Page 52 of The Breakup Broker

“No.” He squeezed my wrist. “No more later. Richard thinks he’s dealing with a sick old man, but I’ve made sure you’ll have what you need.” His breath hitched. “Promise me you’ll do what’s right by everyone.”

“I promise.” My eyes burned. “But you’re going to help me, right? You’ll?—”

“Where is she?” He looked around suddenly, confusion clouding his features. “Savvy should be here.”

“I’ll call her,” I said. “I’ll get her right now.”

But when I reached for my phone, his grip tightened. “Not yet. First, you need to know...”

His voice faded as his eyes slipped closed.

Mom arrived minutes later, still in her yoga clothes, her face pale with fear. “Daddy?” she whispered, rushing to his bedside.

The next hours passed in a blur of medical terms and waiting rooms. Brain bleed, they said. It’s common with his condition. Moving too fast for surgical intervention. I could only sit there, watching the man who’d been my constant slip away.

My phone buzzed periodically—Savvy, probably wondering why I hadn’t called after leaving this morning. But every time I reached for it, something else demanded attention. Another doctor with questions about James’s history. A nurse needing insurance information.

James drifted in and out of consciousness. Mom held his hand, singing softly—the lullaby she said he used to sing to her as a child. During one clear moment, he gripped my hand and said, “Don’t wait for her to trust you, Henry. Show her who you are.”

“I will,” I promised. “Stay with me a little longer.”

My father arrived around sunset, his presence casting a familiar weight over the room. But James didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, his eyes found mine one last time.

“The folder,” my grandfather whispered. “Remember.”

Those were his last words.

The machines started their frantic beeping as his hand went slack in mine. I barely registered the doctors rushing in, the nurse gently pulling us back. Mom’s anguished cry pierced the chaos as she clung to her father’s hand.

“Time of death, 8:47 p.m.”

The words echoed in the sudden silence, made more final by the absence of beeping monitors. My mother’s sobs filled the void, but I couldn’t move.Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t process that James Morrison—the only person who’d ever truly understood me—was gone.

“I’ll handle the arrangements,” my father said, reaching for his phone.

“No.” My voice sliced through Mom’s quiet sobs. “You’re not handling anything.”

“Henry.” His voice carried that unmistakable warning edge. “This isn’t the time?—”

“When is the time, Dad? After you’ve complained about the cost of his care again? Or are you too busy calculating how much power Mom’s inheritance will add to your empire?”

A shadow passed over his face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Everything I’ve done?—”

“Has been about control. Always.” The words poured out, years of watching him diminish James fueling my anger. “You put him in here because you couldn’t control him at home. Because he saw through you.”

“I put him here because it was best for everyone,” he snapped. “The cost alone?—”

“The cost?” I laughed. “That’s all he ever was to you. A line item on your balance sheet. The price of keeping Mom’s father somewhere you could manage him.”

“How dare you question?—”

“He was worth ten of you.” My voice shook. “He understood what genuine power was. It’s not about money, control, or forcing people to bend to your will. It’s about what you protect. What you nurture. What you love.”

“Love?” He sneered. “Love doesn’t build empires, Henry.”

“No. But it builds things that last.” I looked at my mother, still clutching James’s hand. “Things worth fighting for.”

“And what exactly are you fighting for? That little town? That girl?” His lip curled. “I thought we dealt with that weakness years ago.”

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