Forgotten Inheritance (Inherit Love Book 6)

by McKenna James

  That’s exactly why he’s ripping into everything Roman has to say in his weak, sob-fest of a defense story.

  “I didn’t convince him to do anything,” he insists. The poor boy looks like he’s going to cry. “Uncle Charles changed his will at the last minute, sure, but I had no say in the matter. He was in his right mind. I didn’t coerce him into doing anything.”

  “Then why weren’t there any witnesses?” Maloney interrogates. It’s the final nail in the coffin. The decisiveness in his words brings me an indescribable amount of joy. “Changes made to legal documents like a last will and testament requires a witness to be present.”

  Roman clenches his jaw. Anger doesn’t suit him. He frowns and turns his hands into fists, but he’s not intimidating. Not to me. I’ve got him backed into a corner, caught in the headlights. Roman’s always been too kind for his own good, too sweet and unassuming. A sucker.

  He’s never had the same business savvy as me. He’s never been as ambitious or as much of a perfectionist as me. The fact that Uncle Charles would leave my inheritance in his hands to use for that stupid charity is utterly ridiculous. I didn’t work my ass off my whole life just to have what’s rightfully mine taken away in the blink of an eye.

  It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. I don’t know how Roman managed to convince Uncle Charles to sign everything over. What pisses me off to no end is that Roman probably doesn’t even have a plan for the money. He’ll waste it on those homeless kids he claims to love so much. Sometimes I wonder if he’s just pretending to be a saint. Nobody can be that selfless. In my world, acts of charity are for show, a presentation to prove to the public that we’re not heartless.

  But everything’s calculated. It has to be. Large charitable donations? They’re really tax write-offs. Nine times out of ten, those charitable donations go straight into charities that belong to us already. The money never really leaves our pocket. It just goes to sit somewhere else. That’s what the world of business is, outsmarting the system for personal gain.

  People who whine about the 1% are just lazy. They complain because it’s free and they have time to waste. None of them saw how hard I had to work just to get a seat at the grown-ups table. I bet Roman’s one of those whiners. Maybe he went to Uncle Charles on his deathbed and somehow convinced him to sign everything over with some God-fearing, soul-saving nonsense.

  That’s got to be it.

  “I told you already,” Roman says, exasperated. “His nurse was right there. She was our witness.”

  “Miss Parson’s already on record saying she wasn’t,” Maloney retorts without missing a beat. “I have a signed statement from her.”

  “It’s got to be fake then. You paid her off. I don’t know what the fuck you did, but it’s not–”

  The judge slams his gavel twice and shoots Roman a pointed look. “Watch your language, Mister Howard, or I will reward the case in Miss Pace’s favor by default.”

  Roman’s shoulders slump. He’s in an ill-fitting suit. Much too tight. The fabric looks cheap—I can tell just by looking at the seams— practically bursting off his big arms and wide shoulders. His shoes don’t look that comfortable either, pinching his toes. I suppose he cleans up well for someone who can’t afford to.

  “Your honor,” he says, “please understand, Phoenix House is a charity that needs–”

  “Exactly,” Maloney interrupts. “A charity. If Mister Blankenship really wanted to give the money to the charity, he could have made a donation. The fact that he named you as his direct beneficiary makes no sense, and also holds no weight without a witness present.”

  “Your honor, I–”

  “Mister Maloney’s right,” the judge says definitively. “Without a witness present, any changes made to Mister Blankenship’s will cannot be considered legal. Considering his state of my mind leading up to his passing, I’m afraid I cannot accept your countersuit, Mister Howard.”

  “But–”

  The gavel comes crashing down, echoing off the empty courtroom walls.

  “I hereby find the case to be for the plaintiff,” the judge announces. “The defendant must repay the inheritance Charlie Pace is owed effectively immediately. Case dismissed.”

  I rise out of my seat, suppressing the triumphant feeling that threatens to burst right out of my chest. I did it. Uncle Charles’ inheritance is mine, just like it was meant to be. I didn’t even have to lift a finger or say a word. Maloney’s really outdone himself this time.

  “Charlie, wait,” Roman calls after me as I blow right past him.

  “Anything you have to say to my client, you can say to me,” Maloney states, purposefully placing himself between me and Roman.

  He ignores my lawyer and rushes after me as we both exit the courtroom. My heels click sharply against the polished tile floors, a deliberate and clear indication that I’m coming through. People move out of the way like they always do, either out of intimidation or respect.

  “Charlie, come on,” Roman begs. “Don’t do this. The kids need that money. I’m not going to spend any of it on myself; you know that. Uncle Charles wouldn’t want this.”

  “I’m running late,” I say calmly, exiting through the courthouse’s main doors. A chilly Chicago breeze sweeps past us both, smelling of petrichor. Tommy’s got the private car pulled up to the curb for me, engine already running and ready to go.

  Roman tries to take my hand. “Charlie, please–”

  I pull away like he’s burned me. “Enough, Roman. You lost. Handle defeat like a man, for God’s sake.”

  “Charlie, the kids–”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Who the fuck hurt you?” he snaps. He never snaps, which is probably why I’m so taken aback. All our lives, Roman’s never been one to stand up for himself. Of course, he never had to. He was Uncle Charles’ favorite. Roman’s wanted for nothing, has never had to work as hard as me. I’ve had to work triple the time with quadruple the effort to get half of what he was given.

  And if that isn’t a perfect metaphor for the life of a businesswoman, I don’t know what is.

  Tommy’s holding the car door open for me.

  I don’t even spare Roman a second glance as I slip inside.

  ~

  I jolt awake.

  That was too detailed and coherent to be a dream. Everything felt so real. The smells, the sounds, the frustration gnawing at the nerves in my neck. Things are slotting into place, piece by sharp piece. But I’m not happy about it. I’m not happy in the slightest because my worst suspicions are now ringing truer and truer.

  I’m was a terrible person.

  Even more disturbing was how terrible I was to Roman.

  I don’t know the full context. I don’t know how long ago things happened. But why wouldn’t Roman mention something like this to me? He made it sound like everything was fine between us, that we got along really well. But the Charlie I saw in my memories doesn’t exactly scream I’m in love. That woman was vile. She was mean and horrendous and didn’t appear at all close to Roman.

  Confusion sweeps through me and makes my head spin.

  None of this makes any sense.

  Roman’s asleep beside me, chest rising and falling gently in the silver glow of the moon through the crack in the curtain. I watch him for a good minute, trying to calm my racing heart. My eyes sting with tears, my nose plugs up, and my mouth is dry. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I can’t stop shivering despite the humid temperature of the room.

  I feel like I’m losing it. I don’t know fact from fiction, dream from reality. I feel like I’m stuck, unable to move forward because I can’t see far enough back.

  Roman wouldn’t lie to me, would he?

  “Charlie?” he mumbles, rolling over to graze my elbow with his finger. “Can’t sleep again?”

  “I… I think I need to go for a walk,” I say under my breath. I get up from bed and throw on a pair of jeans and a loose shirt.

  “A walk?” Roman asks, sitt
ing up. “This late at night?”

  “I need some fresh air.”

  “Is everything alright?”

  I swallow, my throat as parched as the hot island we’re staying on. “Yes,” I lie. “Just feeling restless, is all.”

  “I’ll come with you–”

  “No,” I say, maybe a little too quickly.

  “No?”

  “It’ll be quick, Roman. Don’t worry.”

  Roman gets up anyway. He’s dressed in nothing but his boxers. “It’s not safe, Charlie. Let me come with you.”

  I take a step back, unsure whether or not I should trust him. Something’s off about him. Roman looks kind of nervous, a little sick. Now that I think about it, he’s looked like this the entirety of our honeymoon. I thought that was just what his face looked like. But now I can’t unsee the way his brows are always pulled together slightly in concern. There’s something guilty lingering just beneath his dark brown eyes.

  “I had a weird dream,” I admit.

  “Oh? Want to tell me about it?”

  I find myself staring at his feet. Maybe it’s my way of trying to ground myself. I feel like the floor could open up and swallow me whole at any given moment. This trance-like haze that clouds the inside of my skull makes it near impossible to think straight.

  “We were in a courtroom,” I whisper. Every word takes an eternity to spit out.

  Roman’s still. Abnormally so. He’s holding his breath, watching me like he’s waiting for me to snap.

  “Charlie,” he says cautiously.

  “What were we doing in a courtroom, Roman?”

  “We were never in a courtroom. It was just a dream.”

  Liar, the voice in my head screams. He’s lying.

  He’s lying just like when we were kids and Uncle Charles thought I broke his antique vase from the Ming Dynasty. Roman’s lying just like when we were in high school, and he kept telling everyone he’s a Blankenship when he’s not actually related. He’s lying like when he said he was going to use the inheritance Uncle Charles gave him on his charity, but I know deep down he was going to use it for himself because that’s exactly what I would do.

  Because I’m an awful human being. I’m a bad person who assumes the worst in people because that’s what Uncle Charles trained me to be. He always said the way to get to the top wasn’t through hard, honest work. Only sheer determination and playing the game will lead to success. Honesty never gets a person anywhere. And if honesty never gets a person anywhere, who’s to say that Roman’s being honest with me?

  “Charlie?” his voice pulls me out of my downward spiral. “Do you need to sit down? I’ll grab you a glass of water.”

  “No,” I say, taking another step back.

  I’m not scared of Roman. I know that he won’t physically hurt me. But I don’t think I can stand to be in the same room with him another second. Not until I figure out what’s really going on. As far as I’m concerned, I should have trusted my gut before. I should have known something wasn’t quite right.

  I can’t believe anything he says.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” I say hastily, making for the door. “Don’t wait up.”

  Roman opens his mouth to say something, but I’m already out in the hall.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Roman

  I count the seconds, watch as the minutes pass me by on the digital clock that sits on the bedside table. It was 4:56 AM when Charlie left. It’s officially 8:30 AM.

  She isn’t back.

  I need to go after her. Her external head injury’s effectively all healed, but what if she experiences sudden dizziness or faints somewhere? We’re in an entirely different country. What if Charlie’s lost, and she can’t find her way back? She’s a Chicagoan through and through, so I know she can defend herself if she has to, but the thought of a group of thugs ganging up on her keeps creeping into my mind.

  I should be with her.

  What if she needs me?

  Except I know that she doesn’t. Charlie’s always been super independent. She’s not the kind of person to ask for help, to accept a lending hand. It’s one of the things I admired about her growing up, even if it was also a source of frustration. She’s always dealt with things by herself. Whenever Uncle Charles scolded her, she’d grit her teeth and bare it, even if she wasn’t at fault or if what she did wasn’t actually that bad. Charlie learned from it, grew from it. She became self-reliant.

  Self-reliant to the point of being downright lonely.

  I think that’s why I fell for her. That’s why I want to be there for her, at both her best and worst times. Even if she doesn’t want me around, I want Charlie to know that I’m here. I’m here, and I’ll always be here for her.

  My guts are tied up in impossible knots. My stomach won’t stop flipping. My palms and fingers are disgustingly clammy as I sit on the edge of the bed and continue to worry.

  Where could she be? She said she was going for a walk, but I knew deep down this wasn’t any normal walk. Charlie looked so confused when she woke up last night. Confused and alarmed at the same time. A terrible combination. I wanted to help, wanted to go with her, but then Charlie mentioned the courthouse, and I aged a million years.

  She remembers. If not the full story, then enough of it. But the fact remains that she’s recalling more and more, and I can’t keep up this façade any longer. Charlie’s smart. Always has been. Sooner or later, she’s going to realize that we’re not actually married, and I’ll be in a world of much deserved trouble.

  I need to tell her.

  Or else I’ll lose her.

  The front door to the suite clicks open. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten up faster.

  Charlie’s back, a little flushed in the cheeks. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, her hair’s a little frazzled from her walk, and her face is paler than I’ve ever seen it before. I rush over, concerned that she’s one step away from keeling over. She looks terrible, a mix of exhausted and stressed.

  “Hey,” I say gently. “Where were you? I was really worried.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbles. “I wound up at the beach.”

  “The beach?”

  “Yeah. Just to sit and think.”

  “Oh. Okay.” The butterflies in my stomach threaten to burst out of my chest. “Do you… Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not… Not really. I’m sorry, Roman. I’m just really…” Her voice gets tight, and her eyes get watery. “I’m just really tired.”

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  I move to try to give her a hug, but she takes a step back. I won’t lie and say that it doesn’t sting.

  “How about you lie down?” I suggest. “Get some sleep?”

  Charlie rubs at her temples and nods slowly. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that.”

  But before either of us can make a move, five sharp knocks sound at the front door in quick succession. Whoever’s on the other side has a fire lighting up their ass because they don’t stop knocking until I answer the door.

  “Miss Pace?” a young woman calls, exasperated, sweeping right past me. She’s got knobby knees and a mess of curly red hair. Her complexion’s a bit blotchy, but I chalk it up to the fact that she’s wearing a pantsuit in tropical island weather.

  “M-Molly?” Charlie stutters. “What are you doing here?”

  Shit. Shit, no. This can’t be happening.

  “How did you find me?” Charlie asks, almost like she’s reading my mind.

  Molly crosses her arms over her flat chest. Her navy-blue blazer appears tighter than it needs to be.

  “I’m the one who booked the hotel, remember?”

  “Oh, um… No, I don’t.”

  “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days,” she huffs. Her voice is nasally and high-pitched. “What’s going on, Miss Pace? You haven’t taken a vacation in almost five years. And what the hell are you doing with him?” Molly points a sharply manicured finger at me.

  Charli
e blinks. “I told you. I’m here on my honeymoon. This is my husband.”

  Fuck.

  My chest is caving in. My heart’s pounding so fast and hard I’m sure I’m about to pop a vessel. The acid in my stomach rises into my throat, coating my tongue with a sharp bitterness I can’t seem to get rid of.

  Molly glares at me. “Impossible. Since when?”

  “Since…” Charlie trails off, casts her eyes to the floor. “I… I don’t know when, exactly.”

  Molly looks at me and turns red. “What the fuck did you do to her? Did you brainwash her or something?”

  I don’t say anything. Not because I’m scared, but because I literally have no words to explain myself. I knew this was going to blow up in my face. There’s no way out. I’ve done something unforgiveable, and now the universe is coming after me for my overdue comeuppance.

  Molly takes Charlie’s hands in her own. “I knew it. I knew something was wrong. I should have come looking for you as soon as you told me to hold off on the acquisition forms. You’ve been looking to takeover Hollandson Media for ages now. It isn’t like you to just sit on something that important.”

  A flash of recognition sweeps past Charlie’s expression. “Hollandson Media… I totally forgot about that. I’d been planning their corporate takeover for years.” Charlie slowly brings her gaze up to me, stunned horror gracing her brows. “Roman? Tell me the truth.”

  “Charlie–”

  “Tell me the truth,” she snaps, an edge to her words. She’s beginning to sound more and more like her old self. Authoritative. Commanding.

  Standing before me is old Charlie.

  New Charlie is seeping back into the cracks, disappearing inch by inch.

  My heart twists as my lungs shred themselves to irreparable pieces.

  “We’re… We’re not married.” The words are lead weights on my tongue.

  I’ll never forget the look on Charlie’s face. Pure betrayal. Pure rage.