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Sure, I’m shocked by what I just learned, but instead of showing it, I take my hands and dig my nails into my thighs to regulate myself.
Slowly, I take a deep inhale and pull my eyes away from him to look back at the lawyer, whose name I cannot wait to forget.
“What does this mean?” I ask.
“We still have a lot to discuss in regard to all of this. There were stipulations put in place before he died.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Trent barks. He’s not even trying to be civil.
If he could burn this place to the ground, I think he would.
“There’s a lot to go over.”
“Then you better get started because some of us have places to go. Like work. We are not all gold diggers.” He stands and begins to pace.
I shake my head and do my best not to pay attention. He has no idea who I am. He’s grasping at straws to intimidate me. Nothing this prick says is going to make me question who I am.
You can bring it, Trent, but I know who I am.
His eyes narrow on me as if he can hear my thoughts. A lump forms in my throat. My mouth dries, butterflies ping-ponging around in my stomach in full force.
He leans against the wall, kicks one foot over the other, and stares me down as if he knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having on me.
I feel like I’ve just lost a game before it’s begun.
Congrats, Payton. You may know who you are, but your body needs a memo, a postcard, and a freaking billboard to learn it can’t react to him like this.
Mr. Baker slides the letter back into his folder, though it looks way longer than what he read. He must’ve memorized it.
“Normally, we would have a lot of paperwork to do over this with the estate tax and death tax, etc., but this is different. The money has always been in Payton’s name. Ronald started this account years ago. It’s been accruing money and interest over the years.”
“What are you talking about?”
Finally, something comes out of my mouth. It flies out. Trent, whose eyes have never left mine, studies me harder. I refuse to wilt under the intensity of his gaze. I tip my chin up, hoping my message is delivered.
You don’t intimidate me.
He does.
You may hate me, but I’ve done nothing wrong. Not knowingly.
Doesn’t seem to matter.
Neither of us has a clue what’s going on.
Three seconds pass.
I avert my eyes, redirecting them to Mr. Baker, whose only ability to elicit reactions from me comes from the will he just put away.
How is it possible that all the money has been in my name this entire time? It makes no sense. Is that why my bills are always paid? Because technically, it has always been my money?
No. I would have known.
Wouldn’t I?
“Why would he do that?” I hear my sister say.
Well, she mumbles it under her breath, but it’s not low enough for no one to hear it because then he speaks. The one whose full attention is still pinned on me, and there’s no hiding the storm of hatred brewing inside him.
