Confessions: The Paris Mysteries Read Free Page A

in New York and Paris.
    But what we first learned about her came in the form of a scandalous handwritten codicil to her last will and testament that read, “I am leaving Malcolm and Maud $100, because I feel that is all that they deserve.”
    Our father had framed and hung that Big Chop—what our family not-so-affectionately calls our parents’ punishments—in the stairwell near the master bedroom, where we all saw it several times a day.
    Why had Gram Hilda disowned Malcolm? Maud, our very own tiger mom, had said that Hilda hadn’t approved of the marriage. That must have meant Hilda hadn’t approved of
her
. Maybe that was true. But I often wondered what else we hadn’t been told.
    I tuned back in to the men in gray as they itemized Gram Hilda’s holdings, projected receipts, calculated interest rates, and translated international rates of exchange.
    I followed the back-and-forth up to a point. I asked questions. I made notes, but honestly, the numbers were dense and dizzying, and although I’m a bit of a math whiz, this was a deluge of black ink and fine print with no apparent bottom line. Plus, the millions of questions and doubts about James kept slipping into my thoughts like evil weeds. I tried, but I couldn’t read a single face across the table.
    Were we bankrupt or not? Why were there so many papers for us to sign? Finally, I’d had enough.
    “Excuse me, Monsieur Delavergne,” I said. “Will you summarize, please? Uncle Jacob will explain the details to us later.”
    “Of course, Mademoiselle Angel,” Delavergne sniffed. “Whatever you say. Whatever you want or need.”
    He took out a pen and a notepad from his briefcase. He said, “The grandchildren’s trusts are equal. You four will each inherit”—scratching of pen on paper—“this amount.”
    He held up the pad so we could all see.
    We four kids sucked up all the air on our side of the table. I had hoped there would be enough money in Gram Hilda’s bank account to pay for our food and housing and maybe college tuition for me, Harry, and Hugo.
    My most extreme wish hadn’t even been close.
    Delavergne went on, “But your grandmother was a careful woman. You won’t get this money all at once. In fact, your inheritance will be divided into monthly payments and distributed to each of you over the next, uhh, forty-two years. Your uncle will be your executor until you each reach your majority.”
    “Wait,” I said. “You’re saying I’ll get a monthly allowance until I’m fifty-eight years old?”
    “Exactly,” said Gram Hilda’s most trusted senior attorney,
“unless you disgrace the family name.”
He tapped the stack of papers the four of us had to sign.
    “The degree of ‘disgrace’ will be determined by the five of us: Messieurs Portsmith, Simone, and Bourgogne; your uncle Jacob; and me, of course.”
    Really? I would be responsible to four strangers and Jacob for the next forty-two
years
?
    By the way, our family was not exactly famous for following rules. So what, exactly, was their definition of
disgrace
?
    “Your inheritance represents both a gift and a challenge,” Delavergne continued, brightening for the first time in three hours. “That was your grandmother’s guiding principle, and we expect it will become yours as well.”
    Once again, thoughts of James seeped into my unwilling mind. What we had was a gift and a challenge from the very beginning. And I was never one to back down from a challenge.

We celebrated Gram Hilda’s awesome yet
mysterious gifts and challenges at Alain Ducasse au Plaza Athénée, a world-class restaurant that had been awarded the maximum number of Michelin stars, and it might have rated more.
    I’ve been to top restaurants before. I’m from
New York
. But this place was at the pinnacle of its own category.
    My instant impression was that the ornate Louis XV–style dining room was like the inside of a jewelry box. The room was lined with embroidered screens. Crystals hung from wires