The lawyer stacked his papers and took off his glasses. “Thank you, Mindi. I’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
Accepting the abrupt dismissal, she nodded. “I’ll be at my desk.” Behind the lawyer, Mindi paused in the doorway, made a show of looking Cannon over from shoulders to knees, her sultry gaze lingering on his crotch. She gave another slow lick of her lips and...yeah, okay, he was maybe a little interested.
Hell, he’d been so involved in training, traveling for the fight and then the fight itself, he’d suffered self-imposed celibacy for too long.
But for right now, Cannon gave his full attention back to Whitaker. What could the man possibly need from him that took so damn many papers and notes?
Finally, somber in his preparedness, the lawyer folded his hands together and stared directly at Cannon. “You have inherited property and funds from Mr. Sweeny.”
Whoa. A surge of fear brought Cannon forward. His heart thumped heavily in his chest. “Did something happen to Yvette?”
Bushy brows coming together, the lawyer slid his glasses back on, sifted through the goddamned papers and shook his head. “You’re talking about Ms. Sweeny, the granddaughter?”
“Yes.”
“She has inherited, as well.”
Relief sent oxygen back into his lungs. Jesus. Cannon pinched the bridge of his bruised nose, annoyed by his over-the-top reaction. But then, with Yvette, it had always been that way.
The lawyer went on. “And in fact, Mr. Sweeny has evenly divided his assets between the two of you.”
No way. “Between Yvette and me?”
“Yes.”
Blank, Cannon sat on the edge of his seat and tried to sort it out—without success. “I don’t get it. Why would he do that?”
“He left you a letter.” The lawyer handed over an envelope. “I trust it will explain what I can’t. But what I can explain is that Mr. Sweeny came to me three years ago with very detailed instructions on the distribution of his assets in the event of his demise. He revisited once a year to amend and further clarify as his financial status fluctuated. I saw him for the last time two months ago when his health started to decline.”
“He had a stroke?”
The lawyer nodded, hesitated, then again folded his hands on the desk and dropped the officious attitude. “Tipton had become a friend. He was alone and I’d just lost my wife....” Whitaker shrugged.
“I’m sorry.”
He tilted his chin to acknowledge that. “Tipton’s blood pressure was high and he knew he wasn’t well. He seemed to dismiss the first stroke, but the next was worse and the third worse still. That’s when he finally closed up the pawnshop.”
So he hadn’t closed up shop three years ago, after the vicious attacks, as Cannon had always assumed.
“He was being treated, seeing the specialist on a regular basis, but he figured it was only a matter of time....”
Seeing the sadness on the lawyer’s face sent guilt clawing through Cannon. Damn it, he should have gone to visit Tipton more. He’d known about the first stroke, but not the two after that—and then he’d been in Japan when Tipton’s body gave up the fight. “Yvette was with him?”
Shaking his head, Whitaker said, “He didn’t want to burden her.” A measure of easiness showed on his face as he collected his thoughts. “I gather all of you shared an experience. Tipton never shared the details, but I assume it was something life altering?” He didn’t wait for Cannon to give details. “His granddaughter moved away because of it and Tipton didn’t want a sense of responsibility to bring her back, not, he said, when he knew her trips home were still difficult for her. He wanted her to return on her own terms, not out of a sense of obligation.”
Bombarded with uncomfortable emotions, Cannon got up to pace the small office. Yeah, he imagined Yvette struggled anytime she had to be in town. No girl should ever have to suffer what she had. There were times when the memory of it hit him like a wild haymaker, leaving him dazed, angry, in a cold sweat.
And he wasn’t the one who’d been threatened in the worst possible way.
Remembering softened his voice. “She didn’t know Tipton was sick?”
“Like you, she knew of the first stroke. But Tipton felt strongly about carrying his burden alone.” Chagrined, the lawyer shook his head and said, “No, I’m afraid that’s not precise. He wanted you to share his burden. He said you could handle it.” The lawyer gestured at the letter. “It’s in there.”
A burden? More confused than ever, Cannon tapped the letter to his thigh. “So what are the rest of those papers?”
“Deeds, bank statements, debts to be paid, retirement funds.” He shook two sets of keys out of a padded envelope. “Responsibilities.”
Chewing his upper lip, Cannon stared at the papers—and had the god-awful urge to hand back the letter. His plate was full, and then some. He could handle it, that wasn’t the problem.
It was Yvette.
Could he handle her, the way she affected him?
More to the point, could he resist her now if she needed him? Just thinking about her, hearing her name, had his muscles tightening in that familiar way. “You said deeds?”
“One for the house, one for the business.”
“The pawnshop?”
“Yes.”
“The last I’d heard,” Cannon admitted, “he was going to sell it.” After what had happened, he’d expected Tipton to sell the house as well, but he’d stayed put.