The Will Reading of William Lance Wethers, Jr.

BrookeDi

BrookeDi

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May 22, 1994 the obituary of William Lance Wethers, Jr., American business magnate, investor, and philanthropist, was posted in the New York Times. Chairman and CEO of Berkshire Hathaway (a multinational conglomerate holding company that is a parent company to GEICO, Dairy Queen, Lubrizol, Fruit of the Loom, Helzberg Diamonds, Long & Foster, Pampered Chef, and NetJets as well as partially owning other popular companies), William was considered the second wealthiest men in the world at the time of his death.

His obituary went on to describe the many charities he frequently donated to. It included his surviving family: Andrew Wethers (brother), Penelope Grace Vandroogenbroeck (sister), Annabelle Wethers (daughter), and his ex-wife. It is estimated that at the time of his death William had a net worth of $87.5 Billion.

Three days later, the letters went out. Six of them, to be exact.

Annabelle was still staying at her father's house when her letter was delivered. She'd just come from his funeral--it had been a full event and many people had kind things to say about her father. The young heiress was exiting her car when a motorbike slipped through the closing gates of the estate. "Miss Annabelle Wethers?" He asked.

She sighed. It was always the same with these damn reporters. "I have no comment." She stated simply, turning to head inside.

"I'm not a reporter." She paused to look at him and he continued. "You are Miss Wethers, then?" He was probably about her age, bright blue eyes... but beyond that, she'd never be able to recall any particular detail about the man.

"Yes."

He handed her an envelope. "You've been served. Have a great day." She snorted. As if. He said nothing, only pulling out another envelope and walking up the driveway to her father's house. Apparently there was someone else to serve, but the only one home was her father's maid, Allison. She'd arrived shortly before Annabelle after the funeral.

Following the messenger up the drive she tore open the envelope, reading the contents:

"At the request of Mr. William Lance Wethers, Jr. you are asked to attend dinner and a formal reading of his will to take place May 27, 1994. You should expect to arrive no later than 3p. Accommodations have been been made for you to stay overnight."

The letter included an address, one she knew well. Annabelle sighed deeply. It would seem that she was to expect guests in the coming days.
 
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A shiny black sports car pulled up in front of the Banks mansion. Once the engine was finally turned off, out of the driver's door came Jasmine Banks, the sparkly wife of basketball mega-star Eric Banks. She was dressed in all black, including: an almost-ankle length black dress that was flattering, but not provocative; a pair of black flats that were practical, but still fashionable; a black fascinator with a veil that was both stylish and solemn; and a black clutch that seemingly contained only hankies, but contained a variety of other things as well. Her makeup, behind the slight cover, was just right to be beautiful, but not attention seeking, and there was a artistic smudge of mascara under her eye. Her ginger hair was arranged in a neat braid down her back. Everything about her was perfectly arranged so that no matter how a picture was taken, it would catch her good side.

Jasmine locked the car as she walked away, into the front door. The funeral had been boring, and she doubted that anyone had noticed her much at all, apart from her parents, of course. Her father had brought her into a huge hug, cried on her good blazer, and told her how good she was to come. Her mother hadn't met her eyes, mumbled at the floor, and whispered when she thought Jasmine couldn't hear. Whatever. The old hag could rot for all she cared.

Though she was wearing flat shoes, her feet still made a massive sound as she walked into the tiled floor of the foyer. She was immediately met by a well dressed butler, who hid hatred behind a pleasant smile. "Miss Banks, a letter came for you," he said with forced politeness, holding out an envelope to her. "The messenger said that you had 'been served'."
Jasmine pouted. "What's that supposed to mean?" She said harshly, snatching the letter from the employee. "Where are Preston and Bradley?"
"In the nursery, ma'am. And I believe it means that the letter is a legal summons, ma'am."
A scoff, a roll of the eyes. "Fine. Bring me a herbal tea." No thank you as she walked up the main staircase.

Jasmine didn't open the letter until she came into the nursery. When she walked in, she found her two boys doing just as two boys should do, playing with their toys. Their nanny observed from the rocking chair in the corner, though her head turned to the door the moment it opened. The middle aged lady quickly stood, her wispy grey hair falling out of her bun. "Good afternoon, Miss Banks. The two have been very good today, very nice with one another."
"I know that. They are always well behaved." Jasmine tilted her chin up slightly, looking down her nose at the older woman. "You are free to leave."
The woman, secretly indignant, nodded. Not saying another word, she scurried out of the room.

Jasmine took the recently vacated seat. For a moment, she just looked at her children. Preston, three years old, was the image of perfection. With both his father's and his mother's good looks and a perfect smile, he was already involved in modelling. He would have the best schooling the world could offer, and he was already a football star. Bradley was okay. He was only two, so there was time for him to ascend to his brother's levels, but Jasmine could tell that his looks were subpar. Of course, she still loved him, but he would need extra work for his life. In fact, she was maybe wondering about getting him started on some sort of instrument, or maybe lots of different sports. Surely, he would excel in something.

She'd forgotten about the envelope for a moment, but remembered it when it shifted in her hand. With a sigh, she slipped her thumb under the seal and tore it open. When she actually read the letter, she smiled. A will reading. She wasn't totally sure why she was included in the will, but she wasn't going to question it. She slipped the letter into her clutch, making a mental note to tell Eric about it once he got home from his training.
 
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Julia let out a soft sigh, her hands slipping into her well worn oven mitts, the ones with the cute snowman designs. Reaching for the oven handle she pulled it open and slide out the tray of sweet smelling muffins a sad smile on her face. She had recently come home from her neighbor, William’s funeral, and she had stuck out like a sore thumb. Unlike everyone else who were decked out in black, she found herself in a quaint little blue dress with a butterfly pattern and a cherry yellow trim. It had been the same dress she worn when she had brought him treats last, nearly a week before his death, and as she set the muffin tray down on a hot pad she had to wipe her eyes to keep from crying. Despite the fact that she and William hadn’t been very close, she had really come to like him and it was rather sad that she had to teach her sons about death so soon. As she pulled the oven mitts off her hands a soft “ding dong” pulled her out of her thoughts and she jumped to her feet to answer the door. Before she could reach it though her oldest, Karrison, had already answered the door. As she entered the hallway she spotted Karrison nervously tugging at his scarf as he avoided eye contact with the man outside of the door, the strange thing was that she couldn’t not place the man’s face. “Hello? Is there something you need?” She asked, her voice nearly as sweet as the treats she baked, as she carefully shooed away Karrison who quickly ran off. “I have a letter for you, from William” And holding out the letter to her, he bowed his head. As she carefully took the envelope from the man’s hand she heard him softly say something though she didn’t hear what. Before she could ask him something she saw that he had already turned around and walked off. Pouting a bit she quickly pulled open the letter and began to read the note inside. “Oh it’s his will!” She said aloud to herself, slightly surprised that out of anyone she was also part of William’s will. Sighing she carefully shoved the letter into one of her apron pockets and glanced inside to check the time on a beautiful grandfather clock before shutting the door. She would have to prepare another batch of treats to bring to this of course, and as such she had quite a bit of baking to get to.
 
Click. Click. Click. The sound of sharp, stiletto heels in black patent leather mingled with the soft shush-shush of the feather duster kissing the mirror's glossy surface. Allison, the Wethers' long-time resident maid, was busily at work. She was a dutiful employee and an artist in her attention to detail; the Wethers' mansion her canvas. The mirrors shone, the crystal sparkled, and the wooden floors and banister gleamed with the warmth of care.

She had attended the funeral in jet black, but when she returned home, she had swiftly changed to her maid's uniform with a modest, if pretty, white collar and pristine apron. Her hair, a waterfall of sleek, chestnut brown, was held away from her face by a clip in the back, the rest of the hair gliding down to her shoulder blades. She looked the picture of a demure housemaid, and that was exactly what she was. Rarely seen, rarely heard (with the exception of her heels), she tended to seamlessly blend into being a part of the house, itself, much like a tiny, unseen organism living on a host. And that was the way Allison liked it, especially on days like today where her perfect appearance was marred by the shadows of sadness swimming in her green-gold eyes.

When the door opened, she turned and curtsied, eyes downcast, feather duster delicately clutched between both hands before she turned and continued to her job, carefully swishing the duster over the figurines on the side table beneath the mirror, paying special attention to a decorative brass clock, one of her favorite of Mr. Wethers' objects.
 
It wasn't much of a surprise that Penelope Grace Vandroogenbroeck had not gone to her elder brother's funeral. In her eyes, he should have dropped dead years ago.

Instead, Penelope had laid sprawled out on her black leather couch all day, cloaked in an expensive red stain bathrobe and drinking expensive Chardonnay from an expensive crystal glass. Notice the pattern? Still, her wealth was no where near William's, and she hadn't been particularly interested in having that fact rubbed in her recently-done nose.

As she was swishing her wine around her glass and her light eyes peering through half-moon spectacles at page 249 of The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, which she was reading again for the sixth time, there was a knock at her door. She decided not to go open it, her mind finding what was on the page in front of her much more interesting than whatever could possibly be awaiting her at her front door.

There was a faint rustling noise as whoever was knocking pushed something, presumably a letter of some sort, through the mail slot of her door.

It was then she decided to get up, placing her glass of wine and book down before swinging her legs over the side of the couch to place her freshly pedicured feet into fluffy white cat slippers. Her movement made her own cat, a fluffy white Persian named Princess, meow and stretch, and then it trotted off toward where the letter must have fallen onto the floor.

She followed after her cat, perplexed as to who could have sent her a letter. She'd paid all the bills only a few days before, and she wasn't a particularly social woman, so no one should be sending her letters.

Mrs. Penelope Vandroogenbroeck, she cocked a perfectly groomed red eyebrow, pretty much ripping apart the envelope in her hands to reach the content inside. A window shattering scream resonated through the house once the contents were read, and the letter went fluttering down to the ground.

A rather extreme response to being told that she was requested to be at the reading for her brother's will, but this was Penelope Grace Vandroogenbroeck, and she was never anything short of extra.
 
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"La-dee-da-dee...Cousin Willie's in the ground...la-dee-da-doo...too bad he's not around..."

Penelope "Nightshade" (her newest last name) reclined on her couch, reading the letter she had received over again. Her pet cat, a Munchkin named Neil Marcus, sat in her lap, trying to play with her pigtail. Penelope let him, before picking him up and putting him on the ground.

"You know, Neil Marcus, I bet he ignored my warnings when building that mansion of his. I told him he needed stained glass windows for good luck, and what does he do? Probably used regular glass! No wonder he died!" She shook her head, as if that was the real tragedy of the situation. "Had real nice hors de'vours at his funeral, though. Wouldn't expect lesd of old Silly Willy." She sighed. "I wish billionaires would die more often-they have top-notch food at their funerals. Oh well...might as well start packing, hm? Find a plane ticket to America somewhere..." Her father, William's uncle, had married a woman from England, where Penelope had lived since birth. Coming from money herself, Penelope had no problem making frequent trips to and from America, or anywhere else in the world. Those frequent flyer miles really do come in handy, you know.

"Let me see...Neil Marcus, do you think the color scheme for this trip should be summer goth or winter goth?" She looked over to her cat, who looked back up at her from his litter bow.

"Mrow."

"Ah." Penelope nodded. "Springtime goth it is."​
 
There was a haughty smile on her face from the comfort of her luscious two-story home- payed by her dearly departed ex-husband- all the way to the mansion of said deceased 'loved' one. Attending William's funeral had been a treat, it took all the sheer will power she had in her body to not run up to the casket and laugh mockingly as if she were a child who had won an argument. What really excited her though was when she saw all his family member's and realised that in all the years she had tolerated him, not a single one can be considered remotely 'close' to him. She was joyous. So happy in fact, that she produced tears of joy and started silently sobbing at the funeral. Most mistook for tears of sadness but the ones who had gotten to know her probably knew better. William wasn't a horrendous husband, and she certainly didn't detest him and only married him for his myriad of money, but he had hurt her pride greatly. That was something she could not accept.

The car ride had been a typically silent one, Coccina was certainly happy to be invited to the will reading, her mind certain that she had gotten the estate. In addition, it would be nice to see her daughter and anyone who William had put down into the will arrive as well. He had always been a closed-off man, so she wasn't expecting something grand.

Her heart halted at the thought of her daughter, although they had not been exceptionally close before, she was still someone she greatly cared about. The father of her daughter however... Applying a layer of lipstick at the back of her luxury car, she held onto the tube tightly and almost damaged her recently-manicured nails. If there was one reason to stay away from her daughter, it was that she reminded the woman greatly of her dead husband. There was always something off about the both of them that held her back from pursuing a much more positive and beautiful relationship, something she could be proud of. Coccina was never one to hold long grudges and carry it on to anyone related to the person but William-

He had always been an exception.
 
Two days after receiving her letter, Annabelle stood waiting anxiously in the foyer of her father's mansion. Though, she supposed, it was someone else's now. Possibly hers even though she had no interest in living in the enormous building.

The heiress knew that she had family coming in, the anxiety-inducing part was that she didn't know who else had been invited to the will reading. There was a drink in her hand and the distant sound of the live-in maid coming down the hall. She had to resist the urge to tap her foot impatiently and resist the urge to toss back her drink and go and make another one.

Soon enough a car could be heard pulling up in the gravel of the driveway. Peering out the window, she caught sight of a shiny new Mercedes. Annabelle waited with bated breath to see who would step out, only to be disappointed by the arrival of her father's lawyer. She could recognize that receding hairline a mile away.

Sighing, she sipped at her drink and waited until he was on the porch to open the door before he could knock. "Ah, morning Miss Wethers."

"Mr. Grant." She greeted in return. He stared back at her, and after a breath, she moved out of the way to allow him in. "I have to ask about this will reading is there anything--" She stopped when Mr. Grant held up a hand to stall her.

"I'm not allowed to answer any questions about this, per Mr. Wethers."

"Of course," she grumbled. Her father had been a dead eccentric, and she had a feeling that this will reading would be a substantial representation of that. Peering out through the doorway, Annabelle looked for a sign of any other arriving beneficiaries.
 
Julia smiled at her two sons who were hugging their mother tears in their eyes, “Please don’t go Mommy” Jason whimpered, holding tightly to her as if he would die. “Don’t worry sweetie, it is just one night, You and Karrison will be fine” she said softly, gently pulling the boy’s hands off, he let go without any resistance and joined his brother who was watching sadly. Now I trust you two to be safe and you know what to do if a stranger enters?” She asked, “go out the back door and get you!” The boys chimed and she ruffled their hair happily. “That’s right! Now no cooking okay? I left you snacks on the counter, and there are two extra special treats hidden in the house, see if you can find them” she remarked and the two boys rushed off each giggling as the searched for her surprise. Laughing she got to her feet and pulled the handle up on her suitcase, making sure that the plate of poppyseed muffins were firmly secured before she opened the door. Clicking the handle in place she locked the door and started towards the mansion next door, her eyes drawn to the Mercedes. It then hit her that the kind of people she would most likely be with would probably be very fancy, and as such she would have to work extra hard to show them her worth. With a determined smiled she marched forward towards the door, spotting someone standing in the door who she soon recognised to be Annabelle, William’s daughter. “Oh Annabelle! Hold the door for me please!” She called increasing her pace so as not to make Annabelle wait for her. Once she actually reached the door, she paused giving Annabelle a warm smile before heading through the door and parking her suitcase inside. Afterwards she flipped around and turned to Annabelle offering out her hand to shake, “My name is Julia Rosa Doe, I am your next door neighbor! “ she said with a smile.
 
A taxi came up to the estate, and Penelope got out-not before handing her driver a £100 tip (he could exchange the currency somewhere, she was sure). The flight over from England had been nice enough, but she was more than happy to get a move on with precedings...and to reaffirm just how many stained glass windows her dear cousin had installed. It was crucial information.

"Annabelle, darling! Auntie Penelope's here!" Of course, they were technically second cousins, but that rule never made sense to Penelope. She felt more like an aunt than anything. Plopping her suitcase down, she looked around, shaking her head. Not one stained glass window in sight. William, you old fool!​
 
While Annabelle was answering the door, Allison was making certain every little detail was in order. Each of the guest rooms had been aired out, dusted, made up, and she had seen to arranging a small, colorful gift bag in each room containing a water bottle, a bag of cashews, and an individual package of Kleenex for the emotional day. She had cleaned the crystal (not that it needed it) and was carrying a tray of the gorgeous glasses to the study to prepare for the will reading. She nodded her head to Annabelle and the guests entering as she passed. The tray was set down swiftly and carefully, and she came back into the foyer.

As guests came in, she picked up the luggage and briskly walked down the hallway, depositing the different pieces in the different rooms and providing each guest with a key.
 
Exiting her car, she glanced at the taxi driving away before averting her attention to the woman that had arrived before her. Penelope #2? She grimaced. Truth be told, she preferred William's estranged sister, although she didn't have anything against his distant cousin. However, if his distant cousin was invited, lord knows who else he decided to include in his will. Smoothly reapplying a layer of lipstick, Coccina placed the lipstick back into her Chanel handbag and walked towards the entrance of the large abode. Grasping her purse, she straightened her back as she strutted down the pavement as if she were in a catwalk, her stiletto heels giving her a few good inches before she stopped behind the only other person outside the door.

Turning her attention towards cousin-Penelope, she smiled at the quirky woman and nodded at her in greeting.

"Wonderful day to be meeting a few people, isn't it?"
 
A little surprised, Annabelle accepted the offered hand from the redhead. "Yes, um, I'm sure we've met." It was possible, but she couldn't remember. "Regardless, nice to meet you. Come in." Her suitcase was silently wheeled away in exchange for a key in a motion so smooth; they would have all missed it if not for the fact the maid had to give Julia a key.

Annabelle was confused as to why her father would have invited her neighbor over for the will reading, but he'd been generous. Maybe he wanted to give her something. She offered a strained smile, feeling a little bad at the lack of genuineness behind it. It was a rough time, though. She'd barely gotten over her shock at the invitation of Julia when another surprise arrived on her doorstep.

"Aunt Penelope," The young soon-to-be-heiress greeted the woman with a slight hug. "I thought you were in England." She could make it for the reading, but she hadn't bothered to make it to the funeral. Still, Penelope had always been a tad eccentric, even more so than her father, so she said nothing more of it.

Then there was her mother. The two had hardly spoken at the funeral, and their relationship had been strained since the divorce. Not that Annabelle wanted it to be that way, it just ended up happening that way. Still, she offered her mom a smile and waited until Coccina had turned her attention to her daughter before offering her mom an awkward hug.

Yep, this was going well already.

Moving out of the doorway, she made room for everyone to come inside. "Well, no use standing in the foyer," she said brightly. "I believe there are snacks and drinks ready in the study..." She was hoping for some alcohol in those drinks.
 
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