Colton Christmas Protector (The Coltons of Texas #12)(65)

His father’s eyes were as large and round as their coffee mugs, his complexion as white as their napkins. “Controlling interest—” he sputtered. Now his cheeks grew florid, his jaw tightening. “I did not leave any part of my company to Hugh Barrington. What kind of stunt are you trying to pull?”

“Me?” He flopped back on the booth seat and blinked at his father, stunned. The heat of anger rushed through him. “I’m not pulling anything! You’re the one who—” He cut himself off and, teeth clenched, he drew a slow, calming breath. “You didn’t leave controlling interest of the company to Hugh?”

“Hell no!” Eldridge shouted, slamming his fist on the table so hard their coffee sloshed.

Reid folded his arms over his chest and stared at his father while his mind took off in new directions, factoring this in with everything else he’d learned about Hugh Barrington.

“Did Barrington...did that bastard lawyer tell you he got majority stake in my company?”

Reid arched an eyebrow. “You know, having more than one copy of your will would have allowed us to verify his claim. You should know better business practice than—”

“One copy? That’s insane! Of course I have more than one copy.” Eldridge looked apoplectic. He blinked rapidly, the veins in his neck pulsing, and his voice was so tight he could barely speak. “Did Barrington say...? But Aaron knew... After all the years I’ve trusted that smarmy ambulance chaser!”

Reid wanted to agree on that point. His father should have known his lawyer better, shouldn’t have trusted him so implicitly. But then Eldridge wasn’t the only one Hugh had deceived. And pointing out Eldridge’s lack of discernment wasn’t going to help the current conversation, so he bit his tongue.

“So...” His father seemed to be having trouble breathing. “All these months, my Whittie-pooh has thought I didn’t leave her anything?”

Reid groaned. “Can we not use the nauseating pet names for the rest of this conversation?”

Celia returned with their plates, and Reid surveyed what she put in front of him. If his food tasted half as good as it smelled, he might have to make this dive a regular lunch spot.

He picked up his fork and regarded Eldridge warily. “Like I said, the will was only read last month when we thought the burned body was you. All the months prior, no one knew what it said.”

Eldridge was stroking his chest and breathing heavily, his face dark with fury. He ignored his food, and after a moment, Reid grew worried. When his father appeared to be having trouble breathing, his face turning beet red, Reid slid toward the end of the booth bench and lunged toward his father, shouting to their waitress, “Call an ambulance!”

*

Before he stepped off the elevator, Fowler opened the voice-recorder app on his phone and slid the cell into the inside breast pocket of his suit coat. As the doors slid open, he tugged on the cuffs of his shirt and strode into the reception area of Barrington’s office.

Hugh’s secretary looked up from her computer, and Fowler barked, “Is he in?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Tell him I’m here.” Fowler shoved down the twinge of impatience jumping inside him as he waited for Barrington’s secretary to announce him. He was tempted to barge into the old coot’s office unannounced but doing so would get Barrington’s back up, start the meeting with a note of discord, and Fowler wanted Hugh lulled into a false sense that everything was copacetic.

When he was allowed in to see the lawyer, Fowler feigned one of his charming, ain’t-business-great smiles that had helped him wrangle more than one deal for Colton Inc. and coaxed a few pretty blondes into his bed, too.

After the usual tooth-grinding pleasantries, Fowler took a seat across from Hugh and launched his attack. “I’d like to discuss my father’s will.”

He saw the none-too-subtle tensing of Barrington’s shoulders. Not for the first time, Fowler looked at Barrington and thought of Fred Flintstone, the short but muscular cartoon character with the thick swath of dark hair. “What about it?”

“I’m just wondering your thoughts on the drafting of his will. As Eldridge’s lawyer, didn’t it concern you that there was only one copy? That he went to someone else to have it written?”

Barrington leaned back in his swivel chair, steepling his fingers in a relaxed manner incongruous with the nervous tic of his right eye behind his silver framed glasses. “I knew I could keep it safe, so I didn’t question his wish to have only one—”

“And you didn’t question why he used another lawyer?”

Hugh blinked. Swallowed hard. “I...trusted Eldridge had good reason—”

“So why didn’t that lawyer keep a copy?”

Hugh’s jaw tightened. “You’d have to ask the lawyer.”

“I’d like to. So who would this other lawyer be?”

Barrington’s eye was twitching harder, and he hesitated before saying carefully, “Fowler, let’s be honest...”

“Please.” Fowler turned up a palm of invitation, although he was certain the “honesty” Barrington proffered in his next breath would be anything but.

“We both know your father was a bit...eccentric.”

Fowler arched an eyebrow. Eccentric wasn’t the half of it.