It’s not the kind of office I would expect the attorney of my father to operate from. It’s poky. Drab. Unassuming and unimpressive. I’m sitting in an uncomfortable chair opposite Mr. Foster, flanked by two men who hardly fit in their chairs, their big bodies shifting constantly to try and get comfortable. “Can I take your coats?” Foster asks.
The vest beneath my trench coat becomes heavier, and James and Danny both lift their asses in unison and pull their coats in a little more. “No, thank you,” I say, swallowing, just wanting him to get on with it.
“Very well.” He starts fiddling with papers on his desk, leaving the room to fall silent.
“You could have waited outside,” I say quietly to Danny, as his cell rings. He reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls it out. I see Rose’s name on his screen. She’ll be worried.
“You know, I think I will.” He stands and connects the call, striding out. “Baby,” he says softly, closing the door behind him.
I feel James’s hand take mine where it’s resting on my knee, and I look down at it, then up to him. I hate the torture in his expression. The helplessness. And yet I am without the capacity to reassure him. How can I when I’m struggling to calm myself? And how can I when I know I’m being kept in the dark? It’s disheartening when we have both fought so hard to be free of darkness. How willing he is to leave me there.
Mr. Foster twiddles with the end of his moustache as he looks over the papers on a poorly concealed frown, like he could be struggling to utter the words before him, so after a few painful minutes, I take the lead. “Mr. Foster, let me make this easy. I would like everything from my father’s estate to be donated to the World Society for Burn Victims.” He would probably turn in his grave . . . had he not chosen cremation.
When I feel James’s eyes turn onto me, I shrug. I don’t need my father’s money. Don’t want it. My hand is squeezed in support as Mr. Foster looks between us with a bewildered expression.
“Oh, well, that’s very kind of you, Miss Hayley.” He takes a pen and scribbles down a few notes. “I’m afraid I cannot do that on your behalf. You would need to sell the car and send the proceeds from that to the charity in question.”
“Car?” I blurt out.
“Yes.” He’s back to scanning the paper. “A BMW M4 Convertible. Color, red. Year, 2020.” He sets the pile of papers on the desk, and I laugh to myself. He bought me that car for my birthday. I didn’t accept it.
And he delivers yet another kick to my gut.
I absolutely hate that I have to ask this, and as I lean forward, closing the space between me and Mr. Foster, I lower my voice. “He left me a car? Just a car?”
“A very nice car, Miss Hayley.”
My God, he thinks I’m ungrateful. I’m not. I’m fucking confused. I look back at James and, thank God, his forehead is a mess of wrinkles, telling me he’s puzzled too. I show the ceiling my palms, asking James what the fuck I’m supposed to do with this. He takes my arm and pulls me back into my seat, leaning forward himself. “Mr. Foster, Beau’s father was a very wealthy man.”
“Indeed, he was.”
“His first wife passed away, his only child is Beau, and he was singl . . .” James fades off and looks at me, the same thought falling into his head at the same time it falls into mine. “Single,” he breathes, the wrinkles on his forehead back. “Until recently.”
When Amber was exposed as the gold-digging whore she is. I nod, dreading what I’m about to hear. He’d been dating someone else. Just dating, though. “Mr. Foster, who else is named as a beneficiary of my father’s will?” I ask.
“Miss Amber Kendrick. Unfortunately, I am unable to locate her.”
“Oh Jesus.” James rubs at the lines on his head. “Everything?”
“Except the car, of course.”
I stand abruptly, and the tie of my coat unravels, revealing the vest beneath. Mr. Foster stares at it, alarmed. “Thank you, Mr. Foster.” I turn and leave, retying the belt as I go, swinging the door open and bowling through, nearly crashing into a waiting Danny.
“Beau,” James calls.
Danny’s cell is still at his ear, and he takes in the scene, James coming after me, before going back to his call. “Baby, everything is okay, but I need to call you back in a minute.” He cuts the call with a slow press of his thumb on the screen, continuing to look between us, waiting. “Anyone want to tell me what the fuck’s going on?”
I look back at James and start to pace the small reception room. I know he won’t want to share. Danny hates Amber, as does Rose. Not surprising when the stupid woman threatened to kill her in a ridiculous crime of love to win Danny. But it can’t be avoided. I want her dead. And yet I can’t utter the words.
“Tom Hayley left everything he had to Amber Kendrick,” James says, his voice low, closing the door to Foster’s office behind him.
“Excuse me?” Danny coughs over his words, tilting his ear forward, as if he’s improving the chances of hearing right when James repeats himself.
“Except a car,” I add.
“What?”
“She did it.” I slap the ball of my hand into my head. “How did I not see it?”
“See what?”
“Killed him!” I say over a laugh. “Before he could change his will back. She fooled him into making her the sole heir, or as good as, was then exposed for being a gold digger, so she killed him before he had the opportunity to amend his will.”
“Beau, hold up,” James says, sounding nervous, his hand rising in a pacifying way I do not like at all. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“She’s capable!” I screech. “She had a gun aimed at Rose when Danny kicked her out of the mansion.” I look at Danny, desperate for him to confirm I’m right. To justify my ramblings. “Tell him, Danny!”
“I know that, Beau,” James says, while Danny stands awkwardly silent, not wanting to make matters worse by confirming. “But aiming a gun and firing are two entirely different things.”
“Fine,” I say, pulling out my cell and calling Ollie. He answers immediately, and I’m completely thrown after being ignored for so long. But he doesn’t have to avoid me now. I know about his new woman.
“Beau?”
I start to pace again, watchful of any hands coming my way ready to grab my cell. “I think Frazer Cartwright knew what happened to my dad.” Of course he did. He was a close friend of my father, wrote endless shining reports about him and his businesses and charity work. He must have spent time with Amber. He must have seen something. “I need to find him.”
James is suddenly before me, reaching for my cell. I dip stealthily out of his way.
“I need your help, Ollie.”
“Beau!” James yells.
“Frazer Cartwright is dead, Beau.” Ollie’s words hit me like a brick to my face, and I swing around, my mouth lax, finding James and Danny looking as guilty as sin before me. They know what Ollie’s just said. I don’t need to tell them.
“Dead?” I ask, needing confirmation. “Frazer Cartwright is dead?”