Cross My Heart (17 page)

She pushed herself out of her seat. “You're condoning his lie?” Not to mention validating what she'd already thought of Paul Dunne. He was a disinterested paper pusher who hadn't given a damn about her as a child any more than he did now.

“Of course not. I'm just offering a possible explanation. Your uncle's lies were uncalled for. Assuming things happened as you remembered them. Isn't it possible that with the trauma of losing your parents, you were confused back then?”

Lacey stepped forward at the same time Ty rose and pulled her backwards until he had an arm wrapped around her waist. “I think speculating about the past is useless. What Lilly needs now is for you to explain to her what the next steps are for her to claim the money on her twenty-seventh birthday which is—”

“Next month,” she said, suddenly becoming more aware of the other parts of her parents' will. “Why twenty-seven? Isn't that an odd number?”

Paul straightened his papers. “It isn't uncommon for parents and guardians to delay the distribution of money to their children until they've grown up. In this case, there are yearly allotments paid out of the interest on the money that came due each year. Those were designated for the care and upkeep of the house and land and were paid to your guardian, Marc Dumont. Your guardian also had the right to request money at the trustee's discretion for your care.”

Lacey did her best not to snort at that last comment.

“But to answer your question, the reason you can't claim the money until you turn twenty-seven is that your parents wanted you to have time to really live. They wanted you to go to college, or Europe, etc. while you were young. Once again, the interest would have paid for those things according to the trust agreement. They wanted you to learn about life before inheriting. Otherwise they feared you might go through the money unwisely.”

“Little did they know how things would turn out,” she said to Ty.

She ran her hands up and down her arms. Her parents had wanted her to have valuable life experiences and she'd had more than they could ever have imagined. Instead of college, she'd ended up in New York City barely surviving thanks to her uncle, her so-called guardian.

Ty pulled her close, his strong presence the only thing holding her up.

“Still, isn't twenty-seven an odd number? Wouldn't they have picked a number like twenty-five? Or thirty?” Ty asked.

“Your mother was a sentimental woman. She met your father at the age of twenty-seven. They married on April twenty-seventh.” He shrugged. “Your father lived to indulge her,” he explained.

“That makes an odd sort of sense,” Ty said.

Hearing about her parents caused a lump to fill her throat and Lacey could only nod in agreement.

“So on Lacey's birthday, she can come here and sign the papers?” Ty asked, obviously understanding that she was unable to ask coherent questions herself.

“It's a little more complicated than that, but essentially yes. She signs and the papers need to be filed with the bank. Then she'll be able to access the money.” He cleared his throat. “Now if you two will excuse me, I have another appointment I must prepare for.”

Lacey was not ready to be dismissed. “Just how much money are we talking about, exactly?”

“Well there has been fluctuation of interest rates over the years.” Paul Dunne fidgeted with his tie. “But approximately two point five million dollars.”

And Lacey knew she only had to stay alive long enough to claim it.

They exited Dunne's offices and Ty led her out onto the street. He knew she'd been shaken by all she'd heard, especially the fact that she'd inherited her parents' home. He knew better than to bring up the subject now. She needed time to digest the information.

Ty stopped at a drugstore next door to the law firm and bought her a bottle of water before they settled into the car.

“You okay?” he asked, as he opened the bottle and handed it to her.

She nodded and drank some. “Surreal doesn't begin to describe things, huh?”

“That's one word for it.”

She gripped the bottle hard. “The terms of the trust are proof. Uncle Marc is out to make sure I don't live to see my twenty-seventh birthday.”

He let out a groan, hating to agree with her. He had no choice. “I don't see how it could be anyone else. But he's not going to touch you.”

She grinned for the first time since walking into the office. “What would I do without you?” she asked, impulsively leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.

He
sure as hell didn't want to find out, but they both knew she'd survive just fine. She'd already proven she could.

He turned his attention to starting the car. “I say we go back to my mother's. You can hang out with Digger, rest a little this afternoon and come with me to Night Owl's later on. I have to work the night shift and you need to get out among people.”

“Ooh, a night out. I can't wait!” She perked up a little, her shoulders straightening at the thought. “Think I can help out, too? I'm so tired of not being busy.”

Another sign this little idyll between them was soon coming to an end, Ty thought. “I'm sure you can convince the guy in charge to let you do some work.”

Because that guy in charge tonight happened to be him, and he couldn't deny her anything. Including a return to New York City and the real life she loved.

 

M
ARC HAD TAKEN
the morning off from work to have his tuxedo fitted for his wedding, which was still scheduled for the first of next month. Of course, he still hadn't told his soon-to-be wife that Lilly's birthday a few days before that would effectively ensure he not only had no trust fund, he also had no place to live. Lilly would inherit the mansion as she rightly should, and he'd be out on the street. He couldn't imagine her allowing him to stay on and he'd never ask for the privilege. He certainly hadn't earned any rights at all.

He'd already been viewing luxury rentals closer to Albany. His salary allowed for an upscale standard of living, thank goodness. He just didn't know if upscale would be enough for Francie, for whom nothing ever seemed to be enough. Marc didn't know why he loved her but he did. Flaws and all. Perhaps losing her would be his punishment for past sins, he thought, not for the first time. He also loved her daughter Molly and felt certain he'd lose her, as well, just as soon as she accepted the ugly truth about his past with Lilly.

He pulled into the long driveway leading to the house and immediately realized he had company. The black Cadillac indicated an ominous visitor. One he'd been deliberately ignoring since receiving the message demanding an audience. Marc had nothing to say to Paul Dunne. As far as Marc was concerned, the man had dug his own grave by siphoning funds from Lilly's estate over the years.

Marc pulled his car up beside Dunne's and stepped out into the cool fall air.

“You've been avoiding me,” the other man said.

“That's because we have nothing to discuss.”

The other man raised an eyebrow. “Apparently you aren't living in reality but I plan to enlighten you, starting now.”

Marc slipped his keys into his pocket. “You know what? I don't have time for this.” He turned and started for the house.

“Make time.” Paul stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Lillian cannot live to see her twenty-seventh birthday.”

Marc rotated slowly. “Are you insane? Embezzling money is bad enough. You're looking to add murder to your list of accomplishments?”

Paul let out a laugh, his eyes filled with crazed determination. “Of course not. I intend to add it to yours.”

“Now I know you've lost your mind.” It took everything inside of Marc not to show his own panic at the man's words. He needed to stay calm and outtalk him, but first he had to discover what Paul Dunne had in mind.

Marc paused, deliberately remaining silent, waiting for Dunne to explain.

“The girl can't inherit. It's as simple as that.”

“Why? Because as soon as she does, she'll find out about the missing money and have you arrested and thrown in jail?” Nothing would make Marc happier.

“Because I'd much rather have you inherit the shrinking pot of gold. I have as much on you as you have on me. Which means I know you won't report me to the authorities,” Paul said with too much satisfaction. He rubbed his hands together, not due to the cool weather, Marc knew, but because he was certain he had the upper hand.

Marc swallowed hard. He wanted all the facts on the table. No surprises. “What is it you think you know?”

Paul grinned, his expression pure evil. “I know you lied to Lillian about the age at which she'd inherit so that you could manipulate her into signing her money over to you, her kindly uncle. And when that didn't work, I know your real personality came out and you abused the poor girl. And I know you basically sold her to Florence Benson.”

Marc leaned against the trunk of his car for support.

Paul glanced up at the clear blue as if in thought.

Marc doubted he needed the time to think. No doubt he was just prolonging the agony.

“Oh, did I mention that I'm well aware of how you manipulated and bribed people in the foster care system to have Daniel Hunter removed from the Benson home. Essentially I know everything about you.”

As Marc thought about everything he stood to lose, his job, his reputation such as it was, and his fiancée, fear crept through him, slowly at first before exploding inside his head. “Fine,” he spat. “We're at a stalemate. I won't report you and you won't report me.”

“Good. Now let's discuss getting you to the point where you inherit, not Lillian. You need to take care of her.
For good.
”

“Hell no,” Marc said, nausea swamping him. “I'd rather let you spill what you know and take my chances with what you can and cannot prove than do your dirty work.”

Paul straightened his shoulders. As if he sensed Marc's fear, he stepped close, suffocating him with his presence. “I've already tried to handle things on my own but I've discovered that when you hire someone, they need to have something at stake or else incompetence rules.”

“You had someone try to run her down at the mall? And set fire to Tyler Benson's apartment?” Marc asked, realization dawning.

Paul neither confirmed nor denied the accusations but Marc knew he was dead-on.

“You're disgusting,” he muttered.

“Practical, just as you used to be. Lack of alcohol has dulled your edge.”

Marc shook his head. “It's made me human.”

The trustee shrugged. “You just see to it that Lillian suffers an unfortunate accident or I will. And just who do you think they'll blame when she dies? Her uncle, of course,” he said without missing a beat. “After all, your
reformation
must be an act. You wanted the money all along, as I'll have to tell them. And you need the money now to support your greedy wife or else you'll lose her. That's motive if you ask me. Oh, and don't worry about your brother. I'll see to it he gets enough inheritance to care for his wife. He won't question anything beyond that. Robert was always scatterbrained. He doesn't even know how much was in the actual trust fund.”

An old rage raced through Marc as he recalled the years of dealing with this man. Whenever Marc needed money, he'd have to go through Paul. Marc had asked Paul for money years before, and the other man had complied, using the interest in Lilly's trust account. Marc had paid Florence Benson with the money. It was no wonder the other man made it a point to find out what Marc had needed the money for.

Beneath his suit, Marc broke into a heated sweat and the desire for a drink to numb the pain was all-consuming.

“I really need to be going. No need to make a decision now. You can get back to me. Lilly's birthday isn't for a few weeks.” Paul patted Marc condescendingly on the back.

Marc shrugged off his touch.

“If you remain a good boy, you can console yourself with the fact that you won't have to go through alcohol withdrawal in jail. That wouldn't be pleasant at all.” Paul turned and headed for his car, settling himself inside and starting the engine.

He waved as if they'd had a social visit, then pulled down the long driveway, leaving Marc alone to ponder his fate which looked bleaker by the minute.

Marc was cornered and the bastard knew it. All choices led to the same result. He could do as Paul asked and never be able to look himself in the mirror again—which probably wouldn't matter since he'd end up in jail—or he'd wind up there anyway thanks to Paul Dunne's so-called proof and the other man's stellar reputation in the community.

“Damn.” He kicked his foot against his tire, accomplishing little perhaps except breaking his toe.

He winced at the throbbing pain and slowly walked to the house. At one time, the mansion had represented everything he'd wanted out of life. Today the old house merely stood as glaring proof of what jealousy of his brother had done to Marc's life. How ironic, now that he could no longer stand to look at the place, he was destined to get his wish and lose the house and a whole lot more.