Sebastian
Chapter twenty-seven
I’m heading out to my car on Tuesday, having just finished morning skate before we leave this evening for a short road trip, when my phone rings.
“Well, shit.”
The number calling me is none other than Glenn the lawyer. And yes, that’s how I have him saved in my phone.
“Hello,” I say as I open the door and climb in.
“Good afternoon, Sebastian. This is Glenn Richards. I represent the estate of the late Mary Jefferson. I assume you know why I’m calling?”
“I do.” I put the keys in the ignition and turn on my car. No use sitting in the heat.
“It’s taken me a little while to verify the validity of your marriage.”
“Oh?” As far as I know, we signed all the paperwork, and the Justice of the Peace took it with them after the ceremony.
“But have no fear, according to the state of Florida, you two are married.”
“Good.”
“I do have a few questions for you. The late Mrs. Jefferson left strict instructions that I was to verify the validity of the marriage not only in the eyes of the state but in other ways.”
I hope he’s not about to ask whether we’ve consummated the marriage.
“Since you two are married and together, I assume you know a few finer details about Ms. St. James—excuse me, Mrs. Henderson, your wife.”
“Yes?” I’m not sure why it comes out as a question.
“When’s her birthday?”
I rattle off the date, glad he’s starting with an easy question.
“Good. Good. Where did she go to college, and what did she study?”
“Jacksonville University. Marketing and Public Relations with a minor in Journalism.” I’m glad Sutton had the foresight to tell me that information. At the time, I thought it was overkill, but now I see it wasn’t.
“And her siblings?”
“She has two half siblings. Same father, different mother.”
“And finally, who was the late Mrs. Jefferson to her?”
“Her grandmother. Her father’s mother.”
“Wonderful. That’s all. I have a few more things to do on my end. Please tell Mrs. Henderson to expect a call from me in the next couple of weeks.”
He hangs up the phone, and I blow out a breath. That was less painful than I was afraid it was going to be, but still. I contemplate getting out of the car and going to tell Sutton about the call, but she said she had a lot of things going on today, and I don’t want to bother her.
Tossing my phone into the cup holder in the center console, I put my car in reverse and head out of the parking lot and toward home. As I’m pulling up at my condo, my phone rings. I’m popular today.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Hi, Bash. Harriet and I found a company we want to interview, talk to, about managing the farm. We want you to be part of the process …”
“That was fast.”
“Well, I’m ready to retire, and since you offered to pay, I figured we’d get the show on the road.”
“Okay, let me know when and what time, and as long as I don’t have a team commitment, I’ll be there.”
“Are you free in half an hour?”
“Half an hour?” I sputter. She’s telling me now? Why didn’t she tell me sooner? “This feels sudden. Are you sure this person is even qualified?” I blurt out. I hate that she’s springing this on me.
She tsks me. “Sebastian Marcus Henderson.” I raise my eyebrows at her use of my full name.
“Harriet has been helping me research people and companies the past few days. This company comes highly recommended by one of the other farmers in our co-op group. They’ve helped them immensely, and the rate is reasonable. ”
Regardless of what she says, this feels rushed. I expected not to be talking about it for a few weeks. I guess at least she’s willing to include me, despite springing it on me.
“Can you email me their information so I’m not going into this completely blind?”
“Yes. We’ll speak in thirty minutes. Bye.”
“Bye, Mum.”
I hang up the phone. For fuck’s sake. I scramble to get out of the car and make my way to my condo.
My email pings as I’m locking the door behind me, and I find the information from my mother.
I spend the next twenty minutes poring over what she sent me and the company’s website.
They seem reputable, at least from the searching I’m able to do.
She did say they came recommended by someone they know, which helps me feel better about the situation.
I’m making myself comfortable on the couch when my phone rings with an incoming video call from my mum. It takes a few minutes to get everyone on the line, but eventually, we do.
The guy, Steve, appears to be really knowledgeable, answering all our questions with ease. He tells us how he’s originally from the Cotswolds but has worked all over England. He names a few different farms that I don’t know, but my sister and mum seem to.
“So, what’d you think?” Harriet asks when Steve hangs up and it’s just the three of us.
“I like him. I think we should hire him,” Mum says.
“Wait. Wait. Wait. Slow down.” I hold up my hand. “You can’t hire the first person we interview.”
“Why not? He comes highly recommended and seems to know what he’s doing.”
“Mum …”
Harriet yawns. “I can talk to a few of the other farmers and see if they have any other recommendations.”
“I like that idea.”
“If it’ll make you feel better,” Mum says.
It would. It really would. We spend a few more minutes chatting before saying our goodbyes and hanging up.
As I’m about to set my phone down, a text comes into our group chat from Elias.
Eli: Player safety isn’t reviewing the hit on Hunt.
Wes: Why the hell not? It clearly was a bad hit.
Eli: No idea. Just passing along what I heard.
Hunt: It’s fine. I’m fine.
Me: No you’re not. You could have had a concussion.
Hunt: But I don’t.
I clench my jaw so hard I’m surprised none of my teeth crack. I hate that they’re not reviewing the play. The guy should be suspended or, at the very least, fined, although that’s really only a slap on the wrist with how small the fines usually are.
This isn’t the first time he’s made a dirty hit and gotten away with it.
Wonder who he pays off, because somehow, he always gets away scot-free.