Page 10 of The Older Brother
“Relax, relax,” he says, gesturing his splayed hand toward my abandoned seat. I take a deep breath and sit down, my hands splayed on my thighs, giving me something to squeeze and release my frustration.
My father’s gaze sticks to mine as his right palm covers the ominous envelope. He lifts it, balancing it on its edge and tapping it on the table almost as if to show off its weight. When he finally unfolds the top and pulls out two sets of folded documents, both my brother and I lean in with our forearms on the table, like good students. I have a feeling, though, that our motivations are vastly different. Where Caleb is likely curious, maybe even excited, I’m soaked in caution. If the years I have on my brother of watching, studying my father’s every move, have taught me one thing, it’s that anything David Anderson puts on paper is probably written with poison and blood.
“As you both may or may not know, my marriage last year to Lindsey prompted a review of my estate, and I’ve been puttingoff updates to my will because . . . well . . . I don’t have a good taste in my mouth when it comes to dying.”
Caleb chuckles along with my father, but I remain stone cold silent. My father’s gaze squares on me.
“Maybe you’re warmer to the idea of me no longer being here.” He couches his dig as a continuation of his morbid joke, but I note the subtle shift in the tone of his laugh. It’s loaded with passive aggression.
“I just don’t like thinking about you and death, is all. There’s so much finality to it.” My response is honest, but I don’t voice my motivation. I don’t like thinking about it because it’s going to come with more emotional stress for my mom, renewed disappointment in my brother, who will no doubt salivate at the wealth he’ll inherit, and I will be forced to take my share of money I never wanted in the first place. Unless, of course, this lunch is about taking me out of the will completely. I perk up.
“How benevolent.” The way my father’s tongue curls around that word reminds me of a snake.
“Hmmm. Indeed,” I say, glancing to the papers my father continues to cradle between his hands.
“Right.” He splits the documents and passes one to me, the other to Caleb, and we both spend a few seconds silently reading the cover page.
“It’s all there, very standard. I’m not cutting Lindsey into the will. She will have her own earnings from being my wife, and that should serve her fine.”
“Romantic,” I joke under my breath.
My father clears his throat, but I remain unfazed. I don’t like Lindsey. She’s only four years older than me, and my father married her after meeting her on a whirlwind ski trip last year. She’s a viper. But I guess, who isn’t. Everyone linked to my dad seems to be one, or at least in training to gain their fangs.
“Everything will be divided equally between you two, into trusts. This will codify that,” my father explains.
“Equal?” My brother’s objection makes me smirk, but I don’t divert my attention from the words I’m trying to decipher on page two.
“He is your family, Caleb. Just because he doesn’t believe in working a proper job?—”
He’s baiting me, but I know better than to engage, so I merely glance up from the pages while my brother does the work.
“I’m the one coming to work for you. This will be my hard work, too.” My brother whines a lot for a guy about to head off to college.
Our father flattens his hand on Caleb’s contract and forces my brother to look him in the eyes.
“And I have no doubt you will one day soar far beyond me and be an incredible success.” My brother blinks at my father’s syrupy praise. It makes me want to vomit, but my dad seems to have uttered the perfect phrase to cast Caleb back under his spell.
With the timid nod of a spoiled child who was just handed a consolation prize and told to be grateful, Caleb takes the pen my father holds out for him and scribbles his name on a line next to today’s date. It’s a tiny clue that stabs at my gut, and when I flip to the final page of my document, I find the freshly typed date there, too.
“You pull this right from the printer or something?” I quirk a brow and tap on the date with my finger.
My father shrugs, taking the pen from Caleb’s hand and holding it out for me.
“I don’t know when Allison printed them. She handled the details,” he says.
My father has incredible discipline. It’s made him a shark in business. It’s let him pull apart companies under the guise ofhelping the little guy. And I can’t help but feel like I’m on the opposite end of a high-stakes poker table in a basement right now.
“I’d like to take it home and read it first, if you don’t mind,” I say, pushing his hand down and refusing the pen.
His mouth pulls tight, the slight flex where it puckers at the edges the only physical sign that I’ve made him mad. But he is angry. I swear I can smell the shift in the air. It smells acrid, like dawn after a gunfight.
“Sure,” he says, moving the pen away. Giving in. I don’t buy it, though.
“I probably should have held off when you needed that lawyer, too. You know, to make sure that I fully vetted the situation you found yourself in before coming to the rescue.” He slowly slides the pen back toward me. I chew at the inside of my cheek as our eyes duel briefly, my heart paused, probably considering how much it’s worth to keep beating if I’m stuck in a situation like this.
I take the pen. He knew I would. My brother’s knife saws against his plate as he digs in to finish his salad. He’s the only one left eating. I lost my appetite the moment my father called for us to meet.
My gaze drops back to the signature page, the date now hitting me like a vital timestamp that I will forever remember. Adjusting my elbow on the table, I glance up to meet my father’s glare. He blinks slowly.
