Grandpa's Secrets

Sand squished through her toes as she walked the Anastasia Island beach with her twelve-year-old son, Jordan. Maisie had him every other week throughout the summer, and this week was their family vacation. 

Coming to the beach house had been a family tradition since before she was born. It was a family home her great grandparents had purchased in 1945 after their sons Stanley, Robert, and Michael had returned home from WWII. Somehow it had remained in the family despite some desires to sell it. At the death of their parents, Stanley, Robert, and Michael assumed one third ownership each and split up the year for their families’ vacation usage, but it was soon discovered that they preferred to be together in the house. So the first week of August was always their family reunion, and the beach house was where all family milestones were celebrated. 

In 1955 Robert sold his portion of the beach house to Stanley and bought a bigger beach house down the road after finding success in his business, and in 1965 Michael left his share to Stanley upon his premature death with no heirs. The home stayed filled with the family’s memories. However, Stanley’s children, Donna, Marcia, and Zane, now worried over who would fully own it. Their parents, Stanley and Kate Williams, had died together in their sleep. No better way to go, the kids had agreed. The only thing the adult siblings could remember agreeing on. This week, Donna’s family’s week, was the reading of their parents’ will.

Maisie and Jordan met up with her parents, Donna and Billy Christoff, at the Glass Slipper for cocktails before the meeting. Donna, seventy-four, was in mourning but still full of grace. “I’m thinking that Zane will want to move into the beach house full time. He doesn’t have his own place - but I guess if he wants to, it would be the right decision. We have a home. He surfs around the world.”

“I agree with you Donna. Zane will need a landing spot when he stops traveling to surf; I imagine he’ll be fair though. We’d still be able to stay there,” reasoned Billy, her husband of fifty years. 

“Maybe we could encourage him to buy a condo with the profit from the sale of my parents’ home, but then we would miss him staying with us when he’s in Florida.”

Jordan chowed on his appetizer and asked, “Are we ever gonna go back to Minnesota, Mom?” 

“Never.” Maisie responded. “No reason to.”

“Oh, Maise, we never could convince my father to sell that house and move to an assisted living facility, and in the end, he died there. A peaceful death thankfully, at a ripe old age. I’m grateful for that. Not many people live to be ninety-five and ninety-three, and still have all their sense. They did.” 

Donna set down her glass and looked at her small family, “I’m grateful for all of you. Whatever happens in this meeting, I have everything I have ever wanted right here. It’s time. Let’s go.” 

They walked across the street to Stanley’s former law office in Saint Augustine. After retiring, he and Kate decided to spend all their summers in Minnesota, the land of their childhood, because Florida was just “too damn hot”, but they always migrated back to the beach house for the winter. It had been years since his children had visited this building, though Stanley would visit weekly, if not daily when he was in town. 

In the reception area, Donna’s sister Marcia was waiting for them with her husband Jim, and their three daughters, Jade, Amber and Sapphire, all in their early forties or late thirties. They had left their spouses and children at the hotel. Zane stood nearby, usually in perpetual flip flops and board shorts, he appeared to have cleaned up for this meeting. The fifty-seven-year-old surfer wore chinos and a pressed short sleeve shirt buttoned all the way up, tucked-in, and belted. Donna blinked at her brother, “Zane, you look good.” 

“Yeah, well; it’s what Dad would want.” He looked over and noticed Jordan, “Broski, have you hit the waves yet, little mate?”

“Yeah, with mom this morning. Check this out.” He pulled out his phone and played the video of Maisie in the pocket of a barrel wave. She’s shacked!” 

Maisie grinned at her son. “You weren’t bad yourself, kid. Show your uncle the video I shot of you.” Surfing was something she was happy to share with her family. The jemstone cousins looked on with interest, but none had ever been brave enough to paddle away from a guarded beach. Or maybe it was just that they were too smart to risk their lives. Regardless, ever since her divorce from Mark, she had found solace in her childhood past time of riding waves, and it was something she could share with her son, something his father didn’t do which was fine with her. He wasn’t there to tell them no. 

“Uncle Zane, do you have an instagram? I’ve got this posted.” 

Just then Velma arrived to escort them to a conference room.

“I’m sorry. Per Mr. Zengal, only Ms. Donna Christoff, Ms. Marcia Wilson, and Mr. Zane Williams may be in the conference room per instructions from the late Mr. Stanley Williams.”

The husbands and daughters were a bit miffed but retreated to the reception seating.   

Davey Zengal, senior partner at the firm, was waiting for the sisters and brother with another senior partner, Stanley Hasberg, who their father would lunch with daily for as long as anyone could remember. 

“Good afternoon, everyone.” Davey was cordial but professional. “Per your father’s and mother’s wishes, I am the legal executor of their estate under the supervision of Mr. Stanley Hasberg, Esquire. I will begin by reading this letter from Mr. Stanley Williams.” 

Well, if this is being read, then your mother and I are both dead. We are quite old (well, I am anyway, your mother has not been a day over twenty-three for the last seventy years) and have lived full lives, so don’t be too sad that we’re gone. You can be a little bit sad though, a few tears would be nice, we are dead after all. 

We hope we have done a good job raising you and enjoying you as adults, which we have. Donna, your cleverness and resourcefulness have always impressed us, how you were able to start your own business and make it grow. Marcia, we are so proud of you for your work in the classroom, and Zane, your free spirit and surf school are top notch. To have harnessed your passions and made them your livelihoods is a great accomplishment that many only dream about, but all three of our children have achieved. 

Now, as to your lives, well, things are not always as they appear, and sometimes that is for your own good, though you may not realize it at the time. Now, today, you will learn some things that you did not know, things that now, as I think as a ninety-five year old man, (yes, I’ve been updating this letter yearly since you were born) I wish I had told you sooner, but kept from you out of a patriarchal responsibility to see to it that you grew to be responsible, independent, self-sufficient people. You see, money isn’t everything. Family is. And for that I have one great regret in my life. That I kept secret from you that you have a half-brother. He should be sitting right next to you now, and you have known him all your life as Stanley Adam Hasberg. 

There were loud gasps in the room as everyone looked up and stared at Stanley, the seventy-five-year-old senior partner their father had brought into the business when he was twenty-five. 

“But? What?” Marcia exclaimed. 

“No way!” undulated Zane. 

“What? Why would they have kept this a secret?” exclaimed Donna. “Stan, did you know this? All these years?”

Stanley Hasberg nodded his head and as they looked at him hard, they realized they were looking at a version of themselves. A version of their father, Stanley.

“Oh. My. God.” 

“Oh. My. God.”

“Oh my god!”

“Have some water, Donna,” encouraged Davey. She took a large drink and blinked at Stanley who looked a bit miffed as a seventy-five-year-old man just being discovered by his family. 

“Why in god’s name would Dad not tell us about you?” chortled Marcia.

Attorney Zengal cleared his throat, “Ahem, I do believe I should continue with the notarized letter, Ms. Wilson.” 

Wooh. That was a doozy wasn’t it! Now, I realize I should have told you years ago, but now I am too much of a coward to tell you and face your wrath. Stanley knows I am his father, and in case you are wondering if he hoodwinked me, I have a DNA report attached as proof, but I didn’t need that proof seventy-five years ago, when he was born, and it didn’t exist then anyway. 

I met Stanley’s mother, Hannah, when I was stationed in France with the United States Army. She was a refugee who had managed to escape the heinous grasp of Hitler, and I was in love. We were together for six months before I was sent to Italy and then the war ended and I was sent back home. It was a confusing time. She didn’t have a permanent address, and I was moving about. I didn’t know she was pregnant. I had her set up at a boarding house, but when I went to find her, the place had been bombed. I thought she was dead. It wasn’t until a year later, when I was home in Minnesota, that I received a letter from her, two months after I had married your mother, my highschool sweetheart, Kate. As you may imagine, I was devastated. She told me she had our son, and named him after me and her father Adam Hasberg, who had perished in the war. She included a photo of our son. I loved Hannah, but I was married to Kate. Hannah understood things your mother would never understand, because we had lived through the war together, her in much worse circumstances than me, as a woman alone, hunted like a dog. 

It pained me that I had moved on and not tried harder to find her, but so many people had been reported as lost or missing. Knowing that she had been alive all along and I had stopped looking for her has haunted me ever since. Meanwhile, your mother, who I also love, was pregnant, so I chose to wait to tell her this news.  

I sent Hannah money monthly from then on and I wrote to another friend I had made while in the war, Corentin Thomas, whose life I saved during the Battle of the Bulge. He took her into his chateau and winery in the South of France. When Stanley turned eighteen, I arranged for him to attend college in the United States and then law school. He has worked with me ever since. Consequently, Hannah and Corentin fell in love, married and had six other children in France. So there was fortunately a happy ending after all, but I kept Stanley a secret from you out of respect for your mother, who was anguished with regret when I told her about Stanley after the birth of you, Donna. I promised her I did not regret marrying her, but I believe there is a part of her that has never quite believed this. 

Now well, you know the truth. Please welcome Stanley into your lives, as family. He has always been my son, just as you have been my son, Zane, and my daughters, Donna, Marcia. Be braver than I was and try not to have regrets, forgive each other, and embrace each day as an opportunity to right your wrongs. 

Okay. It’s time to divide the property. The beach house is to be owned and shared equally by Donna, Marcia and Zane. This place has nostalgic value to each of you and so it shall remain in the family so long as one of you or your offspring desires it remain. It’s good to have a homestead. It is the wish of your mother and I that you continue to gather there for all family events and I hope that you will now find it in your hearts to invite your brother Stanely. 

Our house in Minneapolis, the place where none of you would ever visit us - should be sold and the profit should be split between Donna, Marcia and Zane. Zane, I hope you will either purchase a reasonable home or invest for the day you no longer follow summer around the planet. Donna and Marcia, I have reason to believe you will be wise with this inheritance.  

In this box, [Mr. Zengal presented a medium sized box] is the key to one last secret. The key opens a security box where you will find gold bars worth more than ten million dollars. They are from my grandfather who struck it rich as a kid in the California gold rush. He used some of the gold to start his cattle business in Texas, which is still in operation today. He later gave some to my father who left the cattle business to strike out on his own. My dad used it to start his rum running business during Prohibition, and he made a boatload of money. The proceeds from that business educated us and kept our family fed and clothed for the rest of my parents’ lives; they used it to buy the beach house. My mother sent a considerable amount to charity and my brothers Robert, Michael and I didn’t know about it until they had passed, because they were afraid it would change us.

Our mother, your grandmother, was the daughter of a Protestant preacher, so she didn’t want it known that her husband was a rum runner. It was always a big secret, but the money helped many people besides our family. So there you have it. Your grandpa was a bit of a rebel and a damn good businessman who invested his money in steel, infrastructure and manufacturing, but your mother didn’t want it to go to your heads. So we haven’t touched the money that was left to us thirty years ago in stocks, reported to be worth (Davey should report this) 

Davey clears his throat and reads from a paper, “Approximately fifteen billion dollars.” 

The siblings, including Stanley, were dumbstruck, except for some sounds of wheezing. 

Marcia, use your inhaler. Okay, so now you know. I hope you’re not too upset with your mother and me for not telling you we’re billionaires, but some things are more important than having all the money in the world. You have your pride, your self-worth. Each of you are self-made and for that, we are eternally grateful. 

The stocks are in a trust equally divided among the four of you, Marica, Donna, Zane and Stanley. May you all not let this ruin you and go to your heads. God bless. Love, Dad.

Marcia sucked on her inhaler. That was the sole sound in the room for a full two minutes of silence and then she said, “Well, we have to have a family meeting. Just the four of us.” 

It was suddenly quite clear why only Donna, Marcia, Zane and Stanley were allowed in the room for the reading of the will. Their minds were racing, their parents had been right, money could change people.