Page 19 of SALT

"Oh," she says, eyeing her now empty glass. "If you want to talk about Dad, I need a refill." Pushing the soft throw blanket off, she rises, putting her long, toned legs on display, legs I shouldn't be looking at, let alone thinking about, but I am all the same. So when she asks, "Would you like a refill?"

My answer is easy. "Yes, make mine a double, please."

From where I'm positioned on the couch, my back is toward the kitchen, which is a good thing. As much as I don't want to take my eyes off her, I need to. I need to get a grip on myself. She might be an acceptable age, but what about everything else? Duty, honor, respect, loyalty to my best fucking friend. He might be six feet underground, but that doesn't change the fact that he entrusted me with his most prized possession.

She's back in what feels like seconds with our drinks, not spending nearly enough time making them for me to clear my mind of the reckless thoughts I can't seem to escape. When she hands me my drink, her perky satin-covered breasts are practically spilling out of her camisole, causing me to cross my legs. The last thing I need is for her to know she affects me. She's been teasing me for years, and it's getting harder and harder to ignore. Collecting her discarded blanket, she takes a seat, but it's no longer on the couch opposite me. No, now she's sitting on the far side of the same one I'm on. The move is innocent enough—she even covers her bare legs—but it's the proximity in general that's becoming unbearable. It should calm my nerves, seeing her, smelling her, having her close, but instead, the combination feeds my insanity.

"What exactly do you want to talk about? I know the envelope was sealed when you gave it to me, but I assumed it wasn't in its original packaging."

She knows me well. That damn envelope was the bane of my existence when it showed up the day she turned twenty-one. I contemplated opening it and repackaging it just as she's assuming now. After all, she didn't know the letter existed, and neither did I until it arrived. However, I ultimately decided against it. I had already received my own letter from Damon the week following his death. Aside from a father writing his daughter well wishes for a milestone life event, I didn't believe there was anything in hers of importance. But with the events that have happened recently and her twenty-second birthday coming up, I'm not convinced her letter was only regrets, hearts, and words of affirmation.

I could ask her to tell me what the letter said, but I'm not sure she'd give it to me verbatim, and I don't want to ask her something and inadvertently share information she's not yet privy to, but I've suspected for some time that, maybe even before the accident, she's known Kelce isn't her brother full or otherwise. Leaning into that will help me gauge my next question.

"Did Damon mention Kelce in his letter to you?"

Her chest visibly inflates before she takes a long drink of bourbon. That reaction tells me she knows something.

"I know he's only my half brother," she answers flatly. "But you already knew that." She raises a brow, daring me to tell her she's wrong. "So how about you stop dancing around what you really want to ask me and get on with it?"

Fucking hell. Now I'm the one taking a drink to keep my hands to myself when all I really want to do is punish her for her smart mouth.

"Fine," I finally say with a renewed vehemence as the fresh cognac heats my veins. "Kelce isn't your father's son. Which means he's not part of your father's will?—"

"That's not true. He was left money in a trust fund, same as me. You were there when the lawyers read the will."

"You're not wrong that he was left money in a trust fund. However, the difference between yours and his is that his is revocable. Yours is not."

"Revocable?" she questions. "You mean like he has to meet certain criteria to keep his inheritance. I've heard of trust fund babies who lose their right to their inheritance because they went against the terms of their fund."

She's done her homework. I'm not sure why I expected anything less. Cameron Salt has always been intelligent. Her mind has always been a weakness of mine. Looks are one thing, but add a brain to that package… You'd be surprised how hard of a combo that is to find.

"Yes, that's one way a trust can be revocable. The other is that the grantor put an expiration date on it." I'm confident the only reason Kelce was ever on it to begin with, was most likely because Amelia had been present when the trust was set up, meaning there was no way Damon could cut him out completely. So he snuck verbiage into the document that ensured his assets would go to his blood and his blood alone.

"Okay…" She brings her legs up, resting her glass atop her knees. "When is his part of the trust set to expire?"

I take another drink. It's unusual for me to have conversations where I'm not certain of the outcome. However, tonight changed things. I may not be certain that Kelce was behind tonight's break-in, but I need her to take the break-in seriously. She needs to understand there is a potential threat to her and that tonight may not have been a robbery gone wrong.

"His trust dissolves the day you turn twenty-two."

It's another reason I wasn't in a hurry to push Cameron out all these years. In the letter I received upon Damon's death, I learned the truth about Kelce, and he also told me about the trust and how Kelce's last disbursement would be the year Cameron turned twenty-one. That was when her trust reached full maturity. She gained access to funds at eighteen, but assets such as property and her shares in Callahan & Associates were delayed until twenty-one. Cameron got everything, and I've been waiting for the fallout, for the day Kelce would come knocking when his paycheck didn't show up in his bank account like it has for the past four years.

Her eyes widen before she says, "Wait, do you think Kelce would come after me for money? Is that what you're getting at right now? Do you think it was him tonight?"

This is why I wanted to avoid leading the conversation in this direction. I don't have answers yet. "It's a possibility. One that has yet to be ruled out." I don't bother telling her how great the probability is, considering we don't know where he is, but she doesn't need to know that. I have no plans of letting her out of my sight anytime soon.

"I know Kelce and I were never really close. He was eight years old when I was born, but he wasn't mean either. Plus, like me, he's been getting money since the accident. I don't believe he would be behind this just for money."

I take a drink of my cognac. "You'd be surprised how people who have always had money never prepare for the day they won't."

"Everett, you wanted to talk, so stop talking in circles. If you know that Kelce blew through his trust fund already, then just say that. I'm not twelve. I won't get upset, and I'm old enough to comprehend and deduce probable outcomes."

My eyes hold hers for a beat. I know she's more than capable of understanding. I know that if I told her Kelce was broke, she'd be fine. That's not the part I'm concerned about. The part that's currently eating away at my sanity is where he is and what he knows. I don't want her finding out truths from an estranged sibling with a chip on his shoulder. Cameron has thick skin; she learned from a young age not to sweat the small stuff, especially the things we can't control. But I also know that behind her tough exterior is a tender heart. She feels things deeply, and if anyone is going to share truths about the past, it will be me. Just not yet. I don't have all the details, and she deserves every last one.

"Kelce is broke."

I don't elaborate any more than that. Of course I've been keeping tabs on him. The second I found out about the accident, I was watching him, but it was a week later, when I received Damon's letter, that I started watching for entirely different reasons. Kelce is his mother's son. Cameron and Kelce's trust funds were set up to pay lump sums to them at the start of each calendar year. He would blow through his within five months, year after year. Last year was his last payout, and when he didn't get one this year, I expected a visit or a call, but so far, nothing—aside from the fact that, at the moment, he's currently MIA.

She trills her lips and runs her fingers through her long auburn hair. "Maybe I can loan?—"

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