“Rightfully—” Tom growled.“This land belongs to my son!His mother grew up here.”
“And his mother is dead.”
Tom lunged for the man, but I grabbed him by the arm before he could make contact with the slimeball sociopath, who took two steps back and nearly fell down the stairs, his eyes wide with fear.
“Tom.Tom, it’s not worth it,” I said gently, not letting go of him.I didn’t really even realize what I was doing; it just felt natural, and I slid my hand down his arm and laced our fingers together.
“If your son’s mother were still alive—”
“Mywife.She is—was—my wife!”
Slimeball Steve cleared his throat again and stepped back onto the porch to get out of the rain, but kept his distance from us.“Yes.Your wife.If she were still alive and the two of you lived here, then there would be a reason for my client and his mother to petition for the land.Since the land belonged to your late father-in-law.But since your wife is no longer with us, and her son has chosennotto reside on the land, Mr.Corcan and his mother, Mrs.Corcan, believe that they are entitled to the land.That it needs to stay in the family.”
“It is,” Tom gritted out.
I squeezed his hand tighter.
Slimeball Steve rolled his eyes.“It’s a good offer, Mr.Barone.It would suck if this got dragged to court.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?”I piped up.“You said so yourself, that Mr.Barone isfinancially comfortablefrom his very successful football career.So do you really think it’s wise for your clients to draw out this legal battle?Who do you think can afford better lawyers for longer?”
Ha-ha!
He wasn’t expecting that rebuttal, and his greasy feathers were clearly ruffled.I did my best not to smirk at how uncomfortable he quickly became.
“My clients are determined to get what is rightfully theirs,” he finally said.
“And I’m sure Tom and Guiseppe are determined to hang on to what is rightfully theirs.The question is, whose pockets are deeper?”
Slimeball Steve puffed up his chest, glanced at Tom, then back at me.“You have one week to accept our offer.”
“Then what?”I scoffed.
Color drained from Slimeball Steve’s face, and I had to roll my lips inward so I didn’t laugh.He didn’t know what happened after that.He was just the messenger.Just a person sent to do the dirty work of the head honcho.
“Got it,” I said, nodding.“One week.Bye-bye now.”Then, I shooed him away with my free hand.
Standing there on the porch, hand in hand, with Tom vibrating beside me, we watched the smarmy suit with the fake Rolex climb behind the wheel of his Tesla and drive away.
Not until that gray monstrosity had turned onto the main road did I release his hand.Or at least tried to.But he gripped me like a buoy in a hurricane.
Turning to face him, with our hands still clasped, I took in the real fear on his face.Fear mixed with anger, mixed with sadness.There was even a dash of hopelessness, if I was being honest.
Why was he hopeless though?He was Mr.Moneybags.This super-successful, retired footballer, who in his heyday made seventeen million euros a year.Yeah, I totally spent a good hour Googling him today when I should have been working.But once I started down that rabbit hole, it was impossible to get out.He’d lived such a fascinating life, I just couldn’t stop reading.
He ran this sanctuary out of his own pocket, paid for vets and farriers to be flown over by helicopter, and rented nurse mares with less than twenty-four-hour’s notice.Those were the actions of a very successful, very financially comfortable, very compassionate man.A man who deserved to keep the land that his late wife grew up on.The land that belonged to his son, whether Guiseppe wanted to live here or not.
“Hey,” I said softly.
He blinked at me a few times.“That wasn’t the first time that’s happened, was it?”
He shook his head.
“First time they’ve offered money though?”
He nodded.
“They’re getting more desperate.”
