a number of assistants in the four years since he’d started up the overseas division. Within minutes of Giles interviewing her, he had known Jocelyn was the one. At forty-six, she had left her position as director of a childcare center because she wanted to experience the corporate world. What prompted Giles to hire her on the spot was her admission that she’d taken several courses to become proficient in different computer programs.
He met the eyes of the woman who only recently had begun wearing makeup after terminating her membership with a church that frowned on women wearing pants and makeup. The subtle shade of her lipstick complemented the yellow undertones in her flawless mahogany complexion. “Who delivered this?” he asked, when he noticed that the stamp and the postmark were missing. Personal and Confidential was stamped below the addressee, while the return address indicated a Wickham Falls, West Virginia, law firm.
Jocelyn’s eyebrows lifted slightly behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. “George brought it up. He said it came with this morning’s FedEx delivery.”
Giles nodded. “Thank you.” All mail for the company was left at the front desk. The receptionist signed for documents requiring a signature, and then she alerted the mail room where George logged in and distributed letters and packages to their respective departments.
Jocelyn hesitated and met her boss’s eyes. “I just want to remind you that I’ll be in late tomorrow morning. I have to renew my driver’s license.”
He nodded. Jocelyn had saved his department thousands when she redesigned the website from ordinary to extraordinary with photos of Bahamian-Caribbean-style homes on private islands with breathtaking views of the Atlantic Ocean and others with incredibly pristine Caribbean beaches.
Waiting until she walked out of the office and closed the door behind her, Giles sat down and slid a letter opener under the flap of the envelope. A slight frown settled into his features when he read and reread the single page of type. He was being summoned to the reading of a will. The letter did not indicate to whom the will belonged, but requested he call to confirm his attendance.
Picking up the telephone receiver, he tapped the area code and then the numbers. “This is Giles Wainwright,” he said, introducing himself when the receptionist identified the name of the law firm. “I have a letter from your firm requesting my presence at the reading of a will this coming Thursday.”
There came a pause. “Please hold on, Mr. Wainwright, while I connect you to Mr. McAvoy’s office.”
Giles drummed his fingers on the top of the mahogany desk with a parquetry inlay.
“Mr. Wainwright, I’m Nicole Campos, Mr. McAvoy’s assistant. Are you calling to confirm your attendance?”
“I can’t confirm until I know who named me in their will.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wainwright, but I cannot disclose that at this time.”
He went completely still. “You expect me to fly from New York to West Virginia on a whim?”
“It’s not a whim, Mr. Wainwright. Someone from your past indicated your name in a codicil to their will. If you choose not to come, then we’ll consider the matter settled.”
Giles searched his memory for someone he’d met who had come from West Virginia. The only person that came to mind was a soldier under his command when they were deployed to Afghanistan.
Corporal John Foley had lost an eye when the Humvee in which he was riding was hit by shrapnel from a rocket-propelled grenade. The young marine was airlifted to a base hospital, awarded a purple heart and eventually medically discharged. Giles prayed that John, who had exhibited signs of PTSD, hadn’t taken his life like too many combat veterans.
He stared at the framed pen and ink and charcoal drawings of iconic buildings in major US cities lining the opposite wall. A beat passed as he contemplated whether he owed it to John or his family to reconnect with their past.
“Okay, Ms. Campos. I’ll be there.”
He could almost imagine the woman smiling when she said, “Thank you, Mr. Wainwright.”
Giles hung up and slumped down in the chair. He had just come back from the Bahamas two days ago, and he was looking forward to sleeping in his own bed for more than a week and hopefully catch up on what was going on with his parents and siblings.
Most days found him working in his office hours after other employees had gone home. It was when he spent time on the phone with his Bahamas-based broker negotiating the purchase of several more uninhabited islands. Other days were spent in weekly meetings with department heads and dinner meetings in the company’s private dining room with the officers and managers—all of whom were Wainwrights by bloodline or had married into the family.
Wainwright Developers Group was the second largest real estate company in the northeast, and everyone associated with the company was committed to maintaining that position or bringing them to number one.
Swiveling on his chair, he sent Jocelyn an email, outlining his travel plans for the following Thursday. Giles had no idea where Wickham Falls, West Virginia, was, but in another week he would find out.
* * *
Giles deplaned after the jet touched down at the Charleston, West Virginia, airport. A town car awaited his arrival. Jocelyn had arranged for a driver to take him to Wickham Falls. She had also called a hotel to reserve a suite because he did not have a timetable as to when he would return to New York.
The trunk to the sedan opened, and seconds later the driver got out and approached him.
“Mr. Wainwright?”
Giles nodded. “Yes.” He handed the man his suitcase and a leather case with his laptop.
When he’d boarded the jet, Giles had experienced a slight uneasiness because he still could not fathom what he would encounter once he arrived. He had racked his brain about possible scenarios and still couldn’t dismiss the notion that something had happened to John Foley.
He removed his suit jacket, slipped into the rear of the car, stretched out his legs and willed his mind blank. When Jocelyn confirmed his travel plans, she informed him that Wickham Falls was an hour’s drive from the state capital. Ten minutes into the ride, he closed his eyes and didn’t open them again until the driver announced they were in Wickham Falls. Reaching for his jacket, he got out and slipped his arms into the sleeves.
“I’m not certain how long the meeting is going to take,” he said to the lanky driver wearing a black suit that appeared to be a size too big.
“Not a problem, Mr. Wainwright. I’ll wait here.”
Giles took a quick glance at his watch. He was thirty minutes early. His gaze took in Wickham Falls’s business district, and he smiled.
It was the epitome of small-town Americana. The streets were lined with mom-and-pop shops all sporting black-and-white awnings and flying American flags. Cars were parked diagonally in order to maximize space. It was as if Wickham Falls was arrested in time and that modernization had left it behind more than fifty years before. There was no fast-food restaurant or major drug store chain. To say the town was quaint was an understatement.
He noted a large red, white and blue wreath suspended from a stanchion in front of a granite monument at the end of the street. A large American flag was flanked by flags representing the armed forces. Giles knew it was a monument for military veterans.
He strolled along the sidewalk to see if John Foley’s name was on the monument. There were names of servicemen who’d served in every war beginning with the Spanish–American War to the present. There was one star next to the names of those who were missing in action, and two stars for those who’d died in combat. Although he was relieved not to find the corporal’s name on the marker, it did little to assuage his curiosity as to why he had been summoned to Wickham Falls.
As he retraced his steps, Giles wasn’t certain whether he would be able to live in a small town. He was born, grew up and still lived in the Big