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Downstairs, Freddie waited with Rome and Vaughn. Mickey, Milo, Jasper, and Liam were conspicuous in their absence. They were probably trying to make the fridge palatable.
I hadn’t been back to see him since the first day. Mom studied each of them as we moved through the room. I paused to glance at Kellan. “Do we need to give them a few minutes?”
He shook his head. “No, but I should warn you, Mrs. Sharpe…”
“Moira,” she said. “Please. I don’t want to be any kind of Sharpe anymore…”
I clutched her arm. Honestly, I was right there with her on that. Sharpe had been my performance name because Uncle Fuckbucket wanted to own me everywhere.
No more.
But I would deal with that later. Right now, I needed to focus on Mom.
“Very well, Moira,” Kellan said in an even tone. “Sparrow needs you to ask your husband some questions. Despite our very persuasive efforts, he has resisted answering questions regarding his brother.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed at that announcement. “You just want to know where—” She spared me a look. “You just want to know where Fuckbucket is.”
To be honest, it entertained me when she called him that. “Yes. He won’t talk about him as far as we’ve tried. He’s made excuses, but nothing else…”
She swallowed, her eyes damp, but the tears didn’t slip free. As her chin lifted, she seemed to be schooling her features. I recognized that look. She was girding herself for what came next.
“Where was he when you found him?”
“Vegas,” Rome said. “He had bodyguards with him. We removed him from them then brought him here.”
Distaste creased her features. “Gambling has always been his vice.” She sighed, then glanced at me. “You wanted to know about your trusts?”
I nodded. “Now or later, but I need to know.”
“You’ve never cared about the money before.” She wasn’t wrong.
“I don’t, except…”
“Money is power.”
I nodded once.
“You would have received access to twenty-five percent on your eighteenth birthday. It would have been automatic and dropped into your private accounts.” She released me to smooth her hair. “The rest vests over the next decade.”
“If I get married?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced at the guys then back to me. “Yes. You would receive a sizable chunk…though you won’t have to share it with anyone if you wait for twenty-five.”
“Sizable…how sizable?”
“Seventy-five percent. The final will vest on your twenty-eighth birthday or when you have a child. There’s a considerable secondary trust that will pass straight to your children. We set it up the day we adopted you…”
For a moment, her voice wobbled, and she had to close her eyes to try and regain her breath.
“We—we didn't want you to ever have to worry about anything. So, we set up a secondary trust for your children. Nothing about it is contingent on who you marry, or even if you do…it was always there for you. A golden parachute.”
An escape route.
“Who controls the trusts?” Kellan asked. “Sharpe? Your husband?”
“No,” Mom said with a shake of her head. “The point of the trusts is independence and support. Bradley craved control, yet to keep the tax burden offset and manageable, it went to a financial manager. He would handle everything as a neutral third party.”
“Meaning Fuckbucket can’t undo it.”
