“As he doesn’t own the property, he couldn’t have attached it.”
“He has guaranteed it as your heir, so after you pass away, everything will be mine. I’ve sued him in the courts to obtain it immediately—and won.”
Samson scowled, his bewilderment growing. Could a creditor get judgment on a son’s future inheritance? Was it possible? He supposed it was, but where did that leave Samson?
“I’ll confer with my own attorney,” he said, his smile tight. “He’ll fix this for me, so don’t be too confident.”
“I’m not concerned about this paltry estate. I’d like to address the main issue that intrigues me.” Ralston eased down into his chair again. “What excuse will you use to justify your lengthy embezzlement from your niece?”
“What are you saying?” Samson paled. “You can’t spew slander without consequence.”
“Truth is a defense.” Ralston was very smug.
Samson shifted nervously, watching as the clerks came over to skulk behind Ralston. Their condemning glowers left him even more rattled.
“What is your point?” he asked Ralston. “May I suggest you be very clear?”
“Your theft from her trust fund has been exposed,” Ralston blithely responded, “and you’ve been removed as trustee.”
“What? What?”
“Lord Barrett will take your place temporarily, but I’ll be in charge of it after I wed Caroline.”
Ralston had spewed so many bizarre comments that Samson couldn’t keep track of them all. He’d been removed as trustee? Barrett had taken his place? Ralston assumed he was marrying Caroline?
“You’re mad,” Samson blurted out.
Ralston nodded. “Many people have always thought so.”
“That money is. . . is. . . mine. You can’t merely swoop in and seize it.”
“It’s not yours, you deluded fiend. It’s never been yours, and I’ve already seized it. Your fingers have been yanked out of that fiscal pie, and you’ll never be able to stick them back into it. You’ve stolen your last farthing from Caroline.”
“I demand to speak to her!” Samson blustered. “Produce her at once so she can inform you of how happy she’s been with how I’ve managed her affairs.”
“You have the gall to claim she’s been happy? Is that your position? She was happy with how you stole from her?” Ralston gestured to the clerks. “These two fellows are very good with numbers, and they’ll be delving into your records. Eventually, they’ll apprise me—down to the penny—how much you pilfered.”
“I spent all of it for Caroline’s benefit! I spent it to make her life better! Just ask anyone. She lived like a princess in my home!”
Ralston clucked his tongue with offense, and the clerks bristled. The thug whacked Samson alongside the head and said, “Shut up. We’re sick of listening to you.”
Samson might have chastised the cretin, but he looked so fierce that Samson didn’t dare. He gazed at Ralston instead and insisted, “You can’t do this. You can’t!”
“The switch of trustees is complete,” Ralston said with a grim finality, “and now, you simply need to prepare for your arrest.”
“My arrest!”
“Yes, you and your son. After I’ve notified Caroline of your malfeasance, I can’t predict if she’ll seek revenge or not. She’s a very kind person, so she may request leniency on your behalf, but until then, you’ll be incarcerated.” Ralston rose to his full height, like a judge about to pass sentence. “If I am the man to decide your fate, I shall ask that you be hanged and that I be allowed to pull the rope that breaks your neck.”
Samson forced out, “Caroline wouldn’t want you to treat me this way.”
“I don’t plan to tell her. I’ll keep her in the dark—as you have. I’ll arrange to have you executed, and she’ll never learn what happened.”
Samson gulped with terror and fainted dead away.
“Ralston! What the bloody hell is going on?”
Gregory stormed into the library, but with his wrists shackled, it was difficult to muster much bravado.
He’d been napping, sleeping off his hangover, when a group of ruffians had barged into his bedchamber. He’d recognized Lord Barrett from socializing in town, but he hadn’t known any of the others. They’d dragged him off the bed and attached his fetters without uttering a word as to their purpose.
He’d been marched down the stairs without being permitted to make himself more presentable, so he was barefoot, not wearing a coat, his hair standing on end.
“Hello, Gregory,” Caleb Ralston said. “Thank you for joining us. Have a seat.”
Ralston was behind his father’s desk, comfortably relaxed as if it belonged to him. Lord Barrett grabbed Gregory and was hauling him across the room when he saw his father unconscious on the floor.
He blanched. “You deranged lunatic! Have you killed my father?”
“Not yet.” Ralston smiled an evil smile.
At hearing their voices, Samson stirred and sat up. He was swaying, off balance, and Gregory helped him to his feet, then Samson staggered to a chair, his eyes wide with alarm.
“They’ve taken the money from us!” Samson wailed.
“What?”
Gregory plopped onto his own chair and scowled at his father, but before the man could clarify his comment, Ralston said, “Your sister, Janet, has married my brother, Blake.”
Gregory’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true, and after the wedding, she provided me with some very interesting information.”
Samson was gesturing oddly, as if warning Gregory to be careful. Gregory received his message. “My sister is flighty as a mockingbird.”
“Most women are,” Ralston agreed, “but in this instance, I felt compelled to investigate her story. Lord Barrett and I did some digging into the Caroline Grey Mining Trust.”
“Oh. . .” Gregory murmured, then the import settled in, and he said more firmly, “Oh!”
“You can imagine our surprise when we realized that it was created by Caroline’s late father and that Caroline is the sole beneficiary.”
“I don’t know much about it,” Gregory claimed, “so I can’t really furnish any details.”
Ralston scoffed in an eerie way. “You don’t know much about it? How peculiar then that so many of the quarterly disbursements have been shifted into your own bank account.”
“You’re mistaken,” Gregory said. “I’ve obtained no such disbursements.”
Ralston
