Page 76 of Dominate
Fiero does as I ask. When the image becomes clearer, I step back and run my hands through my hair. “I know those trainers.”
“Okay,” the officer replies slowly, looking closer at the shoes on the man’s feet.
“They are the new Adce football trainers that came out a few months back,” I explain as the two gentlemen stare at me with confused looks on their faces. “I’m a professional athlete, and I’ve received early editions of new trainers before. It’s generally linked to your sponsors and helps drum up excitement for a new product. I know for a fact that Adce signed Vince Sinclair for an endorsement deal in November. I was offered the same deal and turned them down. I think the man wearing those trainers is somehow connected to Vince Sinclair, who plays for Chelsea.”
“How many early editions do these companies usually pass out?” Bernie asks, pulling a notepad out of his back pocket and begins scribbling away.
“Very limited. Typically only one,” I reply, my heart pounding in my chest. “Detective, after what I told you, I know Vince has something to do with this. Whoever is wearing those shoes must have gotten them from Vince as some sort of payment.”
Bernie nods and reaches for the phone on the desk. “I’m going to make some calls and see what we can figure out.”
“Okay. What do I do until then?”
“Nothing. I don’t think you’re in any immediate danger. The attack happened months ago and there hasn’t been another. So we’ll investigate this as quick as possible and get back to you soon.”
I nod and Fiero stands to walk me out. “Thank you, Detective.”
“Don’t thank me until someone is behind bars,” he replies and turns his back to me as he gets to work on catching the bastards who did this to me and the woman I love.
MARGARET’S LAWYER’S OFFICE IS OLDand opulent. Glossy dark wood, old-fashioned drapes, and wood flooring that creaks everywhere I step. There is even a pair of stuffed mallard ducks propped up on the ledge of the fireplace. The entire building makes me feel like I’ve stepped straight back into the house on Rossmill Lane that I lived in for so many years. The place where I was invisible and unloved.
But I’m not the same person I was when I lived in that house. So much about me has changed. That’s exactly why I refused to have Gareth’s lawyer come with me today like he adamantly insisted. I’m spreading my wings and learning how to fly on my own at last. I may still be at the mercy of Sophia’s father for as long as he’s in her life, but that’s only ten percent of the time. The other ninety percent, she can be with me.
Somehow, those duckies feel like a joke from Margaret beyond the grave, and I can’t help but smile. I suppose that’s the beauty of truly enjoying your life. The little things don’t bother you like they once did.
Margaret’s lawyer, Harry Morrison, is a tall, wiry man with black hair plugs and wearing a suit that costs every bit of five thousand pounds. He spreads out a few papers on his desk and finally looks at me and Callum seated in the wing chairs on the other side of his desk.
“Thank you both for being here today,” he huffs in his posh British accent. “I have some business I need to go over with you in regard to the Margaret Coleridge Estate and her will that was left in my care.”
Callum smiles knowingly, sitting back in his chair and femininely crossing his legs. “Good to see you again, Harry. Before we get started, can you please tell me why my ex-wife needs to be here for this?”
Harry gives Callum a forced smile. “Well, she is stated in your mother’s will as a beneficiary.”
“What?” Callum exclaims, nearly spitting when he huffs out an incredulous laugh.
“It’s all explained in these letters from Margaret, which she asked me to serve to you today instead of delivering a normal reading of her will.”
Harry picks up two sealed envelopes, handing me the one with my name on it and the other to Cal.
Without pause, Callum rips his open and unfolds the paper. “This has to be a joke. Mother wouldn’t do this.”
With a curious frown, I slowly open mine to see what all the fuss is about.
Dear Sloan,
I have set aside a large trust fund for Sophia, as well as given her the Lake District estate and all the acreage that surrounds it. This home is where I have experienced the utmost joy with her. We have a lot of fond memories there, and I want her to continue enjoying it as much as she’d like.
As I’m sure you are aware, the home and trust fund are worth a large sum of money. Because of Sophia’s age, I am listing you as the executor of her estate until she is twenty-five years old. At that time, the trust fund, home, and property will go to her.
This fact will likely not go over well with my son, but I have many reasons for putting you in charge of this. I’m not inclined to inform you of them all, but I will oblige you to some.
I want Sophia’s education and dreams to be infinite. That special little girl is full of imagination, hopes, and ideas. I trust that you are best suited to guide her in her quest to follow those dreams, wherever they may lead.
The other significant thing I need you to know is that I’ve also set aside a lump sum inheritance for you. This is not charity. This is what you are due.
When I first met you in America and my son told me of your unplanned pregnancy together, I was appalled. I thought your modest upbringing meant that you were after my son’s wealth and were using this child as a form of entrapment. It is why I asked you to sign that horrible prenuptial agreement before I agreed to let you two marry.
I’ve now realised that I was wrong—an adjective that does not sit well with me. Therefore, Harry will have you sign some paperwork, then give you a cheque. This is the appropriate amount of money a woman who marries a man like my son should receive in a divorce.
