Page 55 of Wicked Games (Silvercrest U #1)

FELIX

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?” Killian asks as he pulls up in front of my uncle’s house. “I don’t like the idea of you being out of my sight.”

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “I just need to sign some papers for my trust fund.”

It’s the fourth day of our break, and Killian has barely left my side the entire time. Even the twins are spending most of their time at the house with us, and their concern means everything to me.

No one has ever really given a shit about me or my safety, and I never realized how much I was missing by not having a family I could count on. Now I officially feel like I’m one of them, and I also know what it feels like to finally have people in my corner.

Killian and I had planned to spend most of the day in the pool house with Xave and the twins while preparations for Thanksgiving are underway at the main house, but the text I got from my uncle last night has put a pause on that for the time being.

Xave is going to meet us later, but the twins came along on the drive to my uncle’s house and spent most of it bickering about Jace milking his arm injury so he can make Jax do pretty much everything for him.

For people who are basically two halves of the same whole and love each other to a degree that’s pathologically scary sometimes, they fight like sleepover enemies and are catty as fuck. And I’m here for every silly barb and childish insult they throw at each other.

Being an only child was lonely as hell, and it’s cathartic to get the sibling experience through them now.

“Why would he have paperwork for your trust fund?” Jace asks from the back of the car.

“He’s the executor until I turn twenty-five.”

“Does he have access to it?” Killian asks.

“Sort of, but he can’t just take whatever he wants out of it. He has to get my permission in writing for whatever amount he wants to withdraw, and he also has to get my grandpa to sign off on it before they’ll release the funds to him.”

Jace makes a thoughtful face at the same time Jax says, “Is he the executor or a trustee?”

“Executor.” I look between the three of them. “What?”

“Nothing, just getting all the details straight,” Killian says. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

“Not sure, but it shouldn’t be too long.”

He leans over and kisses me. And not a quick kiss either, but a long one full of passion and tongues. I’m more than a little flustered when he pulls away.

“Hurry back.”

“Yeah, hurry back,” Jace says, his voice dreamy and breathless. “I’ll miss youuuuuuuuu,” he singsongs and drags the word out.

I flip the twins off and give Killian a goofy smile as I stumble out of the car. I’m practically floating as I make my way to the front door, and more than a little distracted when my uncle’s butler brings me to his downstairs office.

“He’ll be right with you,” the butler tells me, and before I can answer, he’s sweeping out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I make my way over to one of the chairs in front of the desk and sink into it.

The office is gaudy as hell and looks like someone had a surplus of gold foil they needed to use up when they decorated it.

Every other thing is either gold or accented with gold, and from what I’ve seen of the rest of the house, that’s his preferred style.

My dad was the opposite. He was one of those wealthy people who didn’t look rich unless you knew what to look for.

He never wore designer labels, but that didn’t mean his stuff wasn’t expensive.

His watch collection alone is insured for almost ten million, and his closet was full of suits that cost more than most people bring home in a month of work.

The one thing he and my dad have in common is that I don’t really know either of them all that well. I’ve only seen my uncle a handful of times in the last ten years or so, and my dad’s funeral wasn’t one of them.

I didn’t care enough to ask too many questions at the time, but apparently he was away on a business trip when my dad died and didn’t cut it short to attend the services.

My grandfather reached out to me and explained that he wouldn’t be attending because of scheduling conflicts and safety concerns, but he made sure the funeral was paid for and hired someone to do my part of the planning for me, so all I had to do was show up.

My uncle couldn’t even be bothered to read the text I sent him asking for his lawyer’s contact information when I learned about him being the executor of my inheritance.

From what I know, my dad and uncle weren’t close, but it still feels weird that he didn’t make any sort of effort to pay tribute to his brother or reach out to me at all after the accident and only contacted me about my trust fund.

But it’s not like any of it really matters. Funerals are for the living, and him not being there didn’t affect me at all, so I’m not about to waste my time wondering about his motivations.

The door to the office opens, and I immediately sit up straight.

“Felix,” my uncle says as he comes into the room.

He’s a few years older than my dad, and the two of them look so alike they could be mistaken for twins and not just brothers. My grandmother used to call them bookends, and it’s jarring to see him looking so much like my dad and walking around when the last time I saw my father, he was in a box.

“Uncle Erik.” I stand so I can shake his offered hand.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it to the service. I unfortunately couldn’t cut my trip short.” He picks a manilla envelope off his desk and opens it. “Did you get the flowers my secretary sent?” he asks absently.

“I did, thank you. They were very nice.” I don’t remember what they looked like, or even that he sent flowers at all, but I’m not about to tell him that.

“I just have a few things for you to sign, and you can be on your way.” He pulls a stack of sheets out of the envelope and riffles through them. “Here.” He hands me the papers and pulls a gold pen out of his breast pocket. “Just sign everywhere that’s marked and initial where you see the red tabs.”

I take the pen and look at the top sheet.

“Where’s the rest of the document?” I ask, glancing up at him. “This is just the signature page.”

“I already went through everything, and it’s all in order,” he says dismissively. “Just sign your parts and everything will be taken care of.”

“I’m not signing anything without reading it,” I tell him and flip through the rest of the papers.

From what I can tell, there are three different documents he wants me to sign, but I only have the signature pages and a few pages with actual info on them that I need to initial.

“It’s just stating the terms of your trust,” he says. “There’s no new information in it.”

I scan one of the pages I’m supposed to initial. The information is incomplete, but it looks like there’s been an amendment to two of the clauses of my trust.

“What about the other ones?” I ask as I read the clauses.

I might be wrong, but it looks like he’s changed himself from the executor to a trustee, and he’s changed the terms for withdrawing funds so he no longer needs my grandfather’s signature to have funds released, only mine.

“Just more of the same,” he says. “One is a contract for the bank holding your assets, and the other is just a statement of your shares in the company.”

I flip to the next page and skim through the text. It is a bank contract, but from what I can tell, it gives the trustee of my accounts and what’s left of my dad’s estate full control over how it can be invested and removes the requisite for me to approve any changes.

“I’m between meetings,” he says when I flip to the last page. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I really don’t have time for you to dawdle right now.”

“I don’t think asking to know what I’m signing is the same as dawdling,” I point out as I read the page.

This one isn’t just a statement of my company shares; it looks like it’s part of a will.

My will.

There isn’t much info on the page, but I already have a will. Why the hell is there a new one in front of me?

“I’m sorry about your meetings, Uncle Erik, but I can’t sign any of these until I see the rest of the documents and read through them. My dad didn’t teach me much, but not signing anything I haven’t thoroughly read was one of the few lessons he made sure to pass on.”

He heaves a dramatic sigh and walks around his desk. “If you insist,” he says and tugs open one of the drawers.

My heart drops into my stomach when he doesn’t pull out papers but instead pulls out a gun.

“You should have just signed them.” He levels the gun at me. “Then you could have walked away.”

“Uncle Erik?” I ask stupidly. What the hell is happening?

“I tried to take care of you like I did my brother, but you can’t get good help these days.” He comes around the desk, the gun still pointed at my head.

“Wait, what? The accident…it wasn’t an accident?”

He grins, and the dead look in his eyes sends a shiver up my spine.

“You killed your own brother and his entire family?” I ask incredulously.

“Not his entire family,” he says, that sinister smile still on his lips. “You’re still alive. For now.”

“Why?” My eyes widen as the truth dawns on me. “You’re after his assets. You want my shares in the company.”

“They should be mine anyway,” he says bitterly. “I’ve given my entire life to the company, and Dad gives him an equal split of shares with me? And now you’ve got his and the brats and your own. It’s not fair.”

“And that will make me the primary shareholder when Grandpa dies,” I say as the pieces all click into place. “You’re going to kill me so you get all the shares after he dies.”

“As it should have always been.” He waves the gun at the papers in my hand. “Sign them, now.”

Just then, my phone pings with a notification. I instinctively reach for it.

“Stop.” He holds out his free hand. “Give it to me.”

I pull it out of my pocket, but before I hand it to him, I give it three quick but firm shakes.

He gives me a strange look and takes it. “Now sign them.”

“And if I do, you’ll let me go?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Of course not. But I’d rather you sign them without me having to bloody up my floors convincing you.”

“So you’re going to shoot me if I don’t do it, but then you’ll just shoot me after I do it.”

He waves the gun at the papers again. “Essentially. Now sign them before I get impatient.”

“I never took you for the killing type,” I say casually and flip to the first page again. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Just sign them.”

“I am.” I scribble my old signature on the first line. I haven’t used it in years, and it should trigger some sort of second look if he gets away with this. Hopefully he doesn’t notice. “I’m just saying there’s a difference between ordering a kill and doing it yourself.”

“Stop talking and sign.” He steps closer to me and presses the gun against my forehead. “Now.”