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“What?” Derek rolled up his sleeves with a smirk. “We are all aware Miss Dalton suffered a terrible concussion and hasn’t been able to make a sound decision since. Headaches. Delusions. Mood swings. I have plenty of witnesses that can attest to it.”
Fucking bastard.
“It’s you who’s not right in the head, cousin.” Leaning across the table, Ian got in his face. “Breanna sent the papers to her mom to look over, and their attorney, so, for now, she’s not signing.”
So what if he fibbed a little, right?
“I gave you one simple task, Ian,” he said through gritted teeth.
Francie looked up from her plate. “What papers?”
“Your darling nephew here concocted a shitload of phony documents bequeathing the entirety of Valerie’s estate to Dalton Trust Development Opco—which happens to be Derek, by the way.”
“Nooo, it’s all of us. And Breanna gets a million.”
“How generous of you.” Ian rolled his eyes.
If it wasn’t for his mother and his aunt, he’d wipe the haughty smirk off Derek’s face. With his fist.
“I thought so, considering she hasn’t earned her rightful place here.”
“Through no fault of her own,” Pamela said, throwing down her fork.
“Derek.” Francie held her hands to her cheeks. “Think about what you’re doing, honey.”
“Fraud, forgery, embezzlement, misappropriation of funds.” Ian cut into his eggs with a shrug. “Shall I keep going?”
“This isn’t at all what Valerie wanted,” Francie said, as if her saying so would make any difference.
“Why should you care what that old bitch wanted? It was our family who helped make the Daltons rich from the very beginning and she stole it from us.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Derek tipped his chin at their aunt. “Come on, look at you, nothing more than a servant who wasted her life cooking and cleaning for that woman.”
“No one forced me to care for Valerie and this house.” Raising her voice, Francie tore the napkin from her lap and threw it on the table. “Mr. Keeler and I met here. We built a life we love here, and this is where I want to be.”
Francie never yelled. The silence that followed, then, was deafening.
Ian glanced around the table. His arm around his wife, her kind eyes filling behind her glasses, Ted stared daggers at Derek. The callous fucker shrugged, indifferent to the fact he’d shown no regard for Francie’s feelings.
“Apologize to your aunt,” Pamela seethed. “Now.”
Though it’s unlikely he would have, Derek never got the chance to. Breanna came in, and reading the tension in the room, quietly said, “Good morning.”
“Miss Dalton.” Thank fuck. As he stood, Ian pulled out a chair for her between him and his mother. “Can I fix you a plate?”
“Uh, sure.” Her gaze flicking around the table, she tentatively sat down. “Thanks.”
Offering Breanna a half-hearted smile, his mother cleared her throat. Still trying to collect herself, Francie stared down at her half-eaten plate. The ringing of Derek’s phone was almost a welcome intrusion. He picked it up and silenced it.
“It’s Miranda, dear.” Peeking over his shoulder, Pamela smirked. “You probably want to take that.”
“Excuse me a moment,” Derek said with a huff, and left the room.
Sitting down with Breanna’s breakfast, Ian grazed her back with his fingertips. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough.” She picked up her fork, silently tucking into her food.
“I’m sorry.”
Her lips parted to speak, but then Derek came back in. “My apologies, but I have to return to the city.”
