7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Lennon
The most dangerous lies aren’t the ones people tell.
They’re the ones they convince you to sign.
A signature has a funny way of making deception look like consent.
One stroke of a pen and suddenly, a promise becomes a prison, ownership becomes an unwanted surrender, and trust becomes the weapon used against you.
I stare down at the inheritance documents spread across my desk. I’d already read them. Twice. The first time, I searched for errors. The second, I searched for intent. I found neither. What I found instead was something far more sinister.
Deception.
Not obvious enough to raise alarm, but not careless enough to be called incompetence.
It had been crafted with purpose. Every clause quietly reinforcing the next until the truth was buried beneath pages of legal jargon designed to go unnoticed.
Whoever drafted this document knew exactly what they were doing, but they didn’t know who they were dealing with when it came to me.
An error on their part. The question that keeps tugging at me isn’t what they were trying to take.
It’s why. Why would Brett hand me a contract designed to strip something from me while smiling like he’d finally reunited with the niece he’d spent decades believing was dead?
That… That’s the part I cannot reconcile.
My uncle wanted me to sign this without reading it.
I should never have ignored my instincts.
I was right about the Ars Mortis pack, and I was right about the pieces of paper strewn across my desk. Another Alpha is attempting to pull a smoke screen over my eyes.
Like I am stupid.
I bet he was hoping I’d be so blinded by trust that I wouldn’t read it properly. That I was just shit at my job and hoped I’d carelessly skim through it because of the bond we’d been building these past few months.
Wrong. So, so wrong.
The lessons I have learned recently already cost me enough. I wasn’t about to pay for it twice.
My emotions get the better of me, and I let out a scream so unfamiliar to me my throat burns, flinging the stack of papers off my desk before pushing up off the chair.
I am fucking sick to death of men.
Of being backed into corners by people I put my trust into. Those I thought genuinely cared about me. But no. I can’t trust the empty words or the feelings that seem to creep up on me every single time one of these Alphas glance my way.
I’m far too trusting. I know that. It’s my greatest blessing and my biggest downfall.
I let people in far too quickly, giving those undeserving the benefit of the doubt when I should really just walk away.
I’ve warred with the realization for years, knowing that if I just close myself off no one can hurt me.
If I just carry on as a one woman show, I’d avoid half the grief associated with them letting me down.
As tempting as that sounds, it’s not who I am.
I don’t want to be a cynic. I don’t want to look at the world with an axe to grind and assume the worst in people.
I don’t want my heart to change just because I’ve experienced the coldness of others.
But to protect myself going forward, something has to change. And it needs to start with me.
Picking up the phone, I find Brett’s contact and dial his number. I pace while waiting for him to answer. I debate what it is I am going to say. What exactly I can do to get him to understand that I am not the cutesy and meek Omega he expected me to be. That I won’t take his bullshit.
I have done that far too much this year.
“Lennon! How are you?” he says, answering the phone. It’s funny how quickly things can change when you suddenly view people in a different light. I hadn’t realized just how slimy his voice was until now.
I don’t bother with pleasantries. He doesn’t deserve them.
“I read through your contract.”
“Great! I can come by and pick it up now, then. Save you the trip.” I hear the excitement in his voice.
The thrill. The anticipation of whatever it is he will be getting out of me signing this contract.
It must be well worth it too. It didn’t escape me that Brett is a wealthy man.
A real estate investor. His portfolio is impressive, that much I can give him.
Which begs the question. What is tied to my biological parents’ estate that Brett wants so badly?
What could make a millionaire that hungry that he will deceive his long lost niece that he believed to not be of this earth.
“I didn’t sign the contract,” I reply, my tone bland and leaving no room for bullshit.
“Y-you didn’t? But Lennon, the contract is—”
“Bullshit?” I answer for him, successfully cutting him off before he can recover. The confidence he’d answered the phone with vanishes, replaced by nothing more than uneven, panicked breaths.
God, I can’t believe how obvious he is. I can’t believe how blind I was. Then again, this seems to be a recurring theme, so perhaps I had it coming. It’s like I have ‘use me, please, I’m an idiot’ written in bold across my forehead, or something.
Brett remains oddly quiet on the other end of the line, and I know he’s scanning his pea-sized brain for a response. A speech to explain such a misunderstanding. A way to smooth me over so he can just turn around and double-cross me at a later, unexpected date.
They’re all the same.
“I am no fool, uncle,.” I say with a sarcastic sweetness.
“I didn’t think a man of your standing and business acumen would be so quick to fumble.
It’s unfortunate for you that I happen to read the fine print, which comes with the territory of being an exceptionally good lawyer.
You built your entire plan on the assumption I’d be too trusting to read it.
That was your first mistake. I’m sure your investors would be fascinated to learn how comfortable you are with fraudulent conduct. ”
He stutters, but I don’t let him speak. He can be quiet for now. It is my time.
“That’s what you did that day all of those months ago when you stormed the Cardinals game and then proceeded to give the board the information of my true parentage.
You didn’t destroy my life yourself, you handed everyone else the weapon and stood back while they pulled the trigger.
Gotta give you credit where credit’s due, Brett.
You pull off the raging oligarch with a superiority complex and a narcissistic streak remarkably well. ”
“But the Ars Mortis—” he tries, but I chuckle darkly.
“Oh, I know what the Ars Mortis pack has done and their hand in everything that transpired. But don’t confuse their actions with yours. You orchestrated the board’s decision. The media. You are the one who gave them every excuse they needed to ignore what Patrick had determined in his Will.”
The other end of the line is deathly silent. There is no breathing. Just pure, heavy silence.
“This is a misunderstanding, Lennon,” he finally says, and you couldn’t wipe the smile from my face if you paid me.
“No. Don’t do that. Don’t be so cheap. This is documentary evidence.
Call it what it is. Spending months earning my trust, using my vulnerability to your advantage while attempting to capitalize on my birthparents’ life insurance money, one they probably only just uncovered because of how big of a scene the media created, which I’m sure you were planning on.
You needed something big to prove to them I was alive and not the ghost you thought me to be.
God, you’re so transparent. I can’t believe I even entertained the idea of you.
Goodbye, Brett. I’ll be speaking with you at a later date. ”
“Oh, I look forward to it, girl. You may think you have it all figured out. This… This game you’re playing with the big leagues. But you don’t have the slightest idea what or who you’re dealing with. It’s a man’s world, darlin’.”
“You’re so unremarkable.” I sigh, muttering the words to myself.
“Trust me, Brett. I know exactly the kind of world I live in and women like me survive because we have to work twice as hard, notice twice as much, and learn our enemy long before he ever realizes we’re watching.
It must pain you to be so stereotypical.
Following a script that’s been written a thousand times before. I’ll be seeing you in court.”
“Miss Gilmore, it's lovely to meet you,” Mr. Smith says, taking my hand in his. The Beta is well into his seventies. Thick gray eyebrows hang over his round glasses. A kind smile softens his weathered features as he sits down at his desk, his office warm and welcoming. The rich scent of polished cedar and old leather settles in the air around me, the bookshelves lining the walls worn from years of use. It’s a stark contrast to the sleek, impersonal offices I’ve been accustomed to.
I had been floundering for days trying to track down my parents’ original attorney who had handled their estate. I hadn’t been given his contact details by Brett and, to be quite frank, I don’t know if I would have believed that they were valid if he had. He’s nothing but a deceptive cunt.
I was more than ready to throw in the towel with this whole thing, if only to keep my sanity. But that was before I received a call from an unknown number. It was Mr. Smith. He found me anyway. As if fate stepped in and decided to do me a favor for once.
As it turned out, Brett had contacted him almost immediately after Patrick’s death.
He was obviously reminded of what happened to my parents, and decided to do his own digging.
He learned there was an unresolved estate with my birth name attached to it, and with no beneficiaries to claim it, it has just been sitting there collecting dust in probate.
He had presented himself as the closest surviving relative and attempted to proceed on the basis that I had died alongside my parents all those years ago.