8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Lennon
The word hangs between us.
You.
It echoes through the silence, carrying far more weight than I think Julian intended.
My eyes drift back to the thick estate file resting on the desk.
It suddenly feels…heavier. Like every page inside carries another piece of the life that was stolen from me.
Julian gives me a moment before opening the file.
“I know this is overwhelming,” he says, his tone quiet. “Believe me when I tell you, we’re only going to take this one step at a time. However long you need, I’m here.”
I nod, grateful for the measured pace. He slides the first document from the folder and places it neatly in front of me beside my parents’ estate file.
“This,” he begins, “is your parents’ final will and testament.”
I glance over the heading before my eyes fall to my parents’ signatures at the bottom of the page. My mother’s. My father’s. Proof they planned for a future they never got to see.
Julian waits while I collect myself.
“They were exceptionally organized people. Your father mostly. He was a stickler for the rules. He did come from a long line of lawyers, such as yourself.”
At least that part had been true. I was beginning to question everything Brett had ever told me.
“Particularly after you were born, every single asset they owned was reviewed. Every beneficiary designation was updated. Every trust was rewritten.”
I look up.
“They really did plan for everything. Even their own deaths.”
“They wanted to be sure you were looked after. They named guardians for you. Established trusts. Updated their insurances and even restructured their corporate holdings.”
His finger comes to rest beside my birth name.
Lennon Ozzy Welsh.
Wait.
“I’m guessing they shared a love for music?” I say, raising a brow in his direction. The girls are going to have a field day when they learn my middle name.
A fond smile spreads across Julian’s face.
“They certainly did,” he chuckles. “Your father couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, but he sure loved to try.
Your mother, on the other hand. She was a songbird.
Your grandfather came around to Ozzy eventually,” he says, wiping the corner of his eye as he shakes his head.
“Your father insisted you came into this world kicking and screaming.”
I laugh, the sound surprising even me.
“And singing, apparently.”
“Apparently,” Julian agrees. “Your mother swore you settled the moment she started humming. She used to say music was your first language. But it was your father who knew you’d been born with fire. Something is telling me he was right about that.”
The warmth between us lingers for only a moment before Julian carefully places another document before me. His expression shifts, the fond smile replaced by calm professionalism.
“Well,” he says, gesturing to the folders that have now formed into a stack on the desk in front of me. “As much as I could spend all day telling your stories about your parents, I imagine you’re here because you want answers.”
I nod. He’s right.
“I do.”
“Under normal circumstances, the estate would have transferred directly to you upon their deaths. Because your body was never recovered, your grandfather challenged the immediate distribution of the estate. He argued there was insufficient evidence to extinguish your legal interest entirely.”
I furrow my brow.
“He thought I was alive?”
“He hoped,” Julian corrects gently. “Hope isn’t evidence in a courtroom. But it was enough for him to fight to preserve what your parents intended for you.”
He turns another page. And I realize now he has a copy of the same document.
“They were extraordinarily successful. Glen’s NHL contracts alone were worth tens of millions over the course of his career.”
He flicks another page. “He retained a substantial ownership interest in the Cardinals organization. Your mother came from a wealthy family in her own right, bringing significant assets into the marriage. Each member of your parents’ pack also carried comprehensive life insurance policies.
They wanted absolute certainty that, if the worst were ever to happen, their daughter would never want for anything. ”
I blink, my heart beating out of control as I turn the page, my fingers shaking ever so slightly as I scan the information.
“Each…member?”
Julian nods.
“Each of your five parents named you as either the primary beneficiary or beneficiary through the family trust. Those policies were never paid to you. They couldn’t be.”
He taps the file, and I gaze back down at the financial statements I hadn’t acknowledged until now.
“So, the proceeds remained within the estate.”
My eyes move across page after page. Investment reports. Dividend statements. Property valuations. Trusts. Corporate holdings.
“The insurance proceeds weren’t simply left sitting in a bank account, but Brett didn’t know this,” Julian explains. “Your grandfather invested them conservatively alongside the existing estate. Over the past twenty-nine years, those investments have continued to grow.”
He slides a single sheet of paper in front of me, and I reach out to prevent it from being lost in the pile.
“This,” he says, his voice firm. As if he’s almost excited to be the one to tell me this news. “This is the current valuation of your parents’ estate.”
My eyes fall to the figure at the bottom of the page. For a moment, I don’t understand what I’m looking at. I skim over the number a few times, then begin to search the other documents frantically. Searching for the catch. The lie. The real figure. Because this? This is diabolical.
Too many commas. Too many zero’s.
Two billion, eight hundred and seventy-three million, four hundred and twenty-six dollars and forty-one cents.
My mouth becomes dry.
“J-Julian?”
His eyes remain on me, patient as ever.
“That’s…that’s not right.”
“It is,” he replies calmly. “Every valuation has been independently audited. Every investment has been accounted for. Every trust has been reconciled. Everything, Miss Welsh, is yours.”
He catches me off guard at the use of my birth name, but I can’t think straight.
My vision blurs over the numbers before me, and I actually stop breathing.
He reaches for another folder, sliding several valuation summaries across the desk.
“Your grandfather understood something very few people do.” I drag my watery eyes away from the figure long enough to meet his.
“Money left untouched has a remarkable way of making more of itself.” He offers me a smile, meanwhile my soul has just up and left my fucking body.
“He treated every dollar as though you might walk through that door tomorrow. And he and I had an agreement that was not privy to Brett. That I would carry this out should his wishes come true.”
You couldn’t jump over the lump in my throat.
I feel like I’m going to be sick.
He never stopped waiting for me, even from beyond the grave.
“This? This is all mine?” I manage to choke out, not bothering to worry about how I might look as tears start to fall down my cheeks.
“Yes, Miss Welsh. It’s all yours.”
“He left me all this?”
“He didn’t leave you an inheritance. Lennon.” His gaze holds mine. “He left you an empire.”
I curse Brett’s name for the hundredth time since I sat down.
For trying to take this away from me. Granted, it’s more money than I know what to do with.
But he was going to deny me something my family wanted for me.
I would have been happy with an old sports card collection.
An old shirt my father might have worn when he was younger.
This? Over two billion dollars? This is insane!
I spend the next couple of hours sifting through the documents, and organizing the transfer with Julian.
We speak about Brett and a plan of attack to ensure he doesn’t catch wind of any of this.
Apparently, he’s made more than a few bad investments, and he’s found himself in a dangerous financial position.
He saw this as a way to purchase the team, according to Julian.
He let it slip that he wanted to take back my father’s legacy, my real father, which can only mean he wanted to purchase the team for himself.
But why? He isn’t interested in hockey. As far as I know, he made his own way in the world.
We have plenty of ammunition to pursue claims for fraud, fraudulent inducement, tortious interference, attempted theft by deception, and whatever else discovery uncovers.
But there’s one thing that remains true after today.
I am wealthy beyond words. Beyond any of my imagination.
Two billion dollars is far too much money for any one person to possess in their life. But that is about to be my reality.
“I want you to read over this document very carefully before you sign it. Even though your parents ensured that there would be no conditions tied to your inheritance whatsoever, I don’t want you to be surprised by anything.”
I nod, taking the file before reading it over. It is almost a relief to read something so perfectly outlined. There are no loopholes, no sneakily worded fine print sections. Nothing apart from information given without any lies or bullshit.
Eventually, once I am confident I have read and understood everything, I pick up the pen, finding the area already tabbed for me, awaiting my signature.
“Julian?”
“Hm?”
“This is the first time I’m signing with my birth name.”
He chuckles. “Do you want a spare piece of paper to practice?”
“No. I’ve got it.”
Nothing but silence fills the room as I slide the paperwork back over to Julian who signs the document as well before sealing it away.
“I will hand these to the court this afternoon. You have my direct line. Don’t hesitate to call if you have any concerns. I know you know how these things go, but of course, if there’s anything you need, please, do not hesitate to reach out. It would be an honor to carry this through, Lennon.”
I nod, standing up before holding my hand out to shake his. “Thank you Mr. Smith for all of your help in this process.”