Chapter 33 Leith
Leith
I parked behind Clarke’s truck on Main Street—right in front of Coop’s Upholstery. This was it. Everything I’d been working toward the last couple of months was wrapped up in this moment. Cam and Clarke got out of her truck at the same time I got out of mine.
“Hey, honey,” I said to Clarke and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and then I turned to Cam. “It’s great to meet you. Thank you for everything.”
“Anything for the Cartwrights,” Cam said with a smile. She looked like a lawyer in the movies—regal and polished. I had a feeling she’d scare the shit out of Ron, and I hoped to god I was right.
“I briefed Clarke, and I know she sent you some voice memos,” Cam said. “Did you have a chance to listen?”
“I did. I feel good,” I said, and I did—mostly.
“All right, then.” Cam nodded. “Let’s go.”
I intertwined my fingers with Clarke’s as we walked. I wasn’t sure exactly what we were walking into, but I knew that I’d prepared the best I could. I just hoped the universe was on my side. I had a good feeling, and that was all I could ask for.
When we got to the door, I held it open for Cam and Clarke. “Here we go,” I whispered to myself. I walked in after them, and they had gone to the side so I could be the first to greet Ron. That was the plan.
The plan did not include Flynn sitting across from Ron with his boots up on his desk, chewing a toothpick. Good feeling: gone.
“Leith, my boy,” Ron said. His usual greeting. It drove me fucking nuts. “I’m sorry—I really need you to have an appointment before you stop in. Your cousin and I are in the middle of some important business.”
“This is the second time you’ve interrupted us,” Flynn sneered.
“Wow,” I said, looking at Cam and Clarke. “He knows how to count! And the business you’re referring to is Wilkes Farm, which is also my business, so it’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?” I spat.
“It’s not your farm anymore, boy,” Flynn sneered. “Your daddy left you clueless, and now you got nothing.”
“Not as clueless as you might think, Flynn.” I shrugged. “I’d like to introduce both of you to Cam Tucker. My lawyer.”
“Your what?” Ron asked, flabbergasted.
“Hi there,” Cam said and approached Ron at his desk and set down a stack of papers.
“I’m here as a courtesy to let you know that the entirety of the Wilkes Farm property—approximately three thousand acres, give or take—and eleven structures on that property have been registered, approved, and declared as historical landmarks recognized by the State of Wyoming, the County of Sweetwater Peak, and the Town slash Municipality of Sweetwater Peak. ”
“What the hell does that mean?” Flynn asked.
“Great question, Mr. Wilkes,” Cam said. Her tone was somehow both warm and professionally condescending.
“It means that Wilkes Farm cannot be altered, rented, or sold to another party without the approval of those three institutions. And considering the history and responsibilities of the farm to this town and the surrounding counties, chances of approval, as you can probably assume, are slim to none. It also means that whoever owns the property must abide by meticulous maintenance standards.”
“Which means no drilling,” I chimed in. “At all. Ever.”
“And, as you can see,” Cam said to Ron, “all this paperwork is dated as of three days ago, so my client, Mr. Leith Wilkes, was well within his right to pursue and obtain this registration as the current owner of the property and the structures therein.”
Flynn’s nostrils flared, and I felt a smug grin creeping up my face. Take that, you old piece of shit. “Ron,” he barked. “Do something.”
Ron, who was currently fumbling through the papers that Cam had placed on his desk, stammered.
“I-I-I wasn’t expecting this,” he finally got out.
“This looks…airtight, Flynn.” I glanced over at Clarke, who was fighting a smile.
When she saw me looking at her, she gave me a quick wink. God, I was so glad she was here.
“Thank you for apprising us of the situation, Ms. Tucker,” Ron said, regaining his composure. “But this does not change the fact that, as of today, the five-year anniversary of one Mr. Wilder Jacoby Wilkes’s death, the farm now defaults to the possession of Mr. Flynn Rufus Wilkes.”
I felt my face fall. My dad’s death anniversary wasn’t until tomorrow, wasn’t it? Did I have it wrong?
“That’s not right,” I said. “It’s tomorrow.”
Ron rummaged through a few papers on his desk until he plucked one out from a pile. “Your father’s death certificate. May fifteenth, eleven fifty-nine p.m.”
“He died on the sixteenth,” I said. I knew that for sure. And in the middle of the afternoon. Ron gave me a look that made me think that whatever death certificate he was working from was not the real one. “Cam, I know he died on the sixteenth.”
She nodded. I think she understood what I was trying to tell her.
“Can you get me a copy of that paperwork?” Cam asked.
To her credit, her tone and facial expression remained unchanged.
She also knew that I had the original paperwork that laid out the succession. She was buying herself time to think.
But all the time in the world wouldn’t change the fact that the farm wasn’t mine anymore according to the death certificate Ron held in his hand.
“You’re welcome to contest my records in court, my boy, but unless you and Miss Cartwright are getting married today, you still haven’t met the terms of the succession.
And if you got married tomorrow, a lawsuit over this document would tie the farm up for months—especially with all of those…
requirements you’ve brought on yourself. ”
I almost dropped to my knees. Flynn won. He was going to get the farm. All of this—everything I’d done—was for nothing.
“How’s it feel, boy?” Flynn said with an evil grin. “To be left with nothing? Just like I was.”
I swallowed. Hard. “I’m nothing like you, Flynn.
” I stood firm. “And not having the farm doesn’t mean I have nothing.
I have it all—a family, a kid I adore, and a woman I love.
What are you going to have? A piece of land you don’t give two shits about to rot and die on?
” My heart was full of fissures knowing that I’d failed—that the farm wasn’t mine anymore, but I still did something right.
I protected the farm. At the very least, I knew Flynn couldn’t sell or drill the land—not without jumping through an endless amount of very strategic hoops.
“Everybody stop!” a familiar voice said from the front of Ron’s office.
I turned around. “Lainey? What the hell are you doing here?” My sixteen-year-old cousin was out of breath as she made her way to where the five of us were grouped.
“Winning,” she said. “The farm isn’t Flynn’s.”
“Bullshit, little girl.” Flynn barked a laugh. “Ink’s dry.”
“Yesterday was your birthday. You turned sixty-five,” she said back at her biological father—looking him dead in the eye.
“Aw, I’m flattered you remembered, kid. Don’t I look good for my age?”
“You actually look like shit,” Lainey fired back. I didn’t know what she was doing, but goddamn, was I proud of her. “And according to section 403b, subsection twelve iii of the Wilkes Farm Estate contract, you’ve officially aged out of your inheritance.”
Lainey pulled a paper out of her back pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Cam. “See?” she said. “I highlighted it.”
“Where did you get that?” I asked, shocked, but Lainey didn’t answer. She just gave me a look that communicated “not now.” Did she break into my house or something?
Cam’s eyes widened. “She’s right,” she said. “Mr. Rummager, your client isn’t eligible to inherit the farm. Therefore, all paperwork bequeathing Mr. Floyd Wilkes ownership of the farm is null and void.”
Ron put his glasses on, and Cam handed him the paper. “Can you confirm this is a page from the original estate succession agreement?” Cam asked.
“Yes, but how…”
“And you’d be willing to sign an affidavit to that effect?” Geez, Ron was getting embarrassingly outlawyered.
“Yes, but the farm still doesn’t belong to Leith,” Ron said. “He didn’t meet the terms of succession.” It sounded like he was trying to calm himself down.
“I understand,” Cam said. “But the farm also doesn’t belong to Mr. Flynn Wilkes.”
“No,” Ron said, dumbfounded. “That means that the farm belongs to…”
I’d never smiled this big in my life. “Delainey Dawn Wilkes,” I finished for him.