Page 55 of Convict's Game
I was rewarded with a smile. “Then you know almost as much about me as I do. If there’s anything else, just ask.”
This was easier than trying to make sense of my own story. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight. My birthday is the fourth of January, it says so on my hospital paperwork. Yours?”
“The first of June. How did they know if you were in a coma?”
“You used fancy biometrics to get into this multi-million-pound home. The hospital used mine to identify me. I have a criminal record. All my data is on file for the safety of the public.”
Perhaps that should have alarmed me, but all I felt was intrigue. “What crimes have you committed?”
He raised an easy shoulder. “No idea, but you’ll get the benefit of my dark side for all your scheming.”
I took a steadying breath. At last, the words flowed.
“I didn’t know my grandparents when I was growing up. I met them when I was fourteen. They put me through private school, bought me this place, and then paid for my degree in business management.”
I collected the first framed photo from the table and held it out. “This is me with them when I was officially given the surname of Marchant.”
Convict took the frame and examined it. “What were you before?”
“Emilia Gold. That’s my stepfather’s surname. My mother had me after a short fling with my bio father, my grandparents’ eldest son. He’s long dead.”
He handed the picture back. “Is that why they didn’t know about you, because he died and never told them?”
I stared down at the proud teenage version of me who’d been so enamoured with my newfound grandparents. Even then, my grandfather had a thatch of grey hair, and my grandmother her trademark blonde bob. “No, they knew about me. It was just complicated. But I’m digressing. I just want you to understand why this is so important to me.”
“I’m listening. Share everything. I want to know it all.”
My thoughts rushed. “They wanted an heir. That’s the reason they took over my life so thoroughly, because of how vital it is for Marchant Haulage to survive. That’s the company my grandfather built from the ground up. The one I studied hard to understand then worked at officially until a month ago.”
I took the second picture, a landscape shot of two dozen people in a harbour scene, a huge red-and-white ship behind them, and a warehouse the other side of the water with the family logo proudly displayed.
“All the people in this picture are dependents of the company. They live off the profits and have done for decades in some cases.”
I saw an argument form then fall away as his gaze travelled the picture. There was an entire seat cushion between us, and I knelt on it so I could point out what I needed him to see.
I pressed a finger to an elderly couple. “My grandfather’s sister and her husband. Both are in their late seventies and had hard lives, so only have the state pension to live on.” I tapped a woman with a baby in her arms. “Their oldest daughter with her firstborn. She has three kids, but her husband walked out on her. One of her sisters is also a single mother.” I jumped one across to a man in a wheelchair. “My grandmother’s nephew. I think he’s in his forties now.”
Convict gave a chuff of interest. “And all of them live off the company’s payroll?”
“Exactly.” I set the photo back on the glass coffee table, in our eyeline, just like I kept it on my shelf to remind me how important it was. “One of the first things my grandparents impressed upon me was how the company is a lifeline. I know in painstaking detail how my grandfather started out, operating a single boat with which he used to do the soft fruit route, as he called it. He would sail from Liverpool to Barcelona and back, bringing the produce into the country. From there, he scaled upand up, until he had a fleet of ships and lorries operating out of multiple ports to many countries. Alongside that expansion, his profits soared. He was smart. When consumer preferences changed, he’d talk to the fruit market owners and they’d adapt. When lawmakers got in his way, he dodged around them. At every stage, he innovated and he created an empire. I’m saying this as if he did it alone. He didn’t. My grandmother also worked for the company and managed certain parts of it for years until she retired. For them, it was their life. And from age fourteen, it was mine, too.”
“Impressive.”
I took a breath. “Isn’t it? It gets me in the throat when I think about what they achieved. I admire them so much. Even as a young teenager, I understood their importance.”
He twisted his lips, his gaze never leaving me. “As did your parents if they were willing to trade you off.”
“They didn’t trade me off. They saw the opportunity of a lifetime for me and took it.”
“What did they get out of it?”
I furrowed my brow. “You make it sound like they got a payout.”
“Didn’t they? It’s hard to imagine giving up a kid to strangers, even if they’re related.”
Maybe that was fair, but he didn’t understand my family. I shook off the insinuation and carried on. “That’s the background. All these people and more rely on Marchant Haulage surviving. I feel the weight of that on my shoulders just like my grandfather described. He found it thrilling every time he made enough money to do something good. First, it was to give his sons a great life. Then, it was the extended family. By the time he reached his seventies, he’d created this institution. There are family trusts. There are dividend payments. There arepeople who wouldn’t be alive without the money they get from the business.”
