Page 19 of Knot Your Pucking Secret

“They were extraordinarily successful. Glen’s NHL contracts alone were worth tens of millions over the course of his career.”

He flicks another page. “He retained a substantial ownership interest in the Cardinals organization. Your mother came from a wealthy family in her own right, bringing significant assets into the marriage. Each member of your parents’ pack also carried comprehensive life insurance policies. They wanted absolute certainty that, if the worst were ever to happen, their daughter would never want for anything.”

I blink, my heart beating out of control as I turn the page, my fingers shaking ever so slightly as I scan the information.

“Each…member?”

Julian nods.

“Each of your five parents named you as either the primary beneficiary or beneficiary through the family trust. Those policies were never paid to you. They couldn’t be.”

He taps the file, and I gaze back down at the financial statements I hadn’t acknowledged until now.

“So, the proceeds remained within the estate.”

My eyes move across page after page. Investment reports. Dividend statements. Property valuations. Trusts. Corporate holdings.

“The insurance proceeds weren’t simply left sitting in a bank account, but Brett didn’t know this,” Julian explains. “Your grandfather invested them conservatively alongside the existing estate. Over the past twenty-nine years, those investments have continued to grow.”

He slides a single sheet of paper in front of me, and I reach out to prevent it from being lost in the pile.

“This,” he says, his voice firm. As if he’s almost excited to be the one to tell me this news. “This is the current valuation of your parents’ estate.”

My eyes fall to the figure at the bottom of the page. For a moment, I don’t understand what I’m looking at. I skim over the number a few times, then begin to search the other documents frantically. Searching for the catch. The lie. The real figure. Because this? This is diabolical.

Too many commas. Too many zero’s.

Two billion, eight hundred and seventy-three million, four hundred and twenty-six dollars and forty-one cents.

My mouth becomes dry.

“J-Julian?”

His eyes remain on me, patient as ever.

“That’s…that’s not right.”

“It is,” he replies calmly. “Every valuation has been independently audited. Every investment has been accounted for. Every trust has been reconciled. Everything, Miss Welsh, is yours.”

He catches me off guard at the use of my birth name, but I can’t think straight.

My vision blurs over the numbers before me, and I actually stop breathing.

He reaches for another folder, sliding several valuation summaries across the desk.

“Your grandfather understood something very few people do.” I drag my watery eyes away from the figure long enough to meet his. “Money left untouched has a remarkable way of making more of itself.” He offers me a smile, meanwhile my soul has just up and left my fucking body. “He treated every dollar as though you might walk through that door tomorrow. And he and I had an agreement that was not privy to Brett. That I would carry this out should his wishes come true.”

You couldn’t jump over the lump in my throat.

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

He never stopped waiting for me, even from beyond the grave.

“This? This is all mine?” I manage to choke out, not bothering to worry about how I might look as tears start to fall down my cheeks.

“Yes, Miss Welsh. It’s all yours.”

“He left me all this?”