Page 26 of Necessary Cruelty

Tamping down on my mounting annoyance, I bend over the papers again, skimming the different paragraphs and codicils for whatever it is my father won’t just spit out. “The majority of our money came from Mom’s family and reverts back to the Abbot’s in the case of divorce or separation, which isn’t really an issue considering you can’t divorce a dead woman. Something, something, inheritance will pass on to any naturally born children of the union, but only in the event that the firstborn…”

I cut myself off, convinced I’m not reading it right. The papers are out of order, and I flip through them, thinking I must have missed something. The last bit I read out loud, not because I’m stupid, but because whatever words are processing through my mind can’t possibly be correct.

“The firstborn of this union will marry a descendent of the Hewitt, McKinley, Bianchi, Spenser, Tackett, Avery, or Milbourne bloodlines, heretofore known as the Founding Families or all money and property aforementioned in this agreement shall revert to Abbott family holdings without lease or lien. What the actual fuck does this mean?”

Duke looks at me with an expression that almost seems sympathetic. “It means that I can’t pass any of our money onto you, because it doesn’t actually belong to me. Old man Abbott played hardball, and I was too desperate to fight him on any of this. If we don’t fulfill the contract, almost everything we have goes back to your mother’s family. Unless you marry the descendent of a Founding family, you’ll be penniless. Bristol Abbott was obsessed about the power of these last names, and he held the purse strings like a noose.”

I note he doesn’t say anything about being so in love with my mother that the money didn’t matter, not that I’m surprised.

My father doesn’t even sound like he blames Grandpa Abbott for being obsessed with status. Probably because no matter how much money you make, it never quite makes as much of a difference as having the right name does, especially in Deception. He wanted the one thing you can’t buy.

I could respect someone else thinking that signing this prenup was a reasonable thing to do, but it’s my life being screwed with now.

“This is bullshit.”

“You missed the part that says you have to get married before your nineteenth birthday, and your wife has to conceive a child to carry on the family name within a year.”

If it was possible to raise a man from the dead just to kill him all over again, in that moment I would happily do just that to my own grandfather.

“I’m not playing this game with you or anyone else. Nobody is going to make me get married before I’m ready, especially from beyond the grave.”

My father sighed, the exhaustion clear in the set of his slumped shoulders. “Then we lose everything but the manor. And it takes six figures a year just to cover the property taxes on this place.”

“There has to be a way to fight this.” I slam my hands down on the table, ignoring the sharp sting in my palms. My voice sounds strained even to me. I wonder if this is what the bargaining stage of grief feels like. “Bring the lawyers in and let them handle it.”

“I’ve already tried that and more. Your Abbott cousins are eager to see the money revert, for obvious reasons. They would give me a small stipend for the remainder of my life, but it won’t be near like anything we’re used to. Eventually, we would lose the house, and there certainly won’t be enough for your college tuition.”

“What about all the businesses and the land? Cortland Construction is booked out with jobs for the next six months.”

“We’re leveraged past the point of no return. My father, and his too, borrowed against everything more than a few times over. You don’t want to know some of the people we owe money.”

“Fortunes are lost and made every day,” I argue, deciding his admission is something to deal with later. The desperation makes me crazed. “The construction company is doing well. We can focus on building up the business. We don’t need dirty Abbott cash.”

“You don’t have any idea the kind of numbers we’re talking about here.” His voice is bleak, but accepting. It makes me wonder just how long he agonized before finally working up the nerve to tell me the truth. The vindictive part of me hopes that the guilt eats at him like acid in his gut. “There won’t be enough money for private school tuition or tutors, so Emma will have to transfer to that Godforsaken high school full of every degenerate punk in town next year. We’ll need to lay off all the staff. And that’s just what has to happen immediately, while we prepare the house for sale. If we can act quickly enough to avoid a foreclosure, some of the equity might be salvaged.”

He pauses for dramatic effect to let all of that sink in.

My father is desperate, no disputing that. But for the first time, I realize that I’m being manipulated. As much as I’d like to see the look on Giselle’s face when she finds herself in the poorhouse, everyone who has ever met me knows I would rather chew broken glass than let Emma suffer so much as a hangnail.

I’ve seen the terrible things that go on at Deception High. Hell, a lot of it was instigated by me. I know what kinds of things people do when they’re desperate for a better way of life.

Emma will get chewed up and spit right back out.

My father watches me with sad eyes, heavy with the weight of a terrible world. “There is only one real way to salvage this situation.”

“Why would you sign this?”

“The codicil for your marriage only takes effect in the event of your mother’s passing, if she died while any of her children were still young,” Duke’s voice breaks. With a shaking hand, he reaches for the brandy decanter and pours out a full glass. He drains the glass and pours another before speaking again. “I never thought she would die, not so soon. Not before me.”

Pressure builds in my chest, a mix of anger and disquiet that momentarily robs me of the ability to breathe. A different sort of person might call it a panic attack, but I don’t want to acknowledge the anxiety of a suddenly uncertain future.

Only the rage.

And a powerlessness so profound it makes me want to destroy everything in sight.

Power is the only thing that matters in a place like Deception. Money is the most important form of power there is. The Cortlands might have the right name, but without the money to back it up, any power we have left will dry up like an empty well.

A founding family without cash might as well be Gulch trash.

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