Page 9 of Vows We Never Made
I know.
Iknow, but that doesn’t make anything better.
If it was in the old man’s will, what was he snorting to put it there?
No chance this was the result of some logical decision. No rational man decides to put a marriage clause in his will. Especially in a state where it’s goddamnedlegal.
I can’t overturn it, not without escalating this to high-level state courts, and that could take years.
Kill me.
Undaunted, Miss Wilkes opens a file and pulls out three papers, turning them around and pushing them to my side of the desk. Then she sits back and waits with the same iron patience as before.
An earthquake could rip the ground open and she wouldn’t bat an eye.
Gramps took her on five years ago, and she’s been a force of nature ever since, a legal hitwoman dressed in starched blouses and pantsuits ironed so perfectly the creases remain all day.
Case in point: it’s seven in the evening and we’re still going. And her creases are still fucking immaculate.
A small detail I reluctantly appreciate as I turn to face her and the copy of the will she’s printed.
It’s not that I don’t believe her.
I do.
The issue is there’s no good reason to uphold these lunatic terms. It feels like a constitutional infringement of my rights.
“And you see no reason to fight this?”
“Leonidas was perfectly within his rights to make this request, per existing Maine law, statute—”
“It’s not a request,” I clip, cutting her off. “It’s an unfair requirement for me to get my money, my inheritance. I need to marry a girl I don’t even know. What the fuck?”
“Correct.”
I reach up and grab my head, pressing the sides. I feel like my skull’s exploding and I need to hold it together.
“And you’refinewith this? You’re carrying this out?”
“I have no legal grounds to object, sir. I’m confident another attorney will reach the same conclusion.”
No legal grounds, my ass.
“I’ll hire my own lawyers. Hell, I’ll buy out the whole fucking law office if that’s what it takes to overturn this shit.”
Miss Wilkes glances at the time on her computer screen. “If that would help you feel comfortable, please do.”
Comfortable?
I can’t comprehend the meaning of the word.
I grind my teeth together as I stride to the window and do my best to stop my head from throbbing.
Yes, this is frustrating, but I have options.
Even if Jackie Wilkes clearly thinks I’ll just be chasing my tail.
Outside, the bay is stained orange and purple with the slowly setting sun, and Portland looks peak lush and green. Objectively, I know it’s beautiful, but I can’t look at this scene without seeing permanent grey.
