My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I frowned. Who the hell was calling at one o’clock? I snatched it up and stepped into the bathroom. “Hello, who is this?”
“Mr. Edgerton. This is Carol Miners from the New York office of Burks and Associates. Our London offices have been trying to reach you.”
Jesus Christ. “Whatever this is had better be urgent. What the fuck does my grandfather’s estate have to do with me? I told the last guy who called that I didn't want whatever he left me. Does that really warrant a 1:00 a.m. call?”
The woman’s voice became clipped. “Yes, we are aware that you are not interested in any of your grandfather’s estate. However, considering your birthday is in just over a week, we are out of time. I'm working outside of the box here to try and get a response. We are required to have you either sign that you accept the terms, or in the absence of your desire to take it, the estate will revert to the charity your grandfather requested. This is something we will need in writing, sir.”
“Is this strictly necessary? What does my birthday have to do with anything?”
She sighed, and I could tell she was gathering her strength as if she was preparing to talk to an imbecile. “Sir, it was your grandfather’s request that his estate titles, bank balance, and investments all bequeath to you on your thirtieth birthday. Should you not want it, you can of course choose to donate the proceeds to charity. But we still will need you in person to sign an affidavit stating that. And we already have an allocation of which charities your grandfather would have preferred and the percentages he wished each to receive. But if you have changes to that list, you'll need to tell us. If you do not do this, everything reverts to your father, an outcome which your grandfather was very specific he did not want to occur.”
The more she spoke, the crisper the tone of her voice became. “Lord Edgerton, ten days. You must speak with us.”
What the hell was going on? “I'm sorry, it's quite late, or early here, depending on how you look at it. I need you to explain it again slowly. To my knowledge, my father is Lord Edgerton.”
“Incorrect, sir. It's really not my place to speak about this on the phone.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It's the only way you're going to get me to come in, so talk.”
“Technically, you are Lord Edgerton. Upon your grandfather's death, you were still too young to take the title. Your father was meant to act as a regent of sorts, I suppose. I'm not sure what the right words are for English gentry. In America, we just call it a trust, and he is the executor of that trust. You were always meant to inherit everything. Your grandfather skipped your father for the inheritance, and it was not your grandfather’s wish that your father would be the executor of the trust, however, it was that last final piece that he did not manage to complete before his death.”
I felt like my world was tilting. What the hell was she saying? How on earth could any of this be real? I'd only seen the old man once a year every summer. Why would he do this?
In fact, I'd thought he didn't care for me much.
“I don't understand. Obviously, this is very shocking information.”
“We understand that, sir. That is why we need to speak with you in person. Can we count on you to come in?”
We were expected to leave for Barcelona tomorrow, and I'd already kicked up a fuss and wedged my way into the trip. We would only be there for a few days, and that meant we would be back in time for my birthday. “Y-yes. I'll be there on my birthday, but I have other pressing business to deal with first. If you’ll leave your number, I'll be at the London office to sign the paperwork by my birthday.”
She made a note to contact my assistant and gave me some more information that I would need. I was so stunned that all I could do was lean back against the counter with my mind spinning, trying to work this all out. Why would the old man have left me everything? Did my father know?
Of course, he knows. Which now gives you a reason why he's hated you for this long.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. Holy fuck. Everything he’d done had been about this. All of it. Just how did the pieces fit together? And did my father know that the law office was trying to contact me? He must have, but he thought he could stop me before they could reach me.
But how?
I was going to get some bloody answers one way or another. At least now, I knew the why. And that knowledge was gold because once you knew the whys of something, you could find leverage.
And once you had leverage, game over.
Thirty-Two
Bridge
The next morning on the plane to Barcelona, I struggled with whether or not I needed to tell Emma what her father said when he came to see me. I knew I needed to. But every time I tried to broach the subject, she always gave me that look that said, 'You understand that until we have something on him, I'm stuck.' And she was right. We had nothing on Middleton. We'd been looking and still nothing. We had zero leverage. And while we were still looking for viable evidence, we were definitely sure that he was dirty. We knew he was terrible. We just had to prove it. And that was taking time. I couldn't think of any way to extricate Emma without drawing attention.
Why had she taken this job?
She took it because you didn't tell her anything.
Fucking hell. If I'd just talked to her, would she have stayed away?
You know Emma, so the answer to that is no.
She still would have found a way to throw herself smack-dab in the middle of danger. And that was shockingly accurate. But maybe she wouldn't be in the belly of the beast at least.
As the plane took off for Barcelona, Emma took my hand and squeezed it tight. I had wanted to fly private. So had Middleton. My expectation was that Emma, of course, was going to fly with me. And of course, Middleton had pressured her to fly with the company. There was no explicit rule that she had to fly with everyone else. But to stay off his radar, she'd suggested that flying private was terrible for the environment, which, technically, it was. In the end, I was left with no choice but to give in to her wishes to avoid any further disagreement. I'd opted to fly with Middleton and the rest of his team. The jet was spacious with plush leather seats and two rooms in the back where you could lie down and just sleep, though it wasn’t nearly as opulent as the one the London Lords used. There were three other team members. Two blokes, and one woman. All three were very attached to their phones and their laptops, busily tapping away.
Middleton glanced up at me and winked. "Yours as nice as this?"
I shrugged. "It's a mode of transportation. I don't worry about it.”
It was so funny how quickly his brow furrowed and then smoothed out. It was like a tic that showed every time he wanted to unleash his fury. The question was, what happened when he unleashed his fury? After hearing Fredericka Zicks’ story about her maid, it didn’t take much imagination to fill in that blank.
While we were gone, Alex was busy looking into previous female employees that had worked directly under him and his father. Maybe there'd be something we could use. No doubt they'd had to sign ironclad company separation agreements. Something far worse than an NDA. But if we could get a lead on them, maybe East could have a sneaky peek.