| |
“Mr. Filchor will see you now,” the secretary said curtly.
“Thank you,” Bronson said politely as he and Charli rose from the chairs lining the wall.
Charli wanted to stick her tongue out at the rude woman, but she gave the secretary a tight smile instead. Mrs. Munchkin was just a sourpuss and had been that way for years, though nobody knew why. Her husband was very sociable. They were always an odd couple at community gatherings.
“Charli,” Mr. Filchor said kindly, holding out his hand in welcome as they walked into his office. “Haven’t seen you in ages, young lady.”
Charli laughed lightly. “That’s probably a good thing, Mr. Filchor. It means your house doesn’t need repair and I’m not in legal trouble.”
“True enough, true enough,” he said with a smile. He turned to Bronson. “George Filchor,” he said, offering the same greeting he gave Charli.
“Bronson Ramsay.”
Mr. Filchor paused. “Are you related to Canon Ramsay?”
Bronson looked resigned as he nodded.
Charli pinched her lips together. Apparently the lawyer world was smaller than she thought.
Mr. Filchor didn’t comment further, solidifying her thoughts that Mr. Filchor’s experience with Canon hadn’t been a good one. The older man walked around his desk and sat down, waiting until Bronson and Charli were seated as well before he spoke. “How can I help you today?”
Charli turned to Bronson, assuming he would want the chance to speak.
Bronson cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a situation with my father’s will,” he started. For the next twenty minutes, Bronson told the lawyer every last detail.
Charli was exhausted for him when he finished. It wasn’t an easy or flattering story to tell and Bronson had spilled it three times in as many days.
Mr. Filchor’s bushy white eyebrows had shot up his forehead multiple times over the course of the discourse and now his mustache was twitching, letting Charli know the older man was thinking. “That’s quite a story.”
Bronson nodded and leaned back, looking as exhausted as Charli felt.
“How close are you to your brother, Mr. Ramsay?”
Bronson frowned. “Uh...not as close as we could be, I suppose.”
Mr. Filchor leaned forward. “I need to know if you’re prepared to face some difficult possibilities.”
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Filchor opened his hands in supplication. “The fact that your brother refuses to let you see the will...a will that your name is in, even though you have purposefully asked multiple times, and one in which he claims has been altered against you...is highly suspicious.”
The color drained from Bronson’s face and he looked as though he’d seen a ghost. Charli’s first instinct was to reach out and grab his hand, but she wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. She’d never been the mothering type, but her feelings for Bronson were deeper than she could have ever expected. Deciding her own discomfort didn’t matter, she went for it. Relief flooded her when he held onto her fingers like a lifeline. Must be that touchy-feely part of him, she mused, though the moment wasn’t the least bit humorous. In fact, she was dreading what Mr. Filchor would say next, fearing it would match her own feelings and thoughts.
“What exactly are you saying, Mr. Filchor?” Bronson rasped.
“I’m saying that I think your brother is conspiring against you.”
Charli could feel Bronson’s muscles tighten and the grip on her hand was painful, but she grit her teeth and waited it out. She could only imagine the emotions running through him right now. It was clear from his history that Bronson wasn’t extremely close to his siblings, but it was also clear that he wanted to be. Otherwise there was no reason why he would waste so much time trying to get along with them.
When Bronson didn’t speak, Mr. Filchor continued. “As a lawyer, and a sharp one at that, your brother is fully aware of what he’s doing.” Those large eyebrows pulled together. “He’s probably counting on you not having legal counsel outside of himself in order to get away with it.”
“But why?” Bronson snapped. “Why would he go to all this trouble?”
Mr. Filchor’s gaze narrowed. “How much is your part of the inheritance worth?”
The weight of the question hung heavily in the air. Charli’s eyes went back and forth between the two men.
“Five million,” Bronson said, his voice hoarse and barely audible, but in the quiet of the office, it hit the space like an electric shock.
If the lawyer was shocked at the amount, he didn’t show it, but Charli thought she might pass out from the thought of that much money for one person. Everything she’d ever dreamed of would be hers if she had access to that. The thought was intoxicating and nauseating at the same time.
Mr. Filchor shrugged. “People have done worse for less.”
“But Canon has his own money, the trust from our mother and his own part of the inheritance,” Bronson argued, though his voice was lacking any real grit. “Why would he want to go after mine?”
Mr. Filchor sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that question, Mr. Ramsay. I know your brother mostly from reputation. I’ve only met him once and frankly, I don’t care to do it again. You know him far better than I do, but I can tell you that I wouldn’t put it past him.” Mr. Filchor leaned back, folding his hands over his rounded middle. “He’s a man who likes power. And in his world, money and power are the same thing.” Mr. Filchor shook his head slowly. “There comes a point where a man can never get enough.”
Bronson shook his head in response and Charli could feel her heart breaking for him. She didn’t want him to have to consider this option, but she was grateful to Mr. Filchor for having the courage to say it. It had been on Charli’s mind for a while, but she had been too cowardly to hurt her relationship with Bronson.
“No,” Bronson stated, sounding stronger than before. “I really don’t think he’d do that. I’m his brother.”
“And you’re standing in his way,” Mr. Filchor said softly.
Slowly, Bronson’s head turned to Charli, his eyes tortured. “What do you think?” he asked.
Charli closed her eyes, unable to meet his question head-on.
Bronson blew out a long breath, obviously having read her answer without words.
When Charli dared look back up, he was still staring at her, a resigned look in his eye. “Remember what Gary said?”
Bronson frowned. The electrical guy?”
Charli nodded. “He said the wires looked like they had been cut.”
“Yeah, but we decided it was the raccoon...didn’t we?”
Charli raised an eyebrow and waited. It wasn’t fair to spring this many things on Bronson, but as long as the truth was being told, it needed to be told. After Bronson had walked around the house, she’d inspected the wires herself and Gary was correct. It was a clean slice. No animal could have done that. It brought up the legitimacy of the flood in the kitchen as well. But the question was, how far would Canon go to sabotage his brother? And just how far was Canon’s reach?
*****
BRONSON FELT AS IF his whole world had been turned upside down. It was almost as bad as the days he’d lost first Janine, then his father. Will it never stop? How many members of my family do I have to lose before it’ll all be over?
Charli squeezed his hand and he turned toward her. Her sympathy was almost more than he could bear, but he couldn’t seem to find the energy to get angry. Instead, he felt drained.
“Remember this is all conjecture at this point,” Mr. Filchor stated, as if he hadn’t just sent Bronson’s life into a spin. “We can’t prove anything.”
“Maybe not, but it’s telling that both you and Charli came to the same conclusions,” Bronson said, his voice soft and weak. He didn’t like that. He shouldn’t be falling apart like a kid going through his first set of finals. He was an adult. Almost thirty years old, for heaven’s sake. Crumbling like a termite-infested log was ridiculous.
He leaned forward, dropping Charli’s hand and covering his face. His mind was too worked up to think properly. “What do you think we should do?” he asked, his voice muffled.
“First off, we need to get a hold of that will,” Mr. Filchor stated firmly. “If you’re willing to hire me as your legal counsel, I can formally request it. If you want to go with someone else, I’ve got a few buddies down the coast that’ll take care of you.”
Bronson dropped his hands and straightened in his seat. “Is this something you’re willing to take on? If my brother feels threatened, I can’t guarantee he won’t do something to make you regret it.” A humorless laugh broke through his lips. “And here I was, just defending him,” he muttered, pushing a hand through his hair. He hadn’t cut it since he’d arrived in Seaside Bay and it was starting to get in his eyes.
“No one blames you for that,” Charli said softly.
Out of his periphery, Bronson saw her reach for him, only to pull back. He finished the movement for her, grabbing her hand once again and resting it on his thigh. Her touch right now was more helpful than she would ever know. “Maybe not, but if I’d just stopped to think about it, it really shouldn’t surprise me. Canon is hard and cold. Has been for a long time.” Bronson’s body deflated, sinking into the cushions of the seat. “He’s my mother, but without the depression. Anything he wants, he gets.” Bronson blew out a long breath. “Honestly, if it wasn’t for the kids, I’d let it go. It’s just not worth the fight, and I have all I need.”
“No.”
Charli’s harsh voice caught Bronson by surprise and he turned to look at her.
She was shaking her head adamantly. “He has no right to that money,” Charli snapped. “You’re a good person, Bron.” Her gaze softened just slightly. “You might not need the money, but others do and in the hands of your brother, it’ll never help anyone but himself. He doesn’t need another house or car, but there are kids who are desperate for what you offer. Adults going hungry. Widows starving for company.” She turned more fully in her chair and brought her other hand to the top of the combined ones. “They need you to get that money. Because in your hands, it’ll make a difference. You’ll make a difference.”
Bronson held her gaze for a long time. Charli had never been particularly loquacious about him and they hadn’t had a chance to talk about how she felt with his chosen profession. But seeing the fire in her gaze at the moment was enough to give anybody a jumpstart. It was at that moment that Bronson realized he’d fallen in love with the kick-butt handywoman. He had come to Seaside looking for redemption and instead he’d found his heart.
In front of a lawyer, who was watching their every move, however, was not the time to confess such things. Instead, Bronson smiled, the one Janine told him could melt even the thickest iceberg, and tried to convey with his eyes how much he wanted to kiss her right now. It must have worked, if her blush was anything to go by.
Turning back to Mr. Filchor, Bronson sat tall. “Okay. We ask for the will. What about in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, we pretend everything is as it should be.”
Bronson’s eyebrows went up. “So we play along?”
The lawyer nodded. “Yep. Until we can prove otherwise, we have to keep going as we are. Get that house done as quickly as possible and then sell it if you can. That way if we can’t find a way to prove the will is illegal, we at least have your actions on our side.”
“And if the judge deems them not enough?”
Mr. Filchor sighed. “Then at least we’ll know we did our best.” He scratched the side of his head. “I can’t guarantee that we’ll get you out of this trouble, but there are too many odd coincidences to think that this is legitimately legal. Your brother knows the business. He knows exactly what to do to take your inheritance away from you.”
“Won’t that just make him harder to beat?” Charli asked. Wavy lines marred her forehead and Bronson wanted to smooth them away. He couldn’t because of their company, but he would take his time telling her how much he appreciated her later.
“Maybe, but it can also make a man lazy. Canon Ramsay thinks he’s got everything under control.” Mr. Filchor eyed Bronson. “I doubt he counted on you actually getting help.”
“Which just makes me all the more grateful for it,” Bronson said. The next few minutes were spent taking down all the information they needed for Mr. Filchor to move ahead as Bronson’s legal counsel.
As he and Charli finally left the building, Bronson took a deep breath, feeling like they were breaking out of prison.
“How are you feeling?” Charli asked, her voice cautious.
Bronson looked down and his mouth twisted into a sad smile. “I’ve been better.”
She pinched her lips together and those beautiful brown eyes roamed the street. “Would chocolate help?”
Bronson frowned. “What?”
Charli pointed toward town. “Caro’s place isn’t very far. Can I treat you to something?”
Bronson stared for a second, then began to chuckle. “Isn’t eating chocolate when you’re depressed kind of a girl thing?”
Charli laughed with him. “Maybe, but since I’m a girl, I don’t really know what else to offer you.”
Still laughing, Bronson wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you,” he said softly, letting the silky strands of her hair tickle his face.
“What for?” Charli asked. Her cheek was resting against his sternum and her arms wound around his chest.
“For going through that with me.”
Charli leaned back enough that he could see her eyes. “Where else would I be?”
Bronson shrugged. “Working? Napping? Reading?”
She laughed. “We’re partners, remember? I wanted to be there for you.”
Partners... Bronson stiffened at the word, unsure if Charli realized what she’d called him. He wanted her to see him as an equal partner, but despite her apology, he wasn’t quite sure where that relationship truly stood.
“Oh!” Charli jumped back. “I totally forgot we were supposed to visit the real estate office. Do you still want to do that?”
Bronson was disappointed to have yet another appointment to keep him from having some time with Charli, but right now, duty called. “Yeah. I think Mr. Filchor’s right. We need to move ahead on the assumption that I’ve got two weeks left.” He grimaced. “Is there any chance we can finish in that time?”
Charli took a deep breath, putting her hands on her hips. “Maybe. But it’ll require a lot of late nights.”
Bronson nodded. “I can pay you more.”
Charli shook her head. “No. What you’re paying me is already more than enough. I’m just worried about us getting sloppy by being in too big of a hurry, and that won’t help your case if this goes before the judge. And I suppose we should get out of the competition. It’s too late for that to be of any help to us.”
“Let me worry about that,” Bronson said, taking her hand and walking to the truck. He stopped when Charli tugged on him.
“The realty office isn’t far from Caro’s. Why don’t we just walk? We can stretch our legs and enjoy the warm weather for a few minutes.”
“And get a treat on our way back?” Bronson asked with a smirk.
Charli laughed. “You caught me. I may have a thing for dessert.”
Using their joined hands, Bronson pulled her toward him and gave her a quick peck. “That’s my treat. When we’re done, I’ll make sure you get yours.”