EPILOGUE – JOHNNY
Iflinch when a knock rattles the front door to our apartment.
Claire stops writing in her notebook and glances toward it. She’s in a mad dash to get caught up on her college assignments if she wants to pass this semester. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s pulled off that kind of miracle, leaving me with no doubts she’ll do it this time, too.
It’s only been a week since the war with Franklin, but we’re both clearly still on edge. The intensity of the situation hasn’t worn off, and despite the immediate threat being eliminated, there’s that lingering worry that remains.
“I’ll get it,” I tell her as I stand and make my way over toward it.
Glancing through the peephole, I catch Miller flipping his head both ways, eyeing the hallway while he anxiously waits for me to answer. A short man in a business suit at his side, a binder in his hands, a pair of black-rimmed glasses on his face.
I open the door, shifting my focus between them. “What’s this about?”
“Mr. Jones.” The guy holds his hand out toward me. “Bruce Green.”
I hesitate, not really sure what the hell is going on.
“I’m here on behalf of Mr. Bane’s estate management team.”
I finally take Bruce’s palm into mine and give it a firm shake. “Oh, right. Come on in.”
Claire jumps up from her spot on the couch and moves toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
Bruce shakes his head. “No, I won’t be long, thank you.”
Claire continues on her task anyway, grabbing four glasses and filling them with water. She carries them over and sets them down in front of each of us at the table. “Just in case.”
“Thanks,” Bruce says politely.
“You hungry?” she asks Miller, who in the short amount of time we’ve known him has become like a sibling to us.
Another addition to our strange found family.
“Maybe in a little bit,” he tells her.
Claire settles into the seat beside me, sliding her fingers around mine in a subtle but powerful gesture. She knows how much I hate uncertainty, and this situation is bursting with it.
Bruce carefully unclips the tie around his binder, flipping it open and skimming the edge until he settles on a blue tab. “Mr. Jones.” His gaze skims the page. “As the beneficiary for one Luciano Bane, you are entitled to the majority of Mr. Bane’s assets.”
My heart skips a beat and then thuds loudly. Did I just hear him correctly?
Beneficiary? Assets?
I swallow the lump rising in my throat.
My mouth drops open, but I find myself unable to speak.
“I’ll provide you with a list to encompass the entirety of your inheritance, including, but not limited to, Bane’s Café, the penthouse on Water Street, Front Street, and Walnut Avenue, Loose Change Laundry, and numerous other enterprises. You will also be taking over his…” Bruce stops to turn his attention toward me, lowering his glasses to get a better look. “Less official ventures.”
This can’t be true. I must have died back in that warehouse and this is some weird afterlife.
“Mr. Bane gave specific instructions that one Samuel Miller would be staying on with a salaried position to be your…” He runs his finger down the page to find the exact wordage. “Advisor.” Bruce pauses. “Miller was also given a piece of real estate, a vehicle from Mr. Bane’s collection, and a sum of cash.”
Miller and I lock eyes briefly.
“Josey got the same, too,” Miller adds. “He’s part of your advisory board.” He glances toward the door. “He should be here soon, actually, he just had to pick Rosie up first.”
“Miss Claire Cooper?” Bruce turns to Claire, snapping me out of my stupor at the mention of her name.