“To do what?” he asked, already worried about what Libby was going to run into when she and her family arrived at the courthouse.
“Oh, they’d wave the deed and Frank’s pathetic will that I’m sure there’s a copy of around here somewhere…”
Somewhere like the jukebox.
“And then we’d just tell them to go away.”
Law’s jaw loosened. “That’s what they’re going to do?”
“No. You’re going to buy the place.”
He blinked at her. “I am?”
“Assuming you have money in your pocket.”
“Probably not enough, but—”
“Do you have a dollar?”
He nodded.
“Good, then you have enough.” She turned the paper toward him. “This is a bill of sale that will stand up in court. There might be some official stamping that needs to be done, of course, but my lawyer will arrange that when you arrive.”
“You’re selling me the Toasted Pelican for a dollar?”
“One dollar. I’m told that’s the minimum allowed to ‘gift’ a business in the state of Florida.”
Nothing computed. Nothing at all. “Why?”
“Oh yes, it’s because you’re young and handsome and have big dreams for the place, but it’s more than that, too.” Her eyes misted, and she leaned forward. “You remind me of Frank, in a good way. In the way that I fell so hard for before…before it all broke apart so brutally.”
Was this even possible? Everything was done and easy and cheap? This was one contingency plan he and Libby had never thought of—but she would love it. And he’d better stop talking, start signing, and get over to the Collier County Courthouse ASAP.
“Are there any stipulations?” he asked. “Like I can’t change anything, or it has to be exclusively a restaurant, or…anything at all?”
“Well, yes,” she said. “You need to keep the name because I was the one who called it the Toasted Pelican.”
“Really? After a drunk bird? Or the one who loved toast?”
“Tsk, as if I’d be so simple. The brown pelican is endangered, or it was back in the day. And I dearly loved animals, and I wanted one that would never be extinct. So I named it after the brown pelican in hopes that it would last forever. Some things don’t, you know.”
No, many things don’t, he thought. And he couldn’t be happier. “But some things do last forever.” Like Law and Libby and this place and their lives. “So you’re good as long as the word ‘pelican’ is in the name?”
She lifted a dubious brow. “You drive a hard bargain, Lawson.” Then she nodded. “Fine.”
“And there’s no other catch?”
She gestured to the bottom of the document. “Please take your time and read the fine print. If you choose to do so, however, I will need coffee and a sandwich, because I’m feeling peckish, and legalese makes me positively sick to my stomach.”
He grinned, looking down at the thick paragraph of single-spaced words that looked like Sam had vomited them on the page. Jake would have had a few choice things to say about those paragraphs.
Law skimmed. The only words jumping out at him were heirs, null and void, and destruction of property. He frowned, remembering the will he’d found. “Frank had a stipulation that only his heirs could ever own this place, or it would be destroyed.”
“I’m his heir, and that sentence?” She pointed to the very one with a gnarled, veiny finger. “That eliminates the validity of his will.”
So she had read the fine print.
“Do you have ham? Because if I have to sit here one minute longer, I will need a ham sandwich.”
But he had to get to the mainland and fast. “There’s a convenience store on the corner.”
“I’d rather die of malnutrition than speak to that woman.”
He laughed. “Then let’s move fast. I can send you home with a sandwich. Where do I sign, Rosie?”
By the time Law was halfway across the causeway to Naples, he’d formed one last plan. When he presented Libby with this amazing new twist in their life story, he might do it…on one knee.
She’d lose her balance and fall right into his arms…forever.
Chapter Twenty-five
As Libby, Sam, and Jasmine climbed out of Sam’s Escalade in the parking lot of the Collier County Courthouse, a horn honked loud and long.
Libby whirled around, her gaze landing on a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked in the next row.
“She beat us here?” Libby asked, tamping down the disappointment that the honking was from her mother and not Law.
“I wasn’t sure she’d come at all,” Sam said, putting the car in park. “She’s absolutely convinced Law switched the DNA, and she didn’t even want to be here.”
“Not even for moral support?” Libby unbuckled her seat belt and glanced at Jasmine in the back. “This whole thing was her idea.”
“Oh, you know Gran,” Jasmine said. “It all depends on what role her inner director told her to play this morning. We may get super-supportive Mom or scorned lover or determined fighter with a cause.”
Libby rolled her eyes and greeted her mother, who’d chosen a wildly colored maxi dress that made Libby doubt she was playing any of the parts Jasmine mentioned. “Quirky hippie actress Mom?” Libby asked.
“Where is he?” Mom asked, looking past all of them.
Ah, she was the accusing mom, no doubt looking for the evidence-tampering chef who she and she alone knew was a liar. Well, she’d hated him ever since they’d found the picture of her with Jake, and no doubt it was because Law knew that Jake wasn’t a jerk and her mother had been coloring that truth all along.
“He’s not here yet,” Libby said. “But he will be.”
He mother sniffed as if she didn’t believe it, but Sam ushered them all toward the bright white building with massive black windows. “Come on, our hearing starts in twenty minutes.”
After they got through the metal detectors, Sam nodded toward the elevator and Libby looked once more into the parking lot.
“He’ll be here,” Jasmine whispered. “He probably got caught in Naples traffic.”
“Or he’s already waiting inside,” her mother said. “With the new will in his hand. Oh, surprise, surprise. Jake left him everything. That other one was a forgery.”
Libby shot her a look. “You’re wrong about him,” she said simply.
“Was I wrong about Carlos?” she muttered. “Or Parker?”
Jasmine leaned closer on the other side. “Just breathe,” she whispered to Libby. “We’re going to be fine. And he’ll get here. And, Gran, you chill. Mom’s happy. Don’t you want her to be happy?”
“I want her to be safe from men who will ruin her life.”
“You were ready to lick him like a human ice cream cone when you met him.”
“He was almost naked. I was dazzled.”
“Join the club.” Libby squeezed her daughter’s hand and held it through the elevator ride. When the doors opened, a man standing outside Courtroom C turned and looked expectantly at them.
“Mr. Chesterfield?” he asked.
Sam hesitated and frowned. “Yes?”
He extended his hand, a cool smile on a distinguished face that exuded power and confidence. “I’m Michael Sanderson of Sanderson Neville Bainbridge and Simmons.”
“Ooh, that’s a mouthful,” Jasmine joked under her breath, but Libby gave her a quick look to hush her, already not liking this interruption.
But Sam seemed impressed, drawing back with raised eyebrows and adjusting his glasses like he did when he was meeting someone important. “Oh, Mr. Sanderson. What a pleasure to meet you. What brings you to Collier County? To Florida, for that matter? And…how do you know who I am?”
“I represent Mrs. Bickford.”
“Pardon?” Sam asked.
“Rosalind James Rice Stuart Bickford.”
“Is that another law firm with too many names?” Jasmine leaned in to whisper.
On Libby’s other side, Mom stiffened like someone poked her in the back.
“No.” Libby sighed as the name registered. So it wouldn’t be that easy. Maybe Rosie had a price. She glanced at the elevator, willing it to open and Law to appear.
Sam took a millisecond to gather his thoughts before speaking, but the older man moved closer and gestured toward another door. “I’ve taken the liberty of reserving a conference room to discuss the case. It seemed only fair before my motion to dismiss is read by the judge.”
“Motion to dismiss?” Libby murmured.
Mom was still stiff as a board, and Libby half expected her to blame Law for this. But she was ghostly white, staring at the man.
Sam frowned, looking uncertain of the situation, something one rarely saw on her always cool and collected brother. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware of a motion to dismiss.”
“We just filed it this morning.”
“A little late, isn’t it?”
“Not technically, Counselor. Follow me.”
Sam bristled at the order and shot Libby a look, but no one said a word. The conference room was freezing and bathed in a yellowish fluorescent light that made her mother’s face look like someone had poured a gallon of milk over her.
“Are you okay?” Libby asked softly.
She closed her eyes. “I shouldn’t have come,” she muttered. “Can I leave?”
“Mrs. Chesterfield?” The lawyer came right up to Mom, reaching his hand out. “Good of you to be here.”
Libby wanted to ask why was it good, but the whole thing was just too surreal to speak.
“You certainly didn’t have to be present,” he continued. “But I’m sure my client will appreciate your supporting her position and decision.”
What position and decision? And why would Donna Chesterfield’s presence matter to this old lady who they weren’t even sure was still alive? Libby and Sam shared an equally confused silent exchange, but Mom averted her eyes and looked like she’d pay big money for an escape hatch.
“What is this motion to dismiss?” Sam asked without sitting down.
Sanderson didn’t respond, but took a seat where papers were already lined up in neat piles. “It’s simpler, now that the property has been sold.”
“Sold?” Libby, Sam, and Jasmine all spoke at the same time, and even Mom sat up and seemed to come back to the living.
He reached for a document in front of him. “Sold this morning, paperwork is complete, I’m waiting for the buyer and a notary to arrive, and—”
“How can it be sold?” Libby exclaimed. “We weren’t given a chance to make an offer.”
“Not only that,” Sam said. “Judge Reinhart issued a temporary deed of ownership to Liberty Management Corporation.”
“He did indeed, and that expired last night at midnight, as you well know.”
Did she? A low-grade panic bubbled up in Libby’s gut. “So it’s over? It’s sold? No chance of an offer to anyone?”
“I’m waiting for the buyer to arrive at any minute, when I’ll call in the notary, but he met with my client this morning, and they both signed a very amicable and simple real estate exchange agreement, which, as I understand it, has been in the works for a while, ever since my client met the new buyer.”
White sparks popped behind Libby’s eyes. “How can that be possible?” she demanded of Sam.
“The agreement did expire less than twelve hours ago,” Sam said. “And anyone with prior knowledge of the agreement could have arranged to sign the property over in the few hours between midnight and…” Sam looked at his watch. “Five minutes from now.”
“Who would know that?” Libby asked.
Her mother snorted. “You can’t make an educated guess?”
Libby whipped around and glared at her. “Law was in bed with me until seven o’clock and will be here any minute. I sincerely doubt he had time to arrange a secret rendezvous—”
The door popped open with so much force it smacked into the wall as Law burst into the room. “Don’t start without me.”
“Law.” Libby almost leaped over the table that separated them, relief rushing through her.
“Mr. Monroe?” Sanderson stood and offered a hand and a smile. “We were just talking about you.”
All that relief turned ice cold. “We were?” Libby croaked.
“My client was delighted you accepted the offer,” Sanderson continued. “Although, at that price, it would be tough to turn down. Am I understanding correctly that you are acquainted with the Chesterfields?”
Law gave a quick laugh. “Pretty well.” He glanced at Libby’s mother, who was practically sputtering now. “Well, some of them.”
Libby pressed her hands to the table and willed blood back into her brain. “You…worked out a deal with Rosie?”
Law turned to her, his eyes bright, fighting a smile. “I did. It’s done and, damn, the price was right. We can make everything top notch now and exactly how we want—”
“Um…excuse me.” Sanderson held up a hand. “You purchased the property, Mr. Monroe. The contract was quite clear.”
“Clear enough. Especially the one-dollar price point. Check it out, Counselor.” Law tossed a piece of paper on the table so it slid in front of Sam. “Rosie paid me a visit this morning, told me she was impressed with my cooking, made me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”
Libby blinked and tried to process what he was saying, but failed. He saw Rosie? This morning?
“How convenient,” her mother said. “They met right after he got out of bed with you, Libby.”
“Mom.”
“Gran.”
“I’m sorry, but look how cocky he is.”
“Cocky?” Law choked.
The argument was lost on Libby as her mind and heart went to war. Was her mother right? Had she once again trusted a man she shouldn’t have? It was convenient.
Convenient that he forgot a suit. Convenient that he was the only person outside of their family who knew the temporary ownership expired at midnight. Convenient that he somehow met the owner in the restaurant while it was closed and signed a deal.
Doubts strangled her. As hard as she tried to swallow them away by remembering what they’d shared that morning, she couldn’t. Not completely. Still silent, she pressed her hands to her mouth and tried with everything she had in her to trust him, but…she was failing.
Come on, Libby. Come on. Believe him.
“The fact is,” Sanderson continued, “the place is yours, but Ms. Chesterfield is not to have anything to do with it or profit from the business in any way. And that is quite clear in the contract you signed.”
Libby sat back, mostly from the force in the man’s words, looking over at Sam, who was vehemently shaking his head as he read. “There’s nothing about her in this contract.”
“No, there isn’t,” Law said. “I’d have noticed that.”
“She’s right there,” Sanderson replied. “You both are, Sam. See clause two, point seven, line nine. Purchaser is expressly forbidden to share ownership or profit with any biological heir of Franklyn Moore Rice.”
For a long, painful, heart-stopping moment, no one spoke.
Except Libby’s mother, who whimpered.
Finally, Jasmine leaned forward. “Are you saying that this old, dead Frank guy is my mother and uncle’s biological father?”
The lawyer’s gray brows furrowed as he shifted his attention to the woman sinking deeper into a cowering ball.
Libby dropped back into her seat with a thud. This was not happening. It was not. Not again. Not again. Trust Law? She couldn’t trust her own mother. She couldn’t trust anyone.
“Thank you, Mr. Sanderson.” Her mother’s voice was rich with sarcasm as she slowly stood, gathering herself the way she did before a big onstage monologue. “Thank you so very much for this special family moment.”
Libby couldn’t turn. Her head was so heavy, she couldn’t look at her brother or Sanderson or Jasmine or even across th
e room where Law still stood. And she especially could not bear to look at her mother. She just stared at the wood grain in the conference room table and listened to her pulse pound in her head.
“My lover was a married man.” She used her Donna-onstage voice as she ground out the words like she was chewing glass. “My mistake was great, but his power was greater. He wanted me to have an abortion. No, no. Let me be clear. His wife, your esteemed puppeteer of a client, wanted me to have an abortion. When I refused, she tried everything, including offering money to one Jake Peterson to marry me. And guess what?” She stepped back from the table, commanding every eye in the room now. “He said yes.”
“Because he loved you,” Law murmured.
She gave a dramatic flick of her hand. “If that’s true, I was too blinded by another man. So I refused that charade because I wanted one thing and one man.” Her voice trembled. “Frank Rice. But he…” Her voice hitched. “He wouldn’t leave his wife for me.”
She exhaled and put a hand on Jasmine’s shoulder, who covered it with her own. “It’s okay, Gran. We all make mistakes.”
No, Libby thought. It’s not okay. Another father—and this one—was not okay. “Why did you lie?” Libby asked on a rough whisper.
“Because Rosalind proceeded to make my life a living hell, threatening to ruin my father’s business, wreck my mother’s reputation, and accuse me of all manner of atrocities.”
“Forty-five years ago,” Sam reminded her.
She shook her head as if it had been forty-five minutes. “She will always have power, and if you don’t believe me, look at exactly what’s going on in this room. Anyway, I finally left, the loser. I think she thanked Jake for his kindness by letting him continue to run the Pelican and keep the profits. Of course, their marriage ended, but I had already found Mike by then. But she stole any chance I had at happiness with Frank.”
“Mom!” Libby choked on the word. “The guy was thirty years older than you and married to another woman.”
“And miserable. She was cold and hateful and calculating and only wanted his money.” She pointed at the lawyer. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but did she not divorce the other two rich men for millions, also?”
Barefoot at Midnight (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 3) Page 25
