Page 86 of Destiny

“What is it?” I say, walking into my house. “Where’s Mom?”

“It’s bridge night. I’m just as glad she’s not here, because look…” He hands a paper to me.

“What’s this?” I scan the document.

“A demand letter. From the Steel Trust. Demanding we pay our lien now or they’re going to foreclose on our property.” Dad shakes his head.

I blink several times, reading the words. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all. I just talked to Donny about this. He doesn’t even know what the Steel Trust is.”

“This law firm sure seems to know.” Dad gestures to the law firm logo at the top of the stationery. “And who the hell is the Fleming Corporation?”

“Let me call Donny. He’ll know what’s going on.”

“No, Brendan. Donotbring a Steel into this.”

“Donny’s a friend, and he’s the city attorney for Snow Creek.”

Dad shakes his head vehemently. “I won’t have you bring them into this.”

“But he can help. Dad, I was just talking to—”

“No, Brendan.”

That’s Dad’s final word on the matter. He’s usingthatvoice. I won’t push him further, but I will talk to Donny once Dad and I figure this out.

I scan the document again. The address is a law firm in Denver.

“I guess we could go talk to these people,” I say.

“For the life of me,” Dad says, “I look back and I don’t know why I bought that damned bar subject to that lien. The realtor at the time said it was nothing. That nothing would ever come of it. And for forty damned years, nothing did. Until now.”

“I’ll figure this out, Dad.”

“We need a lawyer.”

“We’ll have to go to the city, then. There aren’t any law firms here in Snow Creek.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t even know who to call.”

“I can ask Don—” I stop. Better not mention Donny Steel again. “Dad, don’t worry about this. Nothing will come of it. Nothing has happened for forty years, and nothing will come of it now.”

“I’m glad your mother wasn’t here when I opened this. I don’t need her worrying about it.”

“Don’t you think,” I say, “that this is coming at a very strange time? I mean, just when we find out that your uncle had a kid? Over twenty years after his death?”

“Yes, the timing has occurred to me.” Dad shoves his fingers through his hair. “I need a fucking drink.”

“I could use one myself.”

Dad heads to the kitchen, pulls out a bottle of rye whiskey, and pours two glasses.

Rye is what Dad drinks when he’s worried about something. It’s grainy, acidic, and damn, it tastes good.

“Have you eaten?”

“I fend for myself on bridge night.”

“Let’s go out. We can go to Lorenzo’s or something.”

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