Page 56 of Until the Storm Breaks
“What about her?” Dominic asks.
“She’s lived there for ten years. Mom promised?—”
“Mom promised a lot of things she couldn’t deliver on,” Dominic cuts me off. “Maren’s lease was always month-to-month. She knew that. Besides, towards the end Mom wasn’t exactly making binding legal commitments.”
The words land hard. Theo flinches. I take a step forward before catching myself. “You let me spend weeks fixing that house.” My voice comes out raw. “Weeks, Dom. Replacing boards, patching the roof. Knowing the whole time it would be demolished.”
Dominic sets down his phone. “You needed something to do. I didn’t see the harm.”
“The harm is you lied.” The words taste bitter. “Every time I mentioned the repairs, every time I talked about the sale, you could have told me the truth.”
“You could have asked for specifics,” Dominic says, crossing his arms. “But you didn’t want details, did you? You wanted to play carpenter and avoid reality. Hide in your manual labor instead of dealing with the actual estate.”
“I shouldn’t have to interrogate my own brother to get the truth.”
“Please, both of you,” Theo says, stepping between us like he used to when we were kids, always the peacemaker, always trying to hold us together. His hands are shaking slightly. Too much coffee or too much stress, probably both. “This isn’thelping anyone. What’s done is done. We need to focus on moving forward.”
Moving forward. Like it’s that simple. Like we can just bulldoze the past and build something shiny and new on top.
“I can fight this,” I say, mind racing through options.
“How?” Dominic’s voice turns dismissive, almost pitying. “I’m the executor, Cal. Mom’s will gives me full authority to liquidate assets as I see fit for the benefit of the estate. I don’t actually need your signature. Or anyone’s. You have no legal standing to challenge this. And even if you did, you have no money to match their offer.”
My mouth goes dry. “What?”
“It’s ideal to have everyone on board because we’re family,” Dominic says, straightening the stack of papers on the table. “Believe me, I would love a unanimous agreement. Make things cleaner, emotionally speaking. But legally? I have full authority. I could have done this months ago.”
“You can’t just?—”
“I can. I have. We close after the memorial.” He starts gathering his papers. “I tried to include you, Cal. But you made it clear you didn’t want to be involved in the messy details. So I handled them.”
“By lying to me. To Jack.”
“By making the best decision for everyone,” Dominic says. “Five hundred thousand each after debts and costs. That’s life-changing money for all of us.”
“It’s blood money.”
“It’s reality,” he says. “And it’ll be done whether you accept it or not.”
Theo looks miserable but doesn’t argue. He knows Dominic’s right about the legal authority. They’ve probably already discussed this.
“This isn’t over,” I say, heading for the door.
“Yes, it is,” Dominic says with finality. “You just haven’taccepted it yet. And Cal? Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Especially not to Maren.”
The threat in his voice is clear. I leave without responding, Theo calling my name, but I don’t stop.
Back in the truck, I grip the steering wheel, mind racing. He’s right. As executor, Dominic has broad powers, especially if the will is written that way. I could challenge it in court, but that takes time and money I don’t have. The memorial is in a few weeks.
The rage is still there, but now it’s mixed with desperation. I need leverage. Something to force Dominic to reconsider. Or another buyer. Something.
The Black Lantern isn’t supposed to be occupied this early in the afternoon. It won’t open for another few hours. But Maren’s car is in the parking lot, and next to it, that fucking Audi with the vanity plate: POETLV4.
Adrian Lowe.
I should keep driving. Should go back to the cabins and figure out my finances. Figure out how to stop the sale. Do something productive instead of whatever this is. But my foot’s already on the brake because I don’t trust that asshole as far as I can throw him. Not alone with Maren.Or maybe I’m just a jealous bastard who can’t stand the thought of another man making her laugh.Either way, I’m already turning into the parking lot.
I pull in three spots away and sit there for a moment, engine ticking as it cools. Through the bar’s front window, I can see them. Adrian’s got his hip against the bar, gesturing with his hands while he talks. Maren’s behind the bar, nodding along, that polite smile she uses on customers.
