Date of Death:
September 1856
Time of Death:
Unknown
Manner of Death:
Drowned, Atlantic Ocean
Informant:
Sir Richard Neville Astyr
Relationship:
Uncle
The air left his lungs. He crumpled the paper in his fist, stumbled toward the stairs, and slumped down.
“You happy now?” Brandt sat on the bottom stair next to Jack. “You’re one dumb cowboy, you know that?”
“Bastard.” Jack unfolded his fist and stared down at the crumpled paper. Rage coiled in his stomach and snaked up his chest. “He had a death certificate issued for me because he needed my death to be official. Without it, he couldn’t get his hands on my inheritance.”
“I know, but there’s no sense in wastin’ time getting all fired up over what’s been done. You’re sitting here alive and well, so that dang paper ain’t worth a hill of beans. The only thing to do now is to make sure your uncle gets his comeuppance.”
“You’re right.” Jack stood up and strode across the room toward Percival, who remained cowered in his corner. “You may tell Sir Richard that I will pay ten percent over his asking price for the house as it stands. Nothing is to be removed, do you understand?”
“But—” Percival stammered—“there might be personal items he wants removed.”
Jack pointed a finger at Percival, and the man cringed. “He’s had three years to remove his items. Anything still here either isn’t valuable or important enough for him to worry about. Tell Sir Richard I’ll pay ten percent more with nothing removed. Do it, or your dear papa becomes party to your gambling problem.”
Percival nodded rapidly.
“I’ll make sure he does what needs doing.” Brandt came up behind Jack. “Get yourself out of here and go cool your heels.”
