I consider having Jax install an app on her phone remotely. One that mirrors her phone calls and sends them to me, but even I think that might be a little invasive.
Probably highly illegal.
Definitely not favorable if push comes to shove, and we head to court.
Since I pay for her phone, it’s not illegal to get transcripts, but duplicating and listening in crosses a line.
It’s a slippery slope.
Nothing on her phone indicates she’s texted anyone but her friend. I find it interesting and peculiar to see that she doesn’t, in fact, call her sister, save for an incoming call from Erin that lasted less than two minutes.
That relationship is something I’m going to need to investigate.
Maybe, like me, she finds it interesting that my father left the money to his girlfriend’s sister and not to his actual girlfriend. Then again, you’d think his wife and children would be the recipients but look how the fuck that turned out.
I wonder if Erin is reading between the lines and trying to figure out if Payton and my father were having an affair.
I realize that’s what I’m looking for. Proof of her treachery.
But I find nothing in any of the stuff that she brought here. Her bag and her phone also don’t tell me anything or indicate anything. I can’t say I’m disappointed. It’s a dangerous thought. One I have no business entertaining.
Being disappointed in Payton means I expected something from her.
Im-fucking-possible.
A month ago, I had Jax pull up all the information from the prison Dad was locked in, and Payton never called nor visited him, which begs the question . . . why leave her the money? What’s the reason?
It makes no sense.
The only thing I can think of is that he didn’t plan on ever allowing her to have that money. That something else was in motion, but unfortunately for him, he died too soon for his plan to come to fruition.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Payton hollers as she walks into the room.
I look up from where I am by the vanity, holding her notebook in my hand.
Clearly, I’ve been caught snooping. I have two choices: I can try to deny it, or I can admit it. Seeing as I’m an asshole, I go with the latter.
“Going through your stuff.”
No reason to lie now.
“You can’t do that.”
“It’s part of the stipulations,” I say, opening the notebook again even though I’ve already finished skimming it.
It’s not part of the stipulations. I just added that bit. But it works. I’m nothing if not flexible when it benefits me.
“You never, at any point, said that,” she points out, crossing the room until she lands right in front of me.
“But it was implied.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Very well. I guess we have nothing more to discuss. I’ll have your belongings dropped off . . . where?” I smile at her. “Your sister’s place?”
Her eyes are huge.
“No.”
Interesting again.
Clearly bad blood between the two. First the will reading, now this.
“Then where? Your friend’s place is the size of my closet. I saw the inside.” I didn’t. “It doesn’t have enough storage . . .” I arch a brow, amping up the faux concern, laying it on her thick. “Would you like me to donate it? Sell it? Maybe it will get you enough for your first month’s rent. Not enough for tuition, though. Such a damn shame.”
“Fine, do whatever you want.” She throws her hands in the air, face turning pink from her anger. “Go through whatever you want. I have nothing to hide. And if you think you will find something . . . Oh, well. You’ll be S-O-L.”
“S-O-L.”
“Shit outta luck.”
“I know what it means. I’m just shocked those abbreviations are being used by you.”
“Why?”
“Because you are above the age of fourteen, Payton.”
“Is there an age limit for a good abbreviation?”
The anger simmers beneath her words, but I have to respect her. She’s trying really hard not to let it out. The desire to taunt her, to unleash the fury she’s holding back, is tempting.
“Yes.”
“And what, pray tell, is that age?”
“Any age above high school. Actually, make it junior high. Regardless. This whole conversation is ridiculous. Yes. You agree to periodic searches. Now, let’s move on to what I have to tell you. As part of my evaluation to see if I deem you fit to inherit my father’s fortune, I need you to prove you are a good person.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
I raise my brow. “Do you have something you would like to add?”
“Nope. There is something I’d like to deduct—myself. From this situation.”
“Very well. Let’s move on.” I rapid-fire, tossing the notebook behind me, “Volunteer work. Tomorrow. After dinner. We’ll be going together to start this new adventure.”
“Where are we going?”
I lean against her bedpost. “Again, you’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Vague much?” she spits out.