Page 140 of Convict's Game
The woman froze with her mouth open. “Excuse me?”
He didn’t look at her. “The lawyer is leading this, not you. Save your breath.”
Outrage filled her features, and she planted her hands on her hips.
As small and as cold and as alone as I felt, I was right at the end of my tether. I switched my gaze to her. “Enough. You’re in the way. Be quiet.”
Never would I have spoken to a member of the family like that in the past, but to my surprise, it did the trick. She plonked back down on her seat with an aggrieved mutter to her neighbours about how rude I’d become.
The lawyer’s frown settled on me then swept the room once more. “I ask for silence until the reading is complete.”
He switched his gaze to one of his assistants who opened the door. Wallace entered, followed by my grandmother.
My heart thumped out of time.
With her silver-blonde hair cut in a bob, she was the image of the stylish, poised woman I’d known since I was a young teen. Except her gaze didn’t seek me out. Instead, my grandmother took a seat at the table and stared straight ahead.
Wallace slumped in the seat next to her, appearing as bored as he always did in any company meeting.
I couldn’t stop staring at his mum. I’d been doing this for her, but I wasn’t sure why anymore. The only thing I was certain about was Convict, and he’d done what he’d promised he wouldn’t. He’d vanished on me at the moment I needed him most.
And it was all my fault.
The lawyer talked through the preliminaries, noting the exceptional circumstances and significant legal toil to get to this point.
My brother leaned into me. “I have to say it. I’m surprised to see ye here.”
“Why?”
“Figured you’d be part of the hunt for your boyfriend, but I guess you’re Marchant to the core.”
“The hunt? What do you mean? He was gone when I woke. He didn’t answer my calls.” By now, he’d broken our four-hour rule which had told me our deal was off, just like I’d asked.
“Arran said the cops have him.”
I stared, and my world compressed to his words.
“I am able to read the will,” the lawyer continued, “but I’m afraid to say the meeting to decide the future of the company will almost certainly not go ahead today.”
A chorus of dismayed voices reacted.
Angry relatives demanded to know why.
Cochran spoke over the sound, confirming the document he was reading and that my grandfather had been of sound mind when he wrote it.
I could only stare at my brother.
“Point one. Equal voting rights go to my beloved wife, our remaining son, Wallace, and our three grandchildren.”
The room fell silent.
The lawyer continued. “With that said, you will understand that the meeting requires attendance of all eligible voters. However, the fifth named individual has not been in contact or responded to our meeting requests or correspondence.”
I barely registered the explanation, but Kane had gone deathly still.
“Fifth voter? Who?” he said.
“Darcy Marchant, child of Able Marchant. Your sibling,” the lawyer snipped.
