Page 141 of Convict's Game
A squabble ensued.
There was another sibling. A secret third child who shared a father with Kane and me. The empty yellow-coded folder screamed at me, mocking with how obvious it had been. Yet none of that mattered in the moment, because at last, I found my feet and made for the door.
What the hell did I care about Marchant Haulage anymore? Convict needed me.
Chapter 47
Kane
While thirty greedy fuckers spoke at once, Mila sprinted from the room like her arse was on fire. She hadn’t known about her lover boy vanishing and counted that as more important than being here. Interesting.
I held my focus on the lawyer. “Darcy Marchant?”
His gaze touched mine, then he reached for the paperwork. “I believe a short break is necessary to restore order to the room. Adjourned, ten minutes.”
The arsehole stood and weaved through the throng. I stormed after him, passing the uncle and grandmother Mila claimed we shared but I’d never recognised.
The grandmother’s expression was a rigid neutral.
I couldn’t tell if she’d known.
In the hall, I grasped the lawyer by the shoulder and spun him around. “Who the fuck is this new sibling?”
He or she couldn’t be much younger than Mila because of the age our birth father died. It was possible they were older than me, though Able had knocked up my mother when he was sixteen which made it unlikely.
That meant for over twenty years, another Marchant heir had existed and been entirely unknown. Mila would have told me if she’d had a hint.
More importantly, their vote held all the power.
The lawyer twitched his moustache. “I’m not at liberty to discuss confidential information?—”
I put my forearm up as a bar and drove it into his throat, pushing him against the wall. Then I lifted so his feet kicked. “Male or female?”
“F-female,” he spluttered and clutched my arm.
“Age?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Does she use the name Marchant?”
“N-no. We have been unable to find her using her birth name.”
Which meant that like me, Darcy wanted nothing to do with this family. My mother had treated them like a den of vipers, teaching me not to trust a word any of them said, particularly their lawyers.
A shocked intake of breath came from a woman down the hall. I didn’t stop.
“What does she go by?”
“We don’t know.”
I put more pressure on his throat, leaning in until I was centimetres from his face. “But ye have an idea. Ye wouldn’t have held the meeting at all unless there was a chance she’d come.”
His eyes leaked tears. “We employed a private detective to search for her.”
“And they found something.” I didn’t phrase it as a question, because otherwise we wouldn’t be here.
The lawyer shook his head jerkily in the negative. “We hoped they would. The family provided a picture. We’ve done everything we can to track her down.”
