Page 77 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

Introductions were unnecessary, even if Oliver couldn’t remember the names of the solicitors sitting at the table with him. He recognized their faces from the first time he was sued. Their names were of no consequence.

As he waited for Mr. Stillwell to organize his many hard printed documents at the exasperation of his parents and the B&J team, he watched Jesse speak to Isaac. Isaac seemingly lifted his hands in defense, and Oliver, reading Jesse’s lips, was certain he saw him say, What the fuck is wrong with you? before lightly smacking Isaac on the back of the head. Oliver did his best not to start laughing, biting the inside of his cheek, grateful for the small bit of levity as he was reminded of his best friend’s announcement.

“We’re meeting today to see if we can come to some sort of mutual agreement between both parties in lieu of continuing further action. As you’re aware, we are prepared to proceed with litigation—” one of the solicitors began.

His father interrupted. “Where is Mr. June? I was under the impression that he’d be here.”

“Mr. June unfortunately was not available for this meeting.”

“I am an Earl. What do you mean, Mr. June was not available?”

“He sends his apologies, Lord Catesby. The conflict was unavoidable.”

Oliver exchanged a look with Mr. Stilwell who gave him a quick wink, and Oliver made himself more comfortable in his seat.

After his father’s outburst, the conversation was picked back up and they rehashed the first lawsuit, reminding the room that it had ended in Oliver’s favor. No matter how hard he tried, he was never going to understand how the legal system worked, he was never going to appreciate it even if it worked to his benefit.

Even so, Oliver was able to quickly pick up on the energy of the room. He watched his mother nervously tapping her long, blood-red fingernails upon the conference room table. He saw the tiny twitch of his father’s eyebrow. They weren’t confident that they were going to have any success today at all, and as he listened to them drone on, he realized that their solicitors weren’t confident, either.

Oliver spent another minute taking in his surroundings. He was seated in the offices of one of the best law firms in London, bottles of fancy sparkling water had been passed out like penny sweets, and if he thought Mr. Stillwell’s hourly rate was expensive, he couldn’t imagine how much this meeting was costing his parents. It all suddenly became clear to him that his father had pulled rank; he cashed in on his title, and called in a favor.

The solicitors in the room were treating this as a charity case.

After all of the facts were laid out on the table, Mr. Stillwell began, “My client, as the rightful and legal owner of the Chapman Estate, is prepared to make you an offer on its future earnings.”

For a fleeting minute, he considered calling it all off. He’d let his parents take him to court and lose yet again. But that could drag on for months, if not longer. He wanted to be rid of them.

“What? What earnings?” his mother scoffed.

“Please, Lady Catesby.” Oliver tried not to smirk at the tone her solicitor took with her. They were clearly keen to dump them as clients.

“Starting in the new year, the Chapman Estate will be opening to the public. My client is willing to forgo 10% of the net profits earned by the estate for the first five years that it is operational, and 5% of the gross profits of the estate every subsequent year after. In exchange, you both will be permanently barred from the grounds of the estate unless explicitly invited by the owners of the estate. Payments will be settled through my office, and you will have no reason to further contact my client.”

The quiet murmuring between the B&J solicitors sounded optimistic to Oliver’s ears until his father spoke up. “That won’t be good enough. We’d make more from selling.”

Oliver had had enough. His breathing picked up, his annoyance like a powder keg about to explode. “I’m your son. That is my home.” He looked straight at his father. “It was your home. It’s our family legacy. Do you care at all?”

His mother rolled her eyes. “Stop being so sentimental, Oliver. The house is falling apart. Let it go.”

He stood, his palms flat on the table as he addressed his parents. “Nothing is ever going to be good enough for you. I was never good enough for you. You don’t care about anyone but yourselves.”

His father’s eyebrow twitched again. “Sit down, Oliver. I’m speaking to Barnaby.”

“No, you're speaking to me. I’ll take you back to court. I’ll keep this up as long as you want because you’re going to continue wasting what little money you do have, and you’re going to continue to lose. Look around at your solicitors; they’re practically begging you with their eyes to shut the fuck up and take what I’m offering you.”

There was a beat of silence before Mr. Stillwell chimed in. “This is the only offer we are planning to make at this time.”

“There’s no guarantee that the estate makes any money, ever. Why would I agree?”

“You agree because it’s your only option. Take it or leave it, Charles.”

His mother rested her hand on his father’s forearm, a clear signal, and the tightness in Oliver’s shoulders relaxed slightly. His father nodded his head once in the direction of his solicitors, who all let out audible sighs of relief. Oliver sat back down, and Mr. Stillwell patted him again on the shoulder, turning the agreement towards his father for signature. Oliver’s had already been added that morning.

Once the paperwork was signed, Oliver was out of his chair and pushing open the doors of the conference room. Jesse and Isaac stood, and Oliver rushed to them, a wide smile on his face, and threw an arm around each of them. He could feel their matching grins pressed into the dimples of his cheeks.

“Let’s go home, cariño.”

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