Page 172 of His Forsaken Alpha

“And Emory, as well. A fund for him, too.”

“My son will be well taken care of,” Wilder said. “He needs nothing from Warden.”

“You never know what the future holds in store. As small as he is, I’m almost positive Emory’s an omega. I don’t want him living at the mercy of alphas. Set up a trust so that he might know some measure of independence when he comes of age.”

Wilder met his gaze, smiling softly. “Whatever you wish.”

“I wish.”Wynter crossed to the tiny settee at side of the conference room as Wilder and Max finished signing everything. His mind drifted to Cavanaugh and their discussion that morning. He’d come, knowing there might be turmoil, because he’d felt himself owed for the life he’d endured—yet he waswalking away with almost nothing. For some reason, that didn’t bother him as much as he’d thought it might.

The part that rankled was that he was still at the mercy of the alphas in his life. He’d hoped to have some measure of control over his choices after the reading, but that clearly wasn’t meant to be. If Wilder indeed sold the house and gave him a portion, he might be able to stand on his own—but for how long? He couldn’t live in Wilder’s pool house for the rest of his life. He’d need to make some kind of plan for a home to call his own.

He’d never planned or budgeted in his life. Never purchased property.

Never took control of anything.

He had no idea how.

While Cavanaugh had offered support, and he’d wholeheartedly appreciated it, Wynter didn’t want to be taken care of yet again. He wanted to be in control of his lifefor once.He might accept their guidance, but he wanted to learn how to manage on his own without an alpha in control ofeverydecision. Was that too much to ask? He didn’t think so, especially as all around them omegas were being allowed freedoms he’d never imagined.

“Wynter?”

Wynter broke from his reverie and lifted his gaze to Max. The attorney held an envelope aloft, the scratchy handwriting on the front familiar.

“Sign here and you can be in receipt of Warden’s final words to you.”

Wynter rose, crossing to the table while wondering if he should toss the envelope into the nearest fire and rob Warden any finalvictory. After signing the document Max shoved his way, he grasped the thick envelope and scanned the letters of his name. They were thick and weighty, just as Warden’s presence had been.

Wilder shook Max’s hand.

“I’ll be in touch if there are legitimate bills or complaints that come in against the estate and see how you wish to handle them,” Max said. “Given your father’s position in this province, there’s a chance we might see frivolous claims, so be prepared. When someone wealthy passes, there arealwaysthose with their hands out, looking for their piece, whether they’re owed it or not.”

“Well, let’s ensure we investigate each one, no matter how frivolous it might seem on the surface,” Wilder said. “I want all of his debts cleared so there are no surprises to come.” His gaze swept to Wynter's. “I’m all out of patience for surprises at the moment.”

Wynter smiled wanly, knowing both his boys had the weight of their parents’ past on their shoulders. By unburdening himself of decades of secrets, he’d placed it there on them—and for that, he was sorry. Yet, the past needed to be cleared for them to move forward. He crossed his arms over himself, clutching Warden’s envelope against his bicep.

“Of course, we will validate any claimants,” Max said. “Now, I hate to cut this short, but I have a client arriving any moment now.”

A short time later, they sat quietly marinating after the meeting in the back of Wilder’s car. Wynter felt no less settled, yet there was a calmness that had come over him in the simple fact it wasconcluded, to a point. Yes, there were still houses to sell and decisions to be made, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel that allowed him to breathe easier.

He observed the city pass outside the window. It seemed brighter somehow. Less the prison it had felt for forty years. Wynter hadn’t explored much of the province outside the country club and few places he’d gone at the behest of others. The car came to a stop at a red light, and he noticed a new restaurant near the corner, a small bistro that appeared to serve Panasian foods.

A smile came to his face.

“When do you plan to read it?” Wilder asked.

Wynter’s gaze whipped to his son’s. Wilder’s focus dipped to the envelope clutched in Wynter’s hand and back up, a brow rising.

Wynter gazed down at the infantile block lettering across the surface. “I’m not sure that I will. Who knows? I might burn it.”

“You might regret that. Who knows what’s inside.”

“Likely another feeble attempt to hurt me,” Wynter said. “If I open it, he wins.”

“There’s a small chance it’s not what you think it is.”

Wynter handed the envelope over. “You read it. If it’s another attack, we burn it. If not… then perhaps I’ll look.”

“I can’t read his last words to you.”

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