“I’d rather stand as I hear how Dad fucked us over one last time.”
“Trent.” My sister’s soft voice should calm me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.
Instead, I stalk toward the door, putting myself between the exit and every person in here. My feet punctuate the wood floor with my steps, delivering my intentions. No one can exit unless I move. Until every fucking secret is spilled here and now.
“Very well.” Dad’s lawyer clears his throat. “If everyone else is ready, I’ll proceed.” He looks around the room, and everyone else nods. “Ronald had a considerable estate when he passed away. We set the estate up in an offshore account.”
My teeth grind together. That fucking bastard. “How much are we talking?”
“Millions.”
“How many?” I hiss. “Tell me just how much Ivy’s life wasn’t worth when he hung his daughter out to dry.”
“Twenty-two million.”
Before I know what I’m doing, my fist connects with the wall.
Plaster breaks away as I hear a scream from my mother, followed by Ivy’s soft voice in trying to calm down Cyrus.
I turn back to the lawyer, knowing full well the picture I painted with blood dripping down my knuckles. “How long . . . ?” Cyrus asks.
His lawyer at least has the decency to look uncomfortable.
“Long enough that he could have spared Ivy,” I mutter. “There’s no point in arguing. It’s obvious.”
When the lawyer doesn’t speak, Ivy lets out a strangled cry as she puts her head in her lap.
“If he weren’t dead, I would kill him,” Cyrus says.
Him and me both.
“Well,” I spit out, “now that we know with no measure of doubt—and mind you, this topic was never up for discussion—that my dad was an utter piece of shit, what do you have to tell us? I can only speak for myself by saying I have much better things to do.”
“Just sit, Trent,” my mother says.
I look over at the woman who used to be a shell of a human.
It’s remarkable how far she has come. She’s strong now. That’s what having my father away from her did.
His presence made her a shadow, and now that she’s stepped out, she’s bloomed. Maybe there’s hope for us all. But my eyes linger on the signs of her heartbreak, and I’m reminded of how useless feelings can be.
I let out a sigh and take a seat at the table.
From my position, I can see the girl.
Payton.
If she and her sister are here, it means he left them something, too. This should be interesting.
The money is blood money, and I want none of it, but I’d rather burn it than give it to them. Ivy will want to donate it somewhere.
She’s too good for this family.
Always has been, always will be.
Definitely too good for Cyrus, the sadistic fuck.
But, regardless, he’s good to her.
Loves her. That man would never let anything happen to her. In my book, that makes him a better man than me because he’s capable of that kind of love.
“Spit it out, Baker,” I growl. “Who gets the money?”
The woman I assume is Payton’s sister sits up. As if she knows the answer to this question.
I watch her with narrowed eyes. If what she thinks is about to happen happens, there will be hell to pay.
Regardless of what she knows, Ivy deserves the money. It was her life that was almost sacrificed.
Mr. Baker produces a thin folder, pulls out a sheet of paper, and addresses the room, taking painstaking care to avoid looking me in the eyes. “I hereby bequeath the entirety of my estate to the one person who loved me unconditionally.”
Erin’s smile broadens.
Ivy wilts.
Mom sighs.
Cyrus scowls.
And me? I envision Dad’s murder.
Over, and over, and over.
It doesn’t help.
“You were my daughter,” Mr. Baker reads.
Erin’s face falls.
Ivy’s eyes mist.
Payton stares at the floor.
“Not by blood but by bond.”
And then Erin’s eyes gleam. A wicked gleam as I realize what is happening.
“Payton. Everything is yours.”
4
Payton
* * *
Sucker punch.
That is what it feels like.
When my name rings through the air, it feels like someone punched me in the stomach.
I can barely breathe.
Shards of glass have broken off in my lungs.
Maybe I’m dead.
Yeah. That’s it.
I’m hallucinating . . .
Or maybe when I was walking to the lawyer’s building, I got hit by a car. I’m having an out-of-body experience, and none of this is real.
That would make more sense than what the lawyer just said.
Because there is no way he’s right.
It can’t be right.
No way did Ronald, aka Ronnie, aka the only man who has ever been a father figure to me . . . No way did he leave me his entire estate when he had a family.
As I struggle to breathe, taking deep inhales of oxygen, I remember I’m not the only person in this room.
Surrounding me is not just my sister, but his family, and as they glower at me, hate filling their eyes, I know this isn’t a dream.