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She departs down the hall, and Mason tells Walt he’ll be waiting for him outside. Then he takes off ahead of us, opting to go down the stairwell rather than take the elevator. I wonder if Walt’s instructed him to do that or if he instinctively knew I’d appreciate a moment alone with my new husband.
There are a million things I want to ask him, but I settle on the question that’s at the top of my list.
“I’m just curious…why marry me? What’s in it for you?”
I probably should have asked him that before we entered the courtroom together, but I’d still like to know.
“It helps both of our families retain majority hold of Diomedica,” he replies as he walks back to the elevator with purpose. He seems to be incapable of slowing down, even when it’s obvious I’m having a hard time keeping up.
“Majority hold? You mean with shares?” Oof. Bad luck for him. Doesn’t he know we’re destitute? “I hope there’s more to it than that, because you’re wrong—my dad sold all his shares years ago. I won’t inherit them.”
As we reach the elevator, he sighs as if he’s annoyed to be getting me up to speed. When he speaks, it’s with sharp impatience. “Yes, he sold his personal shares. He had an inconsequential amount, which I don’t care much about. The majority of your family’s shares have been retained in a trust. Didn’t your parents explain this to you?”
My mom did mention a trust on our phone call, briefly. On top of everything else she said, I’m not surprised to realize it’s all become muddled in my mind.
“I was kept in the dark about all of this until last night,” I reply, trying to mimic his harsh tone so he knows this is no picnic for me either. “It was a lot of information to absorb. Especially for someone with absolutely no business acumen.”
His gaze falls on my dress for a moment and then his brows arch as if, for him, the proof is in the pudding. I know he’s making assumptions about who I am. I know he’s not the least bit surprised to hear I’m not business savvy. I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes at him, just in time for him to sweep his gaze up to mine.
The elevator dings upon arrival, the doors sweep open, and we stand there for a moment, still staring at each other before Walt chuckles in disdain, shakes his head, and turns to lead the way. We step onto the elevator together, and I have half a mind to press the emergency stop button so we can keep talking. The descent is too quick, and I want answers.
We’re side by side, staring straight ahead. I get the impression he doesn’t really care for me, though I’m not sure why. I haven’t done anything to him.
“So how does it work?” I ask tentatively.
His eyes slice over to me. “How does what work?”
I try not to gulp. “The trust.”
“I don’t have time to explain to you what a trust fund is—”
“No. How does it work for our situation?”
God, is he always this infuriating?
“The long and short of it is, our grandfathers created a trust just after Diomedica went public. They saw what happened to traditional family dynasties of the era: the fathers toil and get rich, their sons become spoiled and sloppy, and their legions of grandchildren squabble and squander what few pennies survive the sinkhole of generational wealth. They wanted to do something different by sealing off the bulk of our families’ wealth and earning potential from the immediate generation below, hoping our fathers would establish themselves as enduring torches instead of short-lived infernos. And well…they were smart to do it.”
“Why?”
“No offense, but your father is an idiot when it comes to money, and mine is an alcoholic with a proclivity for gambling, so here we are—the future of our households.”
The elevator jolts to a stop. Already we’re on the ground floor of the courthouse and already Walt is taking off again, walking like he has a million places to be.
“As the eldest grandson, I’m the trustee put in charge of overseeing the trust’s assets. That job just became much more difficult as of five minutes ago.”
“Because of our marriage,” I assume.
“Yes. Our marriage was the trigger for releasing the assets to all of the beneficiaries. Well…any marriage between a Jennings and a Brighton would have sufficed. I could have married any one of your sisters and you could have married my brother, but well…here we are, wed.”
How ridiculously outdated.
“That makes no sense though. What would have happened to all that money if none of us had married?”
He sighs again and checks his watch. There’s another shake of his head. “Your parents did you a disservice by keeping this information from you.”
