

“You are Alistair’s sole heir.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Brian replied, shocked and somewhat dismayed as well.

“No, I’m not. Before you become too elated, there are two stipulations. One, as I’ve said, is that you don’t tell your parents about Alistair. The second is, you are to spend the next year living in Alistair’s home.”

“Umm, what exactly does that involve, and where is it?”

Mr. Johnson smiled. “It involves just what it says. You are to move into his home and reside there for a period of one year. I don’t think you’ll find it a hardship as you won’t have to move away from the city. It’s an older house on Seventh Avenue. Fairly large but not a mansion.”

“Like I can afford…”

“Brian, everything will be paid for. All you have to do is live there and take care of his bird.”

“Bird?” Brian grimaced. “I’m more of a cat person, myself.”

“Be that as it may, Alistair owned a scarlet macaw.” Mr. Johnson chuckled. “It has a room of its own in the house, set up like a tropical forest.”

“Good grief.”

“I agree, but Alistair adored the bird and was more than willing to sacrifice what had been the solarium on the second floor to keep it happy.”

“Does it have a name?” Brian asked.

“Sir Kenith the Red.”

“Sounds Viking, like Erik the Red.”

“I suppose so,” Mr. Johnson agreed. “According to Alistair, Kenith means ‘born of fire.’”

Deciding to get off birds for the time being, Brian asked, “What does the house look like?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. I do have a few photos of the interior.” Mr. Johnson got a thick folder from a file cabinet, taking out a smaller folder which he handed to Brian.

“Holy shit.” Brian whistled as he looked at the pictures. “It’s beautiful, if you like dark wood and fireplaces. There are even ones in the bedrooms.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Four bedrooms for one man? What did he do, spend a different night in each one?”

“I believe they were for guests, when he had them, which was rarely. He was a solitary man. Or perhaps I should say his home was his place of refuge from the rest of the world. He made his money as an investment banker, eventually owning his own firm before he retired.”

“And here I am, working as a barista in a coffee shop. You’re sure I’m really his grandson?”

Mr. Johnson smiled. “Yes, Brian, I am. Now, what other questions do you have before we visit your new home? Or am I being presumptive about you wanting to live there?”

Brian blew out a long breath. “How am I going to explain this to my folks?”

“How often do they visit here?”

“Once in a blue moon. I think the last time was a year ago Christmas. I went home two months ago for Mom’s birthday. Other than that, well…” Brian chewed his lip. “It’s sort of ‘We love you, from a distance, but…’.”

“They don’t approve of your life style?”

“What life style? I manage to pay for my apartment, and food, and even an occasional night out. They expected a lot more out of me. The problem is, I’ve never figured out what I wanted to do with my life, other than I didn’t want to follow in Dad’s footsteps and work in some dreary office.”

“You’re twenty-five. You still have time to figure it out. If you decide on a career, you’ll be able to afford to go to college. But not,” Mr. Johnson, cautioned, “until you’ve fulfilled the stipulations of the will. As for your parents, I suggest you let them know you’ve moved and leave it at that. I’m sure you can come up with a logical reason without telling them about the house, per se.”

Brian grimaced. “I hope so. Thankfully they don’t know Denver all that well, so they won’t know from the address that it’s in a fairly prestigious neighborhood. I mean, it is, isn’t it?”

“It is. Are you ready to go look at it?” Mr. Johnson asked, getting up. “Where did you park?”

Brian snorted. “Nowhere, since I don’t own a car.”

He had the feeling the lawyer was about to say ‘At your age?’ and thought better of it. Instead, he nodded. “Mine is in the parking garage.” He stopped at the receptionist’s desk to tell her he’d be gone for at least an hour. Then he and Brian left, picking up his car and heading to Alistair McDermott’s house.