Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
“Your wife is dead?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You said she’s not alive.” He leaned forward. “Did I mishear you?”
“Yes, you did. What I said was that she’s…” I shook my head. “I can have that to you with a bit more time, I’m sure.”
“Sounds great.” He smiled. “I’m off after today for the holidays, and I’m sure you have huge holiday plans, so my partner Kyle will give you a call about verifying the marriage license by the end of the week, if that’s alright.”
“Perfect.”
“I’m sure we have nothing to worry about with a man of your stature, but—” He paused. “Given the amount of money at stake, we’ll have to do our due diligence at every turn, no matter what it takes to make sure your father’s wishes are being met.”
“That’s exactly what I want, too.” I seethed behind my smile, escorting him to the door.
The moment I was certain he and his delusional team were locked away on the elevator, I looked at Jenna.
“This is the part where you give me a solution, Miss Dawson.”
She gave me a blank stare.
“Say something, anything.”
“I don’t think you’re getting that inheritance anytime soon.”
“Something helpful.”
“Your tie is crooked.”
“Funny.” I held back a groan. “How tight is that clause they mentioned?”
“Ironclad.”
“Not a single loophole?”
“Not unless you’re widowed.”
“Do you know any women who’ve died recently?” I asked. “I can get someone to backdate a marriage license.”
She shut her briefcase and pushed her chair up to the table. “I’m going to go get lunch.”
“No, wait.” I was determined to beat this nonsense a different way. “Call me the top notary in the city and have him here within the hour.”
4
NICHOLAS
An Hour Later
“For the umpteenth time, Mr. Saint, I’m not committing a felony for you…” The notary shook his head.
“How the hell is what I’m asking for a felony?” I asked.
“Because you’re requesting that I lie on a federal document,” he said. “Not only that, but you’re asking me to make up an entire human being who doesn’t exist.”
“It’s a bullshit marriage license.” I waved a hand. “No one checks into these things.”
“You don’t think Nicholas Saint—i.e., the wealthiest man in this state—getting married to a ‘Jane Ashley Smith’ will draw intrigue from anyone?”
“Not anyone who matters.”
“What about thirsty reporters who are constantly tracking everything you do?”
“Surely you can recommend some decent hitmen, given your profession.”
“That’s it.” He shut his briefcase and stood up from the chair. “Please tell your assistant that she’s the loveliest person I’ve ever met, and whenever you have something I can legally do, give me a call. Goodbye.”
“I’m not validating your parking.”
“Miss Dawson already did.” He didn’t bother shaking my hand. He just left my office.
This was such bullshit.
I paced the floor, dragging a hand through my hair, resisting the urge to pull down every painting and hurl them across the room one by one.
I’d been looking forward to this date for years.
Fucking years, and I’d developed the kind of patience that slowly grows into entitlement.
I assigned my in-house legal team to literally reread the terms and conditions every three months, and not once did any of them send up a red flag about this newest clause that my father somehow sent from his grave.
They’re fired…
Furious, I walked over to my desk and picked up the phone.
I knew someone who actually would break the law to help, but I wasn’t sure if it was worth it.
Yet.
I dialed the number I knew by heart, and the line didn’t even get a chance to ring.
“This is Damien Carter of Hamilton & Associates,” my private and personal lawyer answered. “What do you need?”
“I need you to start answering my calls with a greeting,” I said. “I believe I pay you enough for that, so ‘Hello, Nicholas,’ ‘Happy holidays, Nicholas,’ and ‘How are you, Nicholas,’ are a few you can choose from.”
“I charge by the minute, but since you’re in the mood to spend money on me today—hello, Nicholas. Sit back, relax, and tell me all about your childhood…”
“Point taken,” I said. “I need advice on an inheritance issue. It was due to me, but there’s been a hiccup in processing.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that,” he said. “A consummation clause was added within the past two years, and you’re still not married.”
“How did you know that?”
“I’m your lawyer.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this shit sooner?”
“I tried to,” he said. “I called your assistant and tried to get through to you about it for months. She gave me the same excuse every time: Mr. Saint says he’ll deal with this matter later.”
“Did I get billed for these phantom phone calls and messages?”
“Absolutely.” There was a smile in his voice. “You’re getting billed right now.”
Of course.
“I need a workaround for the consummation clause,” I said. “Surely there’s some way I can get out of it, some type of ‘client is allergic to marriage’ rule so that way it doesn’t apply to me.”