The Will

Arrivals I

Gunnar POV - Arrivals I

Mr. Ashwood used to say that if you showed up on time, you were already late.

Fifteen minutes early meant you respected other people's time.

Thirty minutes early meant you respected your own.

So naturally, I pulled through the wrought-iron gates of Ashwood Estate forty-five minutes ahead of schedule.

Old habits.

The security guard at the gatehouse barely glanced at my invitation before waving me through.

The familiar drive curved through acres of immaculate grounds, flanked by towering oaks and perfectly trimmed hedges.

I've been here dozens of times over the years. Fundraisers, Christmas parties, summer cookouts by the lake.

Mr. Ashwood always said the estate was wasted on people who only visited it once.

You had to live with a place to understand it. Whatever the hell that meant.

As my car climbed the hill, the mansion emerged through the trees.

Three stories of weathered stone and ivy. Beautiful in the way old money usually was. Quiet confidence. No need to impress anyone because everyone was already impressed.

I understood that.

I parked near the circular drive and climbed out.

No valet. No event staff. No catering trucks.

Strange.

Maybe I was the first one here.

I adjusted my tie and headed for the front steps.

Movement caught my eye.

A hispanic guy knelt beside one of the flower beds, clipping dead blooms from a rose bush. Dark mullet. Work boots. Broad shoulders.

His forearms were scratched to hell. He looked up as I approached.

I knew I'd seen him before.

Estate staff. Grounds crew. Something like that.

Mr. Ashwood had introduced us once, maybe twice.

Good kid, apparently. Hard worker.

His name sat on the tip of my tongue for a second before I gave up looking for it. "Hey," I began

He stood slowly, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Mr. Hastings."

Right. He knew my name. That tracked.

"Good to see you," I answered, trying to hide that I couldn't remember what he was called.

His expression suggested the feeling wasn't mutual.

I pulled the envelope from my jacket pocket. His eyes dropped immediately to the wax seal. Interesting.

"What do you think this is?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Don't know." His voice was flat. Almost irritated.

I glanced around the empty drive.

"No one else here yet?"

"Nope."

I checked my watch. Twenty-seven minutes early. Mr. Ashwood would've approved.

I looked back at the groundskeeper. Whatever his name was.

"You know, if this is some kind of promotion thing, you probably shouldn't look so miserable."

He stared at me for a second. Then at the envelope in my hand.

"Promotion, huh?"

The word sounded almost funny coming out of his mouth.

I smiled. "Well, they don't usually send personalized invitations for layoffs."

He slid the pruning shears into a leather holster at his hip.

"Guess we'll see."

I glanced toward the mansion. No movement behind the windows. No sign of Mr. Ashwood. No sign of anyone.

Just the two of us standing in the circular drive.

Waiting.

I had a feeling whatever this was, it was important. Mr. Ashwood didn't waste people's time. Especially not mine.