Shattered Dynasty by Ava Harrison
3
Trent
I know.Dick move.
But I’m not one to stand on principles.
I guess when I got into business with the underworld, some of their scruples rubbed off on me.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve always been a dick.
Letting this girl think I was an attorney was low but worth it to watch her ogle me. Not that I need the ego boost. Mine is already large enough to fill a football stadium. Still, it was fun fucking with her, regardless.
The real question is, who is she? And why the hell is she at the reading of my father’s will?
“Hello, Trent.” Larry Baker wipes the sweat off his palms and reaches into his inner suit pocket, fishing for something. “I have a letter from your father that he wanted you to read.”
The short, bald man I know to be my father’s attorney hands me an envelope. I have no desire to take it, but I do anyway. I won’t read it now. Nor will I probably ever read it. Nevertheless, I put it in the inside pocket of my suit jacket.
“Can we get this over with?” I scoff. On a list of things I want to be doing today, this rates right below getting a root canal.
“We need to wait for a few more people,” he says, and the urge to pace out my aggravation kicks at my legs.
Instead, I stride to the window and pretend to stare out, studying the two of them in the reflection without them knowing.
“What’s the point? He had nothing,” I mutter under my breath.
The man was broke.
“Trent, can you please just have a seat? As soon as your sister and mother get here, we can proceed.” Mr. Baker turns to the girl cowering in the chair in the corner. “Payton, is your sister coming?”
She nods.
“Who are you?” I ask her, knowing full well this girl is probably my illegitimate sister.
Fucking Dad.
Literally.
Of course, he knocked up some woman behind my mother’s back. Nothing this dead bastard did should surprise me anymore.
The fact that, only a few minutes ago, I was checking her out makes me want to vomit.
“I-I’m,” she stutters.
“My sister?” I lead, fixated on her reflection with an intensity that should worry me.
“No. Yes. Well—”
“It’s not a tough question. Either you are, or you’re not.” Her large blue eyes stare into my back, and I swear she looks like she’s going to cry. “It’s not hard.” When she still doesn’t speak, I poke a little harder. “Here’s how this works. You open your mouth . . . or even better, bob your head.”
“No,” she mutters back and looks down at the floor. As if she is praying it will swallow her up and save her from me.
Spoiler alert: It won’t.
“Now that you’ve proven you know how to have a conversation, tell me why you’re here.”
“Trent, there is no reason to be hostile to the poor girl. I’m sure Mr. Baker will inform us.”
I turn to the owner of the voice. My sister, Ivy, is the picture of serenity beside her husband, Cyrus. They entered silently, a telltale sign that his bad habits have rubbed off on her. My mother walks in behind them. Her stride is slow as if weighed down by a physical burden. Deep lines stretch across her forehead. In the past day, her eyes have grown due to the swelling from crying so much over the trash of a man she was married to for so long.
She’s been broken for so many years. Mom was finally starting to come out of her shell-shocked being.
And now she must face more lies from the bastard.
“We are only waiting for Erin now.” The damn lawyer needs to get this over with already.
And who the fuck is Erin?
“Who the fuck is Erin?”
As I echo my thoughts, the door opens, and as if she’s been summoned, a very attractive woman, who looks almost as old as Payton, walks in. The resemblance is uncanny, despite the fact that her face is obviously stretched tight from years of Botox and fillers.
I peg her as Payton’s older sister. Her head is held high as she strides into the room. As if her arrogance isn’t bad enough, as if her mere presence isn’t an insult, she’s also dripping head to toe in diamonds.
Diamonds, I don’t have to guess to know how my father funded.
The gambling problem.
He fucked away his empire to finance his affair with his side piece, giving up his own daughter in the process. Good fucking riddance. If someone hadn’t beaten me to the punch, I would’ve killed him myself right here for his bullshit.
“This must be Erin.” I scoff, not a question but a statement. Turning my back to her, I look back at the attorney. “Now that everyone is here tell me why I had to miss my meeting to deal with this shit.”
“Your father wanted to go over his assets.”
“My father had no assets.”
“Well, that actually isn’t the case.” The lawyer looks down, sheepish.
“I don’t understand,” Ivy whispers. “Dad had nothing.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
So much has gone down in the past few years. Even speaking about Dad makes my fists clench.
Everything, including his jail time, stemmed from his lack of funds and what he was willing to do to get some.
If he had money, what was it all for? And, better question, why didn’t we know?
Cyrus moves closer and places his arm around Ivy’s shoulder. He leans in and whispers in her ear. I can’t hear what he says, but it seems to calm her.
“Can everyone please sit?” The lawyer smiles uncomfortably. Uh-huh. What the fuck are we here for?
“I’d rather stand as I hear how Dad fucked us over one last time.”
“Trent.” My sister’s soft voice should calm me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.
Instead, I stalk toward the door, putting myself between the exit and every person in here. My feet punctuate the wood floor with my steps, delivering my intentions. No one can exit unless I move. Until every fucking secret is spilled here and now.
“Very well.” Dad’s lawyer clears his throat. “If everyone else is ready, I’ll proceed.” He looks around the room, and everyone else nods. “Ronald had a considerable estate when he passed away. We set the estate up in an offshore account.”
My teeth grind together. That fucking bastard. “How much are we talking?”
“Millions.”
“How many?” I hiss. “Tell me just how much Ivy’s life wasn’t worth when he hung his daughter out to dry.”
“Twenty-two million.”
Before I know what I’m doing, my fist connects with the wall.
Plaster breaks away as I hear a scream from my mother, followed by Ivy’s soft voice in trying to calm down Cyrus.
I turn back to the lawyer, knowing full well the picture I painted with blood dripping down my knuckles. “How long . . . ?” Cyrus asks.
His lawyer at least has the decency to look uncomfortable.
“Long enough that he could have spared Ivy,” I mutter. “There’s no point in arguing. It’s obvious.”
When the lawyer doesn’t speak, Ivy lets out a strangled cry as she puts her head in her lap.
“If he weren’t dead, I would kill him,” Cyrus says.
Him and me both.
“Well,” I spit out, “now that we know with no measure of doubt—and mind you, this topic was never up for discussion—that my dad was an utter piece of shit, what do you have to tell us? I can only speak for myself by saying I have much better things to do.”
“Just sit, Trent,” my mother says.
I look over at the woman who used to be a shell of a human.
It’s remarkable how far she has come. She’s strong now. That’s what having my father away from her did.
His presence made her a shadow, and now that she’s stepped out, she’s bloomed. Maybe there’s hope for us all. But my eyes linger on the signs of her heartbreak, and I’m reminded of how useless feelings can be.
I let out a sigh and take a seat at the table.
From my position, I can see the girl.
Payton.
If she and her sister are here, it means he left them something, too. This should be interesting.
The money is blood money, and I want none of it, but I’d rather burn it than give it to them. Ivy will want to donate it somewhere.
She’s too good for this family.
Always has been, always will be.
Definitely too good for Cyrus, the sadistic fuck.
But, regardless, he’s good to her.
Loves her. That man would never let anything happen to her. In my book, that makes him a better man than me because he’s capable of that kind of love.
“Spit it out, Baker,” I growl. “Who gets the money?”
The woman I assume is Payton’s sister sits up. As if she knows the answer to this question.
I watch her with narrowed eyes. If what she thinks is about to happen happens, there will be hell to pay.
Regardless of what she knows, Ivy deserves the money. It was her life that was almost sacrificed.
Mr. Baker produces a thin folder, pulls out a sheet of paper, and addresses the room, taking painstaking care to avoid looking me in the eyes. “I hereby bequeath the entirety of my estate to the one person who loved me unconditionally.”
Erin’s smile broadens.
Ivy wilts.
Mom sighs.
Cyrus scowls.
And me? I envision Dad’s murder.
Over, and over, and over.
It doesn’t help.
“You were my daughter,” Mr. Baker reads.
Erin’s face falls.
Ivy’s eyes mist.
Payton stares at the floor.
“Not by blood but by bond.”
And then Erin’s eyes gleam. A wicked gleam as I realize what is happening.
“Payton. Everything is yours.”