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He lowered his hands to the table and angled himself toward me, speaking slowly. “I’mnothingwithout my company. I will have nothing. I willbenothing. And she’ll have finally won.”
“I get that you’re apparently in the middle of an identity crisis, and I’m sure being married to me doesn’t help with any of that” — I shoved my chair out and stood — “but have a little faith that I know what I’m doing.”
He caught my wrist. “You misunderstand.”
“That you’re obsessed with beating a ghost? Nope. Understand it perfectly.” I tried to pull away, but he had a vice grip on me and all I accomplished was spinning him in his chair.
Keeping ahold of me, he stood slowly, biting his lower lip. “I want to be worthy of you, Bennett. If I lose my inheritance, the Corporation… what do I have to offer?”
“You!” I stared at him incredulously. “I don’t want your money. I don’t need your money. You could lose everything tomorrow and I’d give two shits, Leander.Thisis why I’m with you,” I said, laying a hand over his heart. “Thisis all I want. Maybe a little bit of this, too.” I grazed the front of his pants with a smirk.
He cracked a smile and immediately shook his head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re ridiculous. Now let’s go see what this idiot wants.”
* * *
Oswald Farnsworth IIIwas one of the most vainglorious windbags I’d ever encountered in my life. Considering my chosen profession, that was saying something.
For starters, he was late to the meetinghecalled. Once he finally waddled in, he had the balls to try and throwmeout.
“This is a confidential meeting, sir,” Oswald droned. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait in the lobby.”
“And I’m afraid you’re going to have to get bent,sir,” I replied with a smile and flicked my business card at him across the long table. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Sniffing, he swept the card to the side and pulled a classification folder closer to him. Instead of delving into the heart of the matter, he thought he’d pussyfoot around some more, going over details of the account that could have all been summed up in an email or at least a phone call.
Halfway through it, I kicked my feet up onto the glossy conference room table and leaned back in my chair, rocking back on two legs. For added measure I groaned occasionally and started clicking my pen. If I had gum, I would have been snapping it nonstop, hoping if I irritated this prick enough he’d speed things up.
For his part, Leander remained mostly still and utterly silent. The only part of him that moved was the slow, methodical drumming of his fingers on the table. His pinky went first, down the row to his index finger, and cycling back again.
“As the trustee over the family’s account,” Oswald said, clearing his throat with a phlegmy cough, “it is my duty to inform you that certain violations have come to our attention.”
If it was possible, Leander’s spine went even more rigid. His fingers stopped drumming immediately. “What are you talking about?”
“For starters, your recent murder trial has brought into question your mental health — mental health being one of the many conditions—”
“Let’s stop right there,” I said, clicking my pen once more and pointing it at Oswald. “You don’t have the authority to determine the state of his mental health, trustee or not.”
“No, but seeing as he was recently evaluated for amurdertrial, I think it’s safe to say the courts would agree with me that these are not the actions of a rational man.”
I rolled my eyes. “Determining one’s fitness to stand trial is not the same as a declaration of insanity. You and I both know you’re reaching, Ozzy.”
“He washospitalized,” Oswald challenged.
“For anevaluation,” I threw back at him with the same snarl, “which has zero bearing on what you’re claiming.” At that moment, Lorelei’s fucking article was front and center in my brain. If she didn’t rescind it and this fuckwit got a hold of it, Leander would most certainly be ruined. Then I’d really fucking kill her.
Oswald bristled. “Between his court-ordered confinement and his mysterious disappearance, one can argue Mr. Welles’s behavior in general is suspect. Not to mention, he violated the residency requirement by being gone for so long.”
Leander glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tensing.
“Last time I checked, a vacation doesn’t mean you give up residency,” I countered.
“Moving out of the family home does.”
I raised my brows at the old coot. “Oh, really? He moved? Or simply relocated during the extensive renovations at the ‘family home’? I can argue the definition of residency all fucking day. Shall we look at the tax code or the civil code for a definition? Or how about we check in with the goddamn post office to see what address he has on file? I have more than enough ways to prove his residency in whatever courtroom you want to take this to.”
Oswald continued blathering on, apparently intent on ignoring all of my counterpoints. “And then there is also the matter of your so-called marriage.”
