Chapter 47 Mila Bright sunshine hurt my eyes, and I shielded them to scan the road outside my apartment block. He wasn't here. Convict hadn't been in the living room when I'd jerked awake, fell off the sofa, knocking a pile of paperwork to the floor, then stumbled blindly to the bedroom. He wasn't there. Nor the bathroom or anywhere. His car was missing, too. He'd gone. I finally lost faith in him coming back. Worse was that I'd overslept and had to rush to throw on clothes and get ready. I'd called my brother, and to my relief, he'd shown up. Kane opened the car door and gestured for me to get in. "Aren't ye⁠-" I threw myself inside. "I don't want to talk about it." He shrugged and slammed the door. We drove across town to the lawyer's office without speaking. I jabbed the radio to try to drown out my thoughts. 'I hope you hate me' by Dead Poet Society blasted out. I stabbed again at the screen to turn it off. For weeks, we'd been building up to this moment, except it was meant to be me and Convict, side by side. He'd abandoned me. Hadn't I caused that? I'd been angry at him. I'd refused to give him what he wanted. I loved him, and he'd left me despite all the promises that he wouldn't. My lost boy had done what they always did and returned to his own world. Tears welled, and I dashed them away. Thank God my brother didn't comment on that. We entered the chilly reception of Cochran Family Solicitors and were shown into a meeting room so thick with people, Kane had to carve a path through. They argued around us, the noise deafening. Complaints, decisions about how the morning would go. Like they had a say. Because of the intricacies of the legal situation, everything needed to happen in a sequence. The will reading came first, hence the long queue of relatives who all wanted their slice of the pie, their voices raised and clamouring for attention. After that was done, we could get on with the meeting that finally decided the future of the business. If my senses weren't muted by a wall of pain, it could've overwhelmed me. Yet it felt like a dream, and I was a spirit drifting through it. With low energy, I scanned the room for my grandmother. She wasn't here yet, but the Marchant-Smythes and a dozen other family members sat around the polished conference table or stood with their backs to the wall like the world's greediest peanut gallery. "Move," Kane snapped to a couple of people taking up seats at the table they weren't entitled to. They grumbled but left. He settled me in one before taking the other himself. In black leggings and one of Convict's skeleton crew shirts, I was nothing like the woman who used to work so diligently for Marchant Haulage. With all I'd learned and suspected, I couldn't bring myself to be her anymore. I'd stared at the smart blouses and pencil skirts but couldn't choose them. The version of me who would do anything to save this business no longer existed. I might not have the whole truth, but I was certain of the lies. A lawyer entered the space, followed by two flunkies. He took a seat directly opposite us. "If we could bring the noise level down, please." The buzz of angry chatter simmered. The lawyer peered over his glasses to take in the attendees. At the end of the table, a woman lurched to her feet. "In light of the unbearable situation after Austin dying on us, I feel⁠-" "Madam, sit down. I will outline the agenda, and if there is a need for input, I will ask for it." The lawyer shuffled his papers, his annoyance plain. "You have your agenda, but we are the family who no one thought about for weeks," she griped. "Listen to me⁠-" "Shut it," Kane intoned. The woman froze with her mouth open. "Excuse me?" He didn't look at her. "The lawyer is leading this, not you. Save your breath." Outrage filled her features, and she planted her hands on her hips. As small and as cold and as alone as I felt, I was right at the end of my tether. I switched my gaze to her. "Enough. You're in the way. Be quiet." Never would I have spoken to a member of the family like that in the past, but to my surprise, it did the trick. She plonked back down on her seat with an aggrieved mutter to her neighbours about how rude I'd become. The lawyer's frown settled on me then swept the room once more. "I ask for silence until the reading is complete." He switched his gaze to one of his assistants who opened the door. Wallace entered, followed by my grandmother. My heart thumped out of time. With her silver-blonde hair cut in a bob, she was the image of the stylish, poised woman I'd known since I was a young teen. Except her gaze didn't seek me out. Instead, my grandmother took a seat at the table and stared straight ahead. Wallace slumped in the seat next to her, appearing as bored as he always did in any company meeting. I couldn't stop staring at his mum. I'd been doing this for her, but I wasn't sure why anymore. The only thing I was certain about was Convict, and he'd done what he'd promised he wouldn't. He'd vanished on me at the moment I needed him most. And it was all my fault. The lawyer talked through the preliminaries, noting the exceptional circumstances and significant legal toil to get to this point. My brother leaned into me. "I have to say it. I'm surprised to see ye here." "Why?" "Figured you'd be part of the hunt for your boyfriend, but I guess you're Marchant to the core." "The hunt? What do you mean? He was gone when I woke. He didn't answer my calls." By now, he'd broken our four-hour rule which had told me our deal was off, just like I'd asked. "Arran said the cops have him." I stared, and my world compressed to his words. "I am able to read the will," the lawyer continued, "but I'm afraid to say the meeting to decide the future of the company will almost certainly not go ahead today." A chorus of dismayed voices reacted. Angry relatives demanded to know why. Cochran spoke over the sound, confirming the document he was reading and that my grandfather had been of sound mind when he wrote it. I could only stare at my brother. "Point one. Equal voting rights go to my beloved wife, our remaining son, Wallace, and our three grandchildren." The room fell silent. The lawyer continued. "With that said, you will understand that the meeting requires attendance of all eligible voters. However, the fifth named individual has not been in contact or responded to our meeting requests or correspondence." S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ƒind ηøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I barely registered the explanation, but Kane had gone deathly still. "Fifth voter? Who?" he said. "Darcy Marchant, child of Able Marchant. Your sibling," the lawyer snipped. A squabble ensued. There was another sibling. A secret third child who shared a father with Kane and me. The empty yellow-coded folder screamed at me, mocking with how obvious it had been. Yet none of that mattered in the moment, because at last, I found my feet and made for the door. What the hell did I care about Marchant Haulage anymore? Convict needed me.