Chapter 61
CALLUM
Umore Marea - Bresh
He had spent years walking through offices like that lawyer's, and in that time, he'd sent Thomas Whitmore to prison and helped bankrupt at least fifty companies pretending to be green while they were just greenwashing. But now, in that office, one that looked so much like his own, he was nervous.
Alejandra sat next to him. She wore a yellow linen dress, boots with chunky heels, and a suede jacket thrown over her shoulders.
Her wild black hair was tamed only slightly, a single braid falling between soft waves.
She looked effortlessly sexy, still completely herself, just a little more put together.
Though, if he was honest, her wilder version was the one he adored the most.
"Do you think she'll come?" Alejandra asked, fiddling with her rings. Apparently, she was nervous too.
"We'll see. The appointment was for ten. It's five to," he replied, glancing at his watch.
"People aren't always on time. Ever met a Spaniard or Italian?" Alejandra joked, giving him a knowing smirk.
She was always late. He'd learned to lie about the time they needed to leave—by fifteen minutes—just to make sure she'd be on time. White lies for the sake of his sanity.
The front door opened with a soft creak, and a woman about their age stepped in. Definitely not the lawyer—he was supposed to be an older man—and by the way she looked at him, head tilted, cautious but confident, Callum knew. She was his half-sister.
She looked nothing like him.
Her long, dark brown hair was worn loose, a subtle half-up twist framing her face, falling in soft, natural waves past her chest. Her complexion was olive-toned and glowing despite the cold light of the office.
Her eyebrows were thick and expressive, and her light grey eyes were striking against her darker features. She had a presence. A calm intensity.
She wore a sleeveless white top that made her skin glow, paired with a dark skirt patterned with tiny red and green flowers.
Her accessories were simple but somehow Callum could tell they meant something to her: gold lotus-shaped earrings and a green string bracelet on one wrist. A suede jacket was hooked over her arm.
She looked like she could be friends with Alejandra. They shared a similar aesthetic, a similar taste for clothes.
As he was studying her, she took them in with her sharp grey eyes before interrupting the silence, "You must be my half-brother."
Her accent wasn't British. Romance language, for sure. Spanish? Italian? Portuguese?
"Yes, hi. I'm Callum Evans," he said, standing, outstretching his hand, feeling awkward as hell. Like a kid on the first day of school.
She stepped forward. "Leonor Moreira," she replied, shaking his hand. Her bracelets tinkled softly.
Alejandra appeared beside him, her expression shifting into mild suspicion. "Are you the one who used to ride big waves?"
Leonor's eyes lit up, flicking from Callum to her. Before he could introduce her, Leonor blinked. "Oh meu deus? are you Alejandra López Romero? The Olympic champion?"
"In the flesh." Alejandra flashed a blinding smile. God, she was always so charming and so at ease in every situation. Could he borrow her confidence for once?
"Nice to meet you." She extended her hand.
Leonor shook it. "I heard about your injury. I hope you're doing better."
"Working on it."
Then Leonor turned back to him. "Are you a surfer too?” That explained why she had a similar aesthetic to Alejandra—two surfers.
The chances. He had spent his entire life not even considering surfing a too important sport, just something people did on Cardigan Bay and nothing more, and now he had a surf legend as a girlfriend and someone important as a step sister, considering Alejandra knew who she was.
Then, Leonor surprised him with the next sentence, not even waiting for him to reply to her previous question, “Like that poor excuse of a father? "
"Nope. Accountant. I used to swim until I shattered my knee. She's the cool one in the couple."
"What can I say?" Alejandra shrugged. "It’s effortless."
Leonor smiled faintly.
"Did you ever meet him?" he asked. No need to tiptoe around the big elephant in the room.
"My mother used to receive money from him, for school and things. Once, I saw him at a surf event, and he pretended I didn't exist."
“Well, it happened to me too just a couple of months ago. But I didn’t know who he was and…I think he panicked, probably recognizing my name.”
"What an asshole," Alejandra added.
"Yep. The worst. Glad he's dead. And you?"
"I had no idea he was my father until a week ago. So yeah, feeling are mixed. He sent money to my mom too."
"At least he was consistent," Leonor said right before her lips turned to a thin line.
Just then, the lawyer—a round-bellied man in a straining button-up shirt—called them in.
Alejandra kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck," she whispered, “text me when you are done.”
She waved to Leonor too, as she exited the office heading to her therapist appointment.
Callum let Leonor go first into the office, then followed her inside. They sat across from the lawyer, who studied them with an expectant smile.
"So, Callum. Leonor. It's nice to finally put a face to the names I've seen on paper for thirty years. Your father was—"
"Please don't praise a man who got two women pregnant and never had the balls to face the consequences," Leonor interrupted, raising a hand.
She was direct. Bossy. He admired that, actually.
"Well, he did send money," the lawyer offered weakly.
"Not enough," Callum said.
"Agree with him," Leonor added, pointing his way.
The lawyer sighed. "Alright. I hope what's in the will is sufficient. May I read it?"
They shared a glance and nodded.
"This is the last will and testament of Mr. Michael John Turner dated the 3rd of January, 2025. I, Michael John Turner, being of sound mind and disposing memory, do hereby declare this to be my final will.
To my children, Callum Jeremy Evans and Leonor Maria Moreira, I leave all of my personal estate, property, liquid and illiquid assets, and holdings, to be divided in equal parts-fifty percent to each-with full freedom to determine amongst themselves the distribution of specific items and properties.
These include but are not limited to my primary residence in Malibu, California; my London property located in Notting Hill; Blue Fire Ranch, the surf wave pool and resort located in Dusthaven, Arizona, and all vehicles, boats, personal belongings, and financial accounts under my name or trusts in my control at time of death.
Furthermore, I designate that the rights, royalties, and legacy materials-merchandising, surfboard designs, and any brand elements connected to the Mick Turner name in surfing be granted primarily to Leonor Maria Moreira, in recognition of her history as a surfer and prior involvement in the surfing community.
Any business holdings, financial interests, investment portfolios, or accounting documentation connected to the Turner Trust or Turner Holdings Ltd. shall be reviewed and administered by Callum Jeremy Evans, given his professional expertise in finance and auditing.
It is my express wish that my children approach the division of these assets with respect and fairness. Should any dispute arise regarding the distribution, a neutral executor—assigned in my separate letter of instruction—will intervene.
I offer no apologies for the time I lost, only the hope that something of value remains to be shared between those I leave behind.”
Callum blinked. He didn't know what to say. That was a lot. Way too much to divide with someone he'd just met. Judging by Leonor's expression—somewhere between stunned and deeply unimpressed—she was thinking the same.
He had no idea how financially savvy she was, but he didn't care much about the holdings. The more peacefully they handled this, the better for both.
The lawyer cleared his throat. "You each have been sent copies of this document electronically and via mail, plus a personal letter Mr. Turner wrote to each one of you.
There is no contest clause included, should either of you reject the terms. You're free to ask questions or begin discussing distribution at your own pace. "
Callum looked at Leonor. Her mouth was slightly open, like she had something to say but didn't know where to start.
"What do you think about brunch?" he offered, trying to lighten the mood. "We can discuss what dear ol' dad left us over some eggs Benedict."
Leonor inhaled, slow and deep. "Yes. I think that's a great idea."
"Good," the lawyer said, a little too enthusiastically. "See? He cared about you."
Neither of them replied.
At the door, Callum turned. "I truly hope you don't have any kids stashed somewhere, mate, but if that’s what you consider a good caring father…then I suggest you reconsider your relationship with them."
Leonor looked at him, surprised, and maybe a little amused, then stepped out without saying a word.