7. Chapter Seven #2
According to Mr. Smith, Brett had been unusually eager to move things along, constantly pushing for answers about the estate while insisting there was no need to involve anyone else.
He wanted to know what remained, how quickly it could be released, and what he needed to provide to establish himself as the rightful heir.
Something about his urgency had never sat right with Mr. Smith and thank God it didn’t.
Forty years of probate law had taught the man before me to trust his instincts.
Something I am now familiar with at this point in my life and career, given that someone is always trying to bring me down whenever I’m not looking.
Estates brought out the worst in people, and Brett had all the hallmarks of a man with an agenda.
Then, the Cardinals’ story exploded.
Patrick’s murder of my birthparents. My DNA results.
The revelation that I was alive after years of believing I didn’t survive the murders.
There are systems and procedures in place these days that prevent this sort of thing from slipping through the cracks, but it seems that back then, things were easily lost.
Mr. Smith recognized my name immediately.
The woman Brett had insisted was long dead was suddenly plastered across every major news channel in the country.
Usually, reports were confined to sports channels, especially when I took over as the new female coach, but the mention of murder had the entire country in an uproar.
It wasn’t a nice time for me. Still isn’t.
Which is one of the reasons I hid away and buried myself in work because I couldn’t bring myself to comment.
Whenever I was confronted outside my apartment building, I’d slam the door and hide.
I owed them nothing. I still owe them nothing.
Some reporters went as far as to question if I conspired with Patrick to do it.
Me.
An infant at the time.
This world is a sick, sad place.
But when Mr. Smith saw my face, he knew immediately who I was. Alive. Identified. And publicly confirmed as Glen and Marie Welsh’s missing daughter.
That was Brett’s mistake.
If Mr. Smith had seen it, there was every chance the insurance companies, the court and anyone else connected to my parents’ estate had seen it, too.
Brett had spent months trying to convince them to release the money over to him before anyone realized the dead beneficiary was very much alive, only to have my face broadcasted across the country before he could finish what he started.
Rather than relying on the headlines, Mr. Smith verified the results through the appropriate channels before calling me himself.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you too, Mr. Smith. I am so incredibly grateful for everything you’ve done for me. For your help in all this.”
I take the chair opposite his desk, trying not to let my nerves curl my stomach. The only thing that settles me, even some, is the fact that Mr. Smith is a Beta. At least I don’t have to worry about him swinging his cock around in an attempt to get something out of me.
He crosses his arms over the documents stacked across his desk before offering me a warm smile.
“Please, call me Julian.”
I nod in response.
“Firstly, Lennon. I want to tell you just how sorry I am for everything that’s happened to you.
I represented your parents for many years.
I wish things could have turned out differently for you.
” He pauses, his expression softening. “You look so much like your mother. There’s no mistaking who your father is, but it’s almost surreal how alike you are to the strong, independent woman I knew Marie to be. ”
I try not to get choked up. The words feel different coming from a man like him.
There’s nothing to gain from them. Just a simple observation that is worth more than anything to me.
The words Brett had spewed to me…they may have been true.
They might not have been. But hearing them from someone like Julian, someone who knew my parents professionally. It warms my heart.
“Thank you, Julian. I wish I had known her. All of them.”
With another final sad smile, he turns toward the paperwork.
“I’m not sure how much you know about your parents or their estate,” he says. “Brett and I spoke only briefly before everything surrounding the Cardinals came to light, so I have no way of knowing what he chose to share with you.”
I can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes me.
“At this point, I’m not sure any of it was the truth.”
He gives a solemn nod. “Then let’s start with the facts.
Everything we discussed on the phone still stands.
Brett isn’t aware of this conversation. He isn’t aware that I am privy to the fact you are alive and well.
As far as I am concerned, he doesn’t matter in any of this.
Unless you do wish to pursue further legal action against him.
Which, as you know, I am not opposed to. ”
He opens the leather folder before him, carefully removing the worn paperwork and photographs from inside.
“Your parents were high school sweethearts. According to your mother, Marie, it was love at first sight, even before they caught each other’s scents.”
He slides the photograph across the desk. The edges are worn with age, the colors faded after decades tucked away in a file, but the smiles staring back at me are as bright as ever.
They look so young. So untouched by grief. Untouched by the betrayal and tragedy waiting for them just beyond the horizon. I hadn’t seen this photo before.
I ponder that for a moment. Julian must have known them far longer than I had initially assumed. As though reading the question written plainly across my face, the corners of his mouth soften into a knowing smile.
“I started working for your grandfather nearly forty-five years ago,” he says. “Back then, I was a fresh-faced junior solicitor with far more ambition than experience.”
A quiet chuckle leaves him, but my head and heart are spiraling.
“I watched Glen grow from a reckless teenager into the man your mother fell in love with. I watched them marry. Watched them build a pack. A family. And sadly…” His voice trails off, a sigh leaving his thin lips. “I watched it all be taken away.”
He knew my family. Like really knew them. My grandfather.
I don’t know why my own thoughts never went beyond my parents.
I had been so consumed with learning as much about them as I could, I hadn’t given thought to any extended family beyond the slimy ass-hat Brett.
“Did…” My voice catches. I clear my throat before trying again. “Did my grandparents survive?”
His expression softens. “Your grandmother, Eleanor, passed before your parents. Cancer.” He pauses. “Your grandfather lived for another six years after your parents passed.”
My stomach twists.
“Six years,” I repeat quietly.
“He never truly recovered.”
I stare down at my hands, trying to wrap my head around the enormity of what Patrick stole.
My grandfather spent the final six years of his life believing his entire bloodline had died that night.
Believing there was nothing left of his son.
Nothing left of Marie. Nothing left of me.
All the while, I was alive. None the wiser to any of it.
Close enough that, if fate had been kinder, he could have watched me grow up. Taught me about my parents. About the Cardinals. About the family whose name I would have carried from the very beginning. Instead, he died mourning a granddaughter he never truly lost.
A heavy silence settles over the room. Julian gives me a moment before carefully closing the file containing the remaining photographs and placing it to one side.
“As difficult as this is to hear, Lennon, there’s a reason I’ve started here.”
I lift my eyes to meet his.
“To understand what’s happened over the last five months, you first need to understand what happened after your parents died.”
He reaches for another file, considerably thicker than the first. Unlike the folder containing the photos, this one is filled with neatly tabbed legal documents, handwritten notes and what looks to be decades of correspondence.
He turns it so the cover faces me.
The Estate of Glen and Marie Welsh.
Then, he reaches for another. How many are there?
“When your parents died, they left behind far more than memories,” Julian says, his voice taking on a calm, methodical cadence of an experienced attorney. “They left wills, trusts, corporate interests, life insurance policies and a carefully structured estate plan designed to protect one person.”
His eyes meet mine.
“You.”