Chapter Seventeen
He probably shouldn’t have said it like that.
It’s not that Ian didn’t trust her, per se, more so how she’d react once she learned the whole truth. Breanna was fiery—her heart ruled her head, and while he loved that about her, he needed her to play it cool. He feared that could be a tall order. What if she went running to Derek and fell right into his trap?
No way was he going to let that happen.
I should’ve stopped him before it ever got this far.
He should have. But back then, Ian didn’t give a fuck. He was so angry for Valerie, even though in life the woman rarely was. Breanna had to be a heartless, spoiled brat who only cared about her grandmother’s money. She’d already gotten way more than she deserved—at least, he thought so at the time.
And I was wrong.
Even if he hadn’t been, what his cousin was trying to pull wasn’t right. While he took no part in it, and would take no gain from it, wasn’t he just as culpable for looking the other way? I am, dammit. What he needed to do was set things right—thwart Derek’s underhanded scheme, and somehow, hold on to Breanna.
Hera looked up at him, her tail thumping on the wood floor. “You want out, do you?”
The pup responded with a bark that he took as a ‘yes’, and putting his iPad aside, Ian got up from the couch. As he opened the door, he glanced across the deck. Breanna sat in her living room with her laptop, gazing intently at the screen. “Go on, girl.”
She looked up then.
He tipped his chin and went to slide the door closed when she motioned for him to come over.
She’d left her door unlocked. With the cold glass at his back, he casually leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest.
“Can you explain to me what it is I’m looking at?”
“Let’s see what you’ve got there.” Ian crossed the room, and sitting down beside her on the sofa, Breanna placed her laptop in his hands. Derek must’ve emailed her the documents. She had at least eight tabs open on the screen.
Holding in a snicker, he gave his head a shake. “Can you make us some coffee? This could take a while.”
“Yeah.” She got up and popped in a pod to brew, glancing back over her shoulder. “It would make it a helluva lot easier for us non-lawyer people if it was written in English.”
“This is English,” he said, not bothering to hold the snicker in this time. “Well, mostly.”
Breanna set down a mug on the coffee table in front of him, then opened the door for Hera. “You’ve got snow stuck to your paws. Poor baby, you must be freezing.”
“She’s a Husky, Breanna.”
“And?” She disappeared into her bedroom, returning with a towel.
While maybe he should’ve taken the opportunity to do a quick scan of the documents his cousin sent, he didn’t. Ignoring the screen on his lap, Ian watched her, almost spellbound, as Breanna sat on the floor wiping snow from the dog’s coat in front of the fire. Flames reflecting in her shining blue eyes, the sleeve of her oversized top slipped down her shoulder, giving him a perfect glimpse of the rose-tipped breast he once possessed.
I want back in, princess.
He swallowed, and peels of musical laughter rang out, making him blink. Licking her face, his dog rewarded Breanna for her efforts. With her arms wrapped tight around Hera’s neck, she hugged the pup, stroking her damp fur.
Ian cleared his throat.
Glancing over at him, she stood. “Give me a sec, will you? I’m coming.”
Oh, I’ll be making sure of that. He snorted to himself.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, taking a seat beside him with a cup of her own.
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, okay.” With a roll of her eyes, Breanna took a sip. “Start explaining then, so I can sign the papers and be done with it.”
“This is a document petitioning the court for a Letter of Testamentary.”
“What’s that?” She leaned in a little closer to look at the screen.
“It gives you, as the Executor, the legal authority needed to handle all financial and formal duties necessary to close out your grandmother’s estate.”
“Say that again in English, please.”
“It’s a formality that allows you to access Valerie’s accounts, so you can pay off any debts and taxes. Distribute assets. Virtually everything,” he explained. “The petition gets filed with your grandmother’s Will and death certificate, along with documents verifying your identity. Once the court reviews everything, the letter will be issued and you can move forward.”
Breanna rubbed her lips together and nodded. “I think I understand.”
“Of course, anything held in Trust is exempt from all this. It’s already yours.”
“I’m a trust fund baby and I didn’t even know it.” Setting her cup down on the table, she sighed. “Derek told me my father had one set up for me.”
Valerie had done the same. Ian was almost sure of it. They shouldn’t be in this mess.
“This is an accounting of the estate assets as of the date of her death—Dalton House, the land, other properties, stocks, bank accounts—things like that. And debts, such as taxes. A listing of assets to be distributed under the terms of the Will…”
“What is Dalton Trust Development Opco LLC?” She pointed to the line in the document.
Christ, Derek. You’re more cunning than I gave you credit for. “That would be who.”
“Well, it says Dalton House, and the mountain it’s sitting on, it looks like, goes to them. You just said anything in Trust is exempt, so I’m confused.”
“Don’t let the name fool you,” Ian said, fingers gripping into her thigh. “That’s not a Trust. It’s a corporation—an operating company.”
“Who are they?”
“We’ll have to find out.” But then, he figured he already knew. A dummy corporation for Derek to hide behind, no doubt, named in such a way so Breanna wouldn’t question it. Hell, he’d probably try to convince her she was Dalton Trust Development.
Her brows pulling together, Breanna angled her head to look up at him. “You’re my grandmother’s attorney. You don’t know?”
“Listen up, princess—”
“Breanna,” she insisted, almost sounding angry. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
Because that’s who you are to me, baby.
“Listen,” Ian said, softening his voice. I need you to put the pieces together yourself. “Valerie would’ve planned her estate a long, long time ago—likely soon after your grandfather died, and I wasn’t old enough to grow a beard yet, then. My uncle, Raymond, would’ve been the one to draw up her Will.”
“Derek’s father, right?”
“Yes.”
She opened another tab on the screen. “Well, there it is. A trust fund for me with the rest of the estate going to Dalton Trust Development Opco LLC, which is more than generous when you consider she never even wanted to meet me.”
“This isn’t right.” A cursory glance was all it took, not that Breanna would know it. Dated just last year, Raymond St. John and Francesca Keeler witnessed Valerie’s signature.
“That’s what it says.” She took his hand, rubbing her fingers over the back of it. “It’s okay, Sinjin. A million dollars is a heck of a lot of money.”
“A million ain’t shit, baby.” Not to Valerie, anyway. “This house alone is worth at least twenty times that amount.”
Letting his hand go, Breanna shrugged. “It’s a house. Okay, so it’s a massive house, and it’s beautiful, but I didn’t grow up here, my father did. I have no ties to it.”
“You’re a Dalton, and this house is your legacy. Valerie would have never let it go to anyone else.” Turning her chin toward the screen, he pointed. “Look at the date.”
“Yeah, so?”
Here we go. “The document’s been altered.”
“How do you know?”
“That’s Raymond’s signature all right, but my uncle keeled over from a heart attack three years ago.”
“What the fuck is going on here, Sinjin?”
“You want answers?” Taking Breanna by the hand, he led her down the hallway. “You’re going to have to trust me.”
“You don’t trust me.” She stopped dead in her tracks. “Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.” His thumb brushed across her cheek, and he smirked. “But listen to your gut. It won’t lie.”
At the landing, Breanna followed him up to the third floor. She held onto his arm, her fingers digging into the muscle, as he fit a key into the lock of the double door that guarded it. “What’s up here?”
“Your grandmother’s name was Kimball before she married Lawrence Dalton,” Ian informed her, opening the door to a long hallway, half the length of the house. “Does it ring a bell?”
“No. Should it?”
“As in the hotel chain.” He shrugged. “Maybe you’re too young to remember—Kimball sold off all their properties by the early 2000s. Think Hilton or Marriott or Hyatt. See, Valerie came from money, she didn’t marry into it, and once, she had plans to turn Dalton House into a bed-and-breakfast—a mountain retreat, of sorts, that never came to be. Anyway, the family’s private apartments are here on this floor.”
“So, the second floor…”
“Was supposed to be for guests,” Ian said, nodding. “She wanted to add cottages, too, after your grandfather had the hunting cabins built.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“Shane died.” With an exhale, he gnawed at his lip. “And everything changed after that.”
For all of us.
He punched the code into the keypad. “These are her rooms.”
“We shouldn’t be up here,” she whispered with a shake of her pretty head.
“If we want to find answers, Breanna…” Taking her hand, Ian laced their fingers together and squeezed. “…this is where we start looking.”
Her eyes swept around the room and she gasped. He didn’t have to follow her gaze to know what she was looking at.
Breanna went over to the mantel and picked up the photo of herself that rested there. “How did my grandmother get this?”
“She never told me. Your mom must’ve sent it to her, I guess.” He walked up behind her. “Sometimes I’d come in here and find her holding that picture of you, crying.”
And I hated you for it.
“I don’t understand.” Her fingers trembling, Breanna put the photo back and turned around. “Why?”
“You really want to know? I can show you.” Grabbing her by the hand, Ian took her to the other end of the hall and unlocked the door. “Your father’s apartment.”
She took an apprehensive step inside and upon seeing the photo of her mom, and the dad she never knew, holding her as a newborn, she held her fingers to her lips, a tear trickling down her face. “I’ve never seen this picture before.”
“Everything is just as Shane left it. His room is through there.” Ian tipped his chin to the door on the left. “But I want you to see this one. Open it.”
Glancing back at him, Breanna turned the doorknob.
The room, fit for a little princess, was done in a soft, pale pink, a hand-painted garden of flowers covering the walls. The ornate white crib with soft muslin bedding had never been slept in. The rocking horse hadn’t been ridden. The dollhouse remained untouched.
Breanna picked up a plush pink teddy bear, holding it to her chest.
“She did all of this for you.” Softly, Ian swiped at the tears falling from her eyes. “See? Your grandmother loved you, Breanna…but you never came home.”
And even now, he had to ask himself why.