“Please give these to Miss York.” Mr. Yan holds out a set of papers. “I have tried to reach George, but he’s not returning my calls.”
“Yeah, well, get in line,” Bones growls.
Mr. Yan frowns, shoving his glasses up his pudgy nose. “You’re looking for him as well?”
We don’t answer.
He runs a hand through his jet-black hair. “I tried to explain to George that Mr. York did not have a will.”
Bones and I exchange a look. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, Nick hadn’t come to me to set up his arrangements. But George was persistent that Nick had, in fact, a trust. He had seen it.”
“So how did you get it?” Bones asks.
“George found it. In the safe at the York residence.”
I yank the papers from his hand and shove him away from us. “Hey …”
We ignore him. “So the trust that George presented to Emilee was a fake?” I say.
“Obviously, but it still doesn’t make any sense. Why he would use a fake when he was technically already married to Nancy?” Bones adds.
“But … we spoke to Luca. He said that the trust was legit. So maybe George knew about them, but Yan didn’t?” I offer.
“Fuck,” Bones hisses.
“He wanted Emilee, but why?” I go on. “Why force her and not just try to seduce her?”
He shrugs. “Maybe he knew she’d see through his bullshit? Or maybe he didn’t want to wait the amount of time that would take. In that time, Em could find out that he was married to Nancy. And poof, his plan would be exposed.”
I bow my head and run my hand down my face. I have a fucking headache. “We need to find him. We need answers.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EMILEE
ISIT ATmy father’s desk. Leaning back in the chair, I have my Jimmy Choo ombre Tartini Swarovski Crystal heels up on the surface. They’re my favorite. My mother gave them to me for my birthday a couple of years back. I felt they were fitting to wear to her funeral today. Their divorce papers and my mother’s marriage license to George in my hands.
They were fucking married!I can’t comprehend it. I can’t figure out what I missed. I never saw them flirt or even speak. George was over a lot—in this very room—but my mother never ventured in here. This was my father’s space. We spent holidays, birthdays, and vacations with him when I was growing up.
She never smiled at George. Never even looked his way. So why marry him? When did they fall in love? And why the urgency to move so fast? Maybe because of her diagnosis?
I’ll never get those answers. Not now. She’s dead. George is gone. The house is hauntingly silent. It mocks me. Memories I had inside of these walls were nothing but lies. But it makes me think … Did my father have someone? Was he seeing someone behind my mother’s back too? Maybe he was married to someone else. I had gone online and checked. Nevada has public records, but I couldn’t find anything regarding his remarrying. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t go to another state to do it.
I throw the papers onto the desk and grab the fifty-year-old scotch my father kept in his office. He would only drink from it on special occasions. Removing the glass top, I pour it into a tumbler and throw it back. Opening my mouth, I suck in a breath, my mouth burning from the alcohol. Seconds later, I take another.
“Emilee?” I hear Haven call out my name.
I don’t respond. Instead, I take another one and remind myself it’ll all be over soon. I bought a ticket back to Chicago. I leave at three p.m. tomorrow. And all this shit will be behind me.
It all started with one person—George Wilton. A sorry son of a bitch. A fucking coward. He won’t come after me. I have nothing to give him. He ended up with everything. He won.
“Emilee, I’ve been looking for you,” Haven announces as she enters the room.
I look over at her. She has her dark hair up in a tight twist. She wears a black dress that falls to her knees and black Jimmy Choos as well. It’s the dress she wore to my mother’s funeral earlier. Her amber eyes soften as she exhales and sits across from the desk.
“Why don’t you come home with me?” she continues. “Spend a few nights at my house? It’ll be like old times.”
