The solicitor came onto the line. “This is no time for speculation or games, Miss Marchant.”
Mila bristled. “I agree. Which is why you’ll call a halt to what you were planning to do this morning. You can’t declare a woman dead when she’s very much not.”
He tried and failed to start a sentence, then managed, “If Darcy Marchant is still alive, that would… After everything… It would require proof.”
Mila muted the phone and eyed me. “Last chance to back out.”
I clamped down on the sick feeling in my belly. “Tell him to come here. I’ll meet him.”
She did, giving Mr Cochran the address, then she hung up and took my hand. “What you’re doing is so brave.”
Or stupid. I could just slide into obscurity and not face any of it. But nope. I’d chosen my path and I’d stick to it.
With the solicitor on his way, I paced, nervous energy directing my legs. I found my phone in my hands; still no reply from the man I’d said the big ILY to.
And who hadn’t said the same back.
Without intending to, I brought up his tracker. It pinged outside the city. My stomach dropped. Not even in crew territory. Not outside the warehouse handling Lex’s poor dead body.
Mila’s phone dinged, and she peeked at the screen then swallowed. “Convict says Cochran’s here. Should he bring him up?”
My head hurt, but I nodded and shut down the app before it settled on a location.
A thin, wiry man with a moustache entered the apartment, directing a flat look at Mila, a more scared one at Convict, then changing again when he came to me. His eyes flared then narrowed, turning shrewd. “And you are?”
“I think you know exactly who I am.” From the table, I collected my passport then held it out.
Mr Cochran took it between two fingers and held it. “You’re claiming to be Darcy Marchant?”
“I’m not claiming. I’m telling you I’m Darcy Dixon, granddaughter of Austin and Primrose Marchant. I used their name for one year only and never again since.”
At last, he examined my ID. Had me download an app to check something hidden in the passport that my phone could pick up. Then came the questions, on where I was born, myfamily history. I had my birth certificate ready to go—thankfully, that wasn’t in my treacherous mother’s hands—and a final ace card. A DNA test that my grandparents had done back when I’d moved in with them.
I hadn’t cared for it then, but the thing came in damn useful now.
At last, the hostility left him.
The solicitor almost smiled. “I’m very glad to meet you at last, Miss Dixon. I regret that it couldn’t have been sooner.”
I didn’t answer that. I couldn’t regret something that felt like it had the claws and teeth to tear me apart.
He waffled an apology about intending to declare me dead then switched his gaze to Mila. “Thank you for concluding the hunt for the young lady. We can now proceed with the will reading for your grandfather.”
“Tomorrow, right?” she asked.
“I see no reason why we can’t do it today. Your grandmother and other beneficiaries are keen for it to go ahead. All being well, I’ll convene a meeting today at five.”
I stiffened. I’d forgotten entirely about using leverage. “I’ll need to do that meeting remotely, camera off. And use the name Darcy Marchant when you refer to me.”
Mr Cochran blinked.
I tried again. “Being anonymous is important to me. I don’t want a room of people staring. If that’s your plan, I won’t do it.”
He nodded gravely. “With the press attention your sister has endured, I understand. We can accommodate your request. I will need to see and speak to you first, but I am content for you to listen in.”
Relief flooded my system.
He left, and I had a meeting in the diary. One I’d never wanted to attend but at least could manage on my own terms.Mila saw the solicitor out to where Convict would take him back downstairs. I gazed at my hands. The tremble in them.
