“So, what happened to your inheritance?”
“It went to the trustee. My uncle.”
“That infernal son-of-a…” Brandt picked up the will and scanned its contents.
“He stole my inheritance.” Jack clenched his fists. “I am certain my parents never saw my grandfather’s will. Sir Richard must have used his influence and power to keep it from them, and he did the same to make sure I was as good as dead before I came of age to claim anything.”
Brandt dropped the will onto the desk. “But your grandfather wanted you to have his estate. That’s something, ain’t it?”
“He didn’t want me to have it. He didn’t even know me. No doubt he thought Lady Astyr would give birth to a son long before my mother, who’d already birthed a daughter—a child he doesn’t even acknowledge in his will. All he cared about was passing his estate onto a male heir. He left nothing to his wife, daughters, or granddaughters. In the absence of a grandson, he settled everything on his cousin. The estate wasn’t entailed, so he could have left it to my sister, but he clearly didn’t want his money or land falling into the hands of a woman. It seems he was willing to absolve me of my mother’s sins, but not my sisters. What a cad he must have been. No wonder my mother wanted to escape his clutches.”
“It don’t matter why your grandfather left you his estate. What matters is he did, so it’s yours, and your uncle knows as much.”
Jack ran his hand through his hair. “My father and sister are both dead. It would be his word against mine. It’s my fault for trusting my uncle in the first place,” he said, hating himself.
“Why did you?”
“I was a troubled lad desperate to escape my pain. I thought if I changed my name and left England, I would leave the hurt behind. So, I didn’t stop to ask why Sir Richard agreed to help me, and I trusted him when he said he’d found a rich American to take me on as his apprentice. I had no idea he’d indentured me to a monster.”
“That’d be a good way to describe Wyatt Wardell.”
“I thought I was fortunate that a great man of business had agreed to take me under his wing. Wardell paid for my passage and promised to teach me how to become rich in America.” Jack scowled. “All I had to do was learn while I worked off my debt. It sounded like the answer to my prayers.”
“Well, I be darned,” Brandt said. “No wonder he stuck you in them sugar mills. He wanted to teach you to follow in his slave-owning footsteps.”
Jack shuddered and strode to the window. He slipped his hands in his pockets and watched the early-morning laborers scurry up and down Fleet Street in preparation for the day of commerce ahead. “I remember the day I boarded the ship with Wardell. My uncle handed him my work contract—that’s how he referred to my bind—and said, ‘The lad goes by the name Jack. He doesn’t have a surname or a family to tie him to anyone, so he’s yours free and clear.’ Then he slapped me on the back. ‘Pick a solid American surname for yourself once you get to Texas, lad.’” Jack mimicked his uncle’s stiff voice. “‘A few years from now, no one will suspect you were born an Englishman.’” Jack scoffed. “Turned out Wardell didn’t care what my name was. He never called me anything butboy.” Jack began to pace the office. “I can’t let him get away with this.”
“Don’t you worry, he’ll get his comeuppance,” Brandt said. “We’ll make sure, just like we did for Wardell.”
“That’s not enough anymore. I want justice. He should return what he stole and face exposure as a liar and thief.”
“How you gonna make that happen if you ain’t got no legal claim?”
“I don’t know, but if I can’t find a way, it will be too bad for my uncle because my only recourse will be an illegal one.”
Brandt lowered his voice. “You mean, kill him?”
“I’ve killed before,” Jack said.
“Wartime is different. You ain’t no murderer.”
“This is war!” Jack slammed his fist onto the desk. “That man destroyed my life and killed my father with ’is lies.”
“Now, you hold your horses ’an keep a clear head about things, you hear? I won’t stay to see you hang.”
Fury blurred Jack’s thoughts. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to calm his mind.
A timid knock sounded at the door before it creaked open, and Percival’s trembling voice sounded. “Did you find the copy satisfactory, sir? You may, of course, take it with you now. It’s yours.”
“We’re not finished here.” Jack faced the frightened clerk. “I’ll need to see Sir Richard Astyr’s will before I leave today.”
“Impossible!” Percival blinked. “You ask me to betray a client’s trust—a living client, that is.”
“What alternative do you have, Mr. Jebkin?”
“But the will in question is currently being revised and is not yet complete. Sir Richard is drafting a new will in light of his impending marriage. It’s why my father went to Nottinghamshire.”
“What did you say?” Jack strode toward Percival.
