Page 27 of Whatever Will Be

“I’ll wait!” I yell.

There’s a riot of noise in the office as Liam curses while presumably pulling his pants up, snapping his laptop shut and cleaning up his own mess.

“What’s wrong?” Whitney stands at the bottom of the landing and gapes at me.

“Your husband is trying to glue the shreds of his dignity back together.”

I must have used too many big words because she shouts, “WHAT?” and begins to climb up.

The office door opens and there’s Liam, a little out of breath but mercifully clothed.

“Goddammit, Trent,” he says and grins like we’re old pals.

The sight of his teeth makes me want to kick them in.

“Did something happen?” Whitney has reached the top of the stairs. She notices her husband. “Your brother is here!”

“I can see that, babe.” He holds his hand out to me and his grin broadens. “It’s been too long.”

“Passing on the handshake,” I mutter and squeeze past him into my father’s old office.

He’s redecorated in here too. The painting of the Sicilian vineyard over the stone fireplace has been replaced with a painting of Whitney wearing a string bikini and stretching out on (what else?) a leopard skin rug. Classy. The furniture is all shiny and black. The photo of my mother that used to sit on the windowsill was likely thrown in the garbage.

Only the view is the same. I look out at the town and squint against the sparkle of Lake Stuart in the distance.

Meanwhile, Liam dismisses his wife and shuts the door again.

“Wish I had some warning you were on your way,” he says.

I step away from the window. “Clearly.”

He snorts and drops into a black leather armchair. He motions that I ought to sit down in the chair’s twin but I ignore the suggestion. I stand back with my arms crossed and take a long, hard look at my only living blood relative, a man who eagerly turned my life into a living hell and took me away from my father during his final months.

“How have you been?” he asks, pretending we’re not mortal enemies.

I shrug. “I’m getting by.”

“Yeah, I hear you’ve done all right for yourself. Glad to see you outgrew all that teenage rebellion. I like to think I had something to do with setting you straight.”

I say nothing but I clench my right fist so tightly I can feel my knuckles crack.

The bastard is amused that I’m here, a visitor in the very place that he stole. He’s gloating.

Liam drums his fingertips on his knee. “I have to admit I was surprised to hear you were back. If I’d known you might want to live in the old house I would have held onto it for you. I would let you have it for below market value.” He winks, thinking he’s made a joke.

Yeah, hell of a joke that he sent me to a private torture camp in order to put our father in a grave and steal everything that was supposed to be mine.

Hilarious.

“How’s business?” I ask flatly and his smile drops.

Liam scratches at his jaw and I get a glimpse of the flashy timepiece on his wrist that’s got to cost more than some cars. Liam was always a sucker for appearances and still is. The Porsche. The trophy wife. The lakefront house. The pricy brewery renovations.

He wants everyone to think he’s a king even if it is all one big fat fucking lie and in reality he’s been running our father’s life’s work into the ground. He’s mortgaged in every direction up to his eyeballs and makes nothing but bad decisions. His marketing campaigns suck, he refuses to expand flavors and the showy packaging redesign he invested in a few years back has been a miserable miss. Revenues have declined by forty percent since he took over. He’s a parasite and he’s been sucking Cassini Brewery dry. The only way he’s been able to keep swimming is thanks to the novelty that a local brewery brings to the table in a town where there’s a lot of money begging to be thrown around.

That, and he keeps finding suckers willing to write checks in exchange for a piece of the company.

Liam won’t be able to hold on indefinitely. And he’s too stupidly stubborn to figure out how to set the ship right.

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