35. Sutton
Chapter thirty-five
Sutton
On Sunday afternoon, my sister calls, and we finally get to catch up after we kept missing each other the past few weeks.
Father’s been having her handle the cleaning out of Grandmother’s home as well as organize a charity event in Grandmother’s name.
Which apparently is keeping her busy. I want to ask her if he’s said anything about the will and my inheritance, but I don’t want to stress her out or worry her, so I stay quiet.
The next day and a half fly by, and then it’s Tuesday, the day I get to meet my grandmother’s attorney to sign all the paperwork.
I ended up just taking the day off work so I didn’t have to worry about rushing back or getting caught in a meeting, and I’m glad I decided that.
My stomach has been in knots since I woke up this morning.
I poured myself two separate cups of coffee because I couldn’t find my first, only to discover it hours later in one of the cupboards in the kitchen.
Then I tried to put the peanut butter in the freezer and the loaf of bread in the microwave.
I don’t know whether to blame it on pregnancy brain or nerves. Maybe both.
But after all of that, I managed to leave the house on time, and now, according to my GPS, I’ll reach my destination with five minutes to spare.
Which is perfect.
Just enough time to ensure I’m not late, but not too much time that I’m anxiously sitting in my car staring at the clock.
Ten minutes later, I’m turning into a parking lot in front of a big colonial style house with a sign out front that says Alexander and Sons Law Firm, the name Glenn gave me.
I park and take a minute to check my appearance in the mirror, reapplying the red lipstick I put on before I left.
I don’t normally wear lipstick this bold and can’t even remember why or when I bought it, but I saw it in my makeup bag this morning and grabbed it.
It makes me feel like a badass and pretty hot, if I do say so myself.
That done, I grab my stuff, shut the car off, and climb out.
Inside, I’m greeted by a receptionist who shows me to a small conference room and tells me Glenn will be right with me.
She leaves, closing the door behind her, and I’m left alone with my nerves.
I take a few steadying breaths, kind of wishing I’d taken Hadley and or Becca up on the offer to come with me.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt and shift in my seat, resting a hand on my belly.
Eventually, the door opens, and an older gentleman, Glenn presumably, steps into the room.
“Mrs. Henderson, Glenn Richards. Nice to meet you in person.”
We shake hands before he goes around to the opposite side of the conference table and sets a folder of papers down, but he doesn’t sit. Instead, he glances back at the door, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something feels off. He’s acting nervous.
“Are we waiting for someone?” I finally ask. Maybe he’s waiting on another lawyer or a paralegal to act as witness. If so, why didn’t he just say that when he walked in?
He finally takes a seat, clasping his hands in front of him. “I’m sorry about this.” He winces, but before I can ask him what he’s sorry for, the door opens. And in walks the last person on earth I wanted to see—my father.
I stiffen, my hand dropping down to my belly. What the hell is he doing here?
Without a word, he takes a seat next to Glenn. My mouth falls open. Was this a set up? Is there even any money from my grandmother? Did we really need to meet in person for me to sign the papers, or was this all for this?
I go to push my chair back to stand when Glenn speaks. “We’ve run into a complication.”
“Oh?” What the literal fuck is going on?
He pushes his glasses up his nose and opens the folder in front of him.
“Get on with it. I don’t have all day,” my father seethes. Typical. No one asked you to be here. Why is he even here?
Glenn pulls out a piece of paper and pushes it across the table toward me. “This is the paperwork for the money your grandmother left you. Sign here, and either provide a bank account number so the money can be wired in, or we can send a check.”
I pick up the pen, skimming the paper. “And the hotel chain, is the ownership transfer listed on here too?”
“They’re mine,” my father barks. “They don’t belong to you.”
I turn my gaze to him for the first time and take him in. The years have aged him and not nicely—his hair is all gray now and receding, he’s got wrinkles, and he’s put on weight.
“My grandmother, your mother, left them to me.” My voice pitches higher at the end. “There’s nothing you can do to change that. I’ve fulfilled the expectation of her will, as ridiculous as it was.” I hold up my left hand, shaking my ring finger.
My father sneers at me. “Little girl.” He puts his hands on the table, leaning toward me. “Those hotels do not belong to you. They’re mine. They should have always been mine. She should have given them to me the minute she bought them.”
You have got to be kidding me.
“Where’s the paperwork for the hotels?” I ask Glenn.
He clears his throat.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.” My father snatches the paper that’s in front of me.
“Told you she needed to sign the other papers first,” he snaps at Glenn before grabbing the folder on the table and riffling through it.
He shoves a piece of paper at me—a transfer of ownership of the hotels from me to my father.
“Sign this first.”
“No,” I tell him, pushing it away. This can’t be happening. Now I really do wish I had someone here with me. I straighten up and glare at Glenn. “Give me the other paper back.”
“You’re forgetting who you’re dealing with. I’d sign that if I were you.” My father shoves the paper back toward me.
“No,” I repeat, crossing my arms and glaring at him. Glenn shifts in his chair.
“How’s your husband feeling today? I saw that hit.
Nasty. Nasty business,” my father says with a shake of his head.
“Such a shame the team lost their past few games. I thought they were doing so well this season.” I narrow my eyes.
What is he implying? “There’s been so many missed calls lately.
Bad hits. Goals that were disallowed that maybe shouldn’t have been.
Don’t you think?” He pauses. “It’d be a shame if one of their star forwards got injured, especially if they make it into the playoffs. ”
There’s no way. “You wouldn’t dare,” I hiss. “I’ll release the photographs. You know the ones I’m talking about.” Now seems like the right time to use the ammunition I have, especially given the circumstances.
“They’re fake. AI.” He shrugs and I sputter.
Shit. Now what? He folds his hands on the table.
“I wouldn’t have had to go this route if you hadn’t blocked my number.
” He raises an eyebrow. “Think I didn’t know about that?
If you simply answered your phone like the good daughter you were raised to be, you’d have known this was coming.
” My mouth gapes open. What the actual hell?
The good daughter I was raised to be? “Regardless, we’re here now.
Sign. It.” He clenches his jaw so hard I’m shocked he doesn’t crack any teeth.
“No,” I repeat for the third time. “I’m not signing it.”
“Such a shame. I’ve been eyeing some farmland in the Cotswolds. I think it’d be a great location for a smaller hotel, maybe with a golf course.”
Shit. My mind whirls.
He smirks. He knows he’s got me. He stands, leaning forward, his hands on the table.
“I’d suggest signing over the chain. I’m being generous, allowing you to keep all that money.
There’s nothing to think about.” He pauses, gripping the table tighter.
“But if you want to, that’s your choice.
Maybe a few more injuries to those you care about will change your mind.
Or a betting operation involving members of a certain team and their staff that comes to light.
” He’s trying to blackmail me. What the actual fuck?
“Maybe even their head coach. I wouldn’t wait too long to sign those papers.
” No. No. No. This is absolutely absurd.
No one would believe that the Storm are involved in betting.
That’s ridiculous. He shakes his head. “It’d be a shame, but …
” He trails off, going out the door, and slamming it behind him.
I collapse back into my seat, my heart racing. What the hell? I can’t let him do that. He could ruin careers. Ruin people’s lives.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Henderson. He threatened me with losing my license if I didn’t give him the details of our meeting.”
“Pretty sure you could lose your license for disclosing this to him,” I snap.
“I know this isn’t what you expected, but it could be worse. He could be demanding the money as well. Do you want to sign the paperwork transferring the hotels?”
I glare at him. This could be worse. I hate that mentality. Of course this could be worse. Any bad situation could be worse, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t shit. A whole stinking pile of shit if we’re being honest.
“I already told you my decision. No.” I point to the stack of papers in front of him. “Get the papers drawn up transferring ownership to me.”
He swallows roughly, staring down at the table. “I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can.” Legally, I’ve met the criteria of my inheritance. I know it, and I’m pretty sure Glenn knows it. “Figure it out,” I tell him, standing. “I’m not giving my father what he wants.”
“It would be better for all parties involved if you cooperated.”
I shake my head and stride out of the conference room and building. Once I’m safely in the car with the doors locked, I take a shaky breath in, running a hand over my belly.
What the actual hell?
The tears that I’ve been holding back break free.
I bang the steering wheel in frustration.
Why can’t I break free of my father?
I’m not entirely sure why he wants this hotel chain so much. It’s tiny compared to the rest of the business. Maybe I should just give it to him. I don’t want to, but if it means protecting my friends, my team, protecting the family of the man I love, then maybe it’s what I need to do.
It’s not fair, and that’s what pisses me off the most. Why does the asshole get to win? Why can’t I win for once? Good always triumphs evil in fiction, so why can’t it also win in real life?
But I don’t see a solution. Part of me knows he’ll do everything in his power to ruin the lives of the players and other staff involved with the team until he gets what he wants.
If there’s one thing I’m certain about my father, it’s that he’ll do whatever it takes to destroy my life because he didn’t get what he wanted. But there’s not a whole lot I can do now.
I need to go home and do what, exactly, I’m not sure, but I can’t keep sitting here, so I put the car in gear and head back toward Orlando.
I need to figure out what I’m going to do. Maybe, just maybe, there’s something I’m missing. A way to get out of this and keep the money, the hotels, and protect my friends and my family from my father’s wrath. And if I could ruin him in the process, that’d be the cherry on top.