“Observe our relationship? I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“I didn’t understand as well, but Mr. Craig made me promise—on a legally binding contract between attorney and client—that if I saw you laughing with your mother, caring for her, looking out for her like you were doing just now as well as the time you spent in the waiting room, then and only then would we proceed to the next part.”
What the fuck is this? Some fucked up Craig-like scavenger hunt?
“I’m sorry, sir,” I start, clearing my throat as my mind races. “I still don’t see why Craig wanted to see how my relationship with my mother is. The fucker is dead. What does he care about the living?”
Why would he care about how we’re doing after he’s gone? I mean if he did care, he’d still be here, wouldn’t he? He would’ve told me about the bullying. He could’ve… what? Been accepted by David? Yeah, right.
“The nature of your relationship with your mother matters because as you just observed, your mother received her letter from Craig. But you also have your own.”
With that he passes along the letter to me. I stare at it, not daring to pick it up as my heart starts pounding away in my chest like it’s going to burst out of its cage.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t supposed to give you this in front of your mother and I wasn’t supposed to give this to you unless you got upset about this video game.”
It’s like listening to some crazy Marvel fan explain time travel on TikTok. While it’s confusing as fuck, but you just can’t stop listening to the theories that spark more questions in your mind.
“So let me get this straight.” I start pacing in front of him. He just watches me, completely unfazed as if he has had thousands of strangers pace in his office. “He left me this game, knowing that I’d get pissed if this was all you had to give me?”
“Yes.”
“And if I didn’t get pissed off?”
“That would’ve been unfortunate, but I would’ve had to try reaching you again in about five years.”
Here I go getting mad again.
Deep breaths. I need to fucking breathe.
“If it helps,” Mr. Briggs says calmly, “I think this was a test of character. Maybe your brother was anticipating what kind of man you’d be in ten years or if you’re still angry at him for dying.”
“Oh I’m angry as all hell, all right, but he’s gone, isn’t he? It’s pointless anger that’s been eating at me, rotting me from within, for fucking years!”
We stay in silence for a few moments. I pace and he just watches me, silently waiting.
He doesn’t ask me if I’m all right and for that, I’m fucking grateful.
“My apologies,” I mumble. “So, what’s in the envelope?”
“I have no idea.”
“What? You kept this for ten years and never took a small peep inside?”
“Son, I’m a busy man and I don’t give my word lightly. Your brother came in and basically inspired me to do this for him.”
Inspired, huh?
“How was he?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “When he came to see you, was he…”
“I know the question you’re really trying to ask but my advice to you is to let the past be the past,” he says. “And try to forgive yourself.”
I stare at him, annoyance fluttering in my chest.
“Forgive myself?” I spit out. “For what?”
“For the guilt,” he says smoothly, unfazed by my anger.
“Guilt? I’m not guilty.”
But the thing in my chest twists painfully saying otherwise.
“It was you who found your brother at your house and from the stories your brother told me when he came in, you’ve always carried the weight of protecting your friends and family all your life.” I look away, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. I don’t want him to see how angry I am. “So when Craig passed, you hated yourself for letting it happen.”
He’s right. Of course he’s fucking right but the only part where he’s wrong is using the word hated.
That seems to allude to the past.
What he doesn’t know is I STILL hate myself for everything.
“Either way, asking about your brother’s state of mind when he came in to leave this with me, it won’t really help,” Mr. Briggs says from his seat across the impressive desk. “However, I hope that whatever’s in this envelope might help you sort through the chaos surrounding your brother’s death.”
“The chaos?” I frown, turning around to look at him. “What chaos?”
Immediately, he schools his features, suddenly looking confused.
“Did I say chaos? I meant the pain that surrounded your brother’s death.”
“No,” I press, walking over to his desk. “You said the chaos and I know there’s a reason you said it.”
“It was a slip of the tongue, Noah.”
“Mr. Briggs, you don’t strike me as a man prone to saying useless words that don’t have any impact or meaning to what you’re currently doing. After all, time is money for men like you, isn’t that so?”
“Indeed.”
“Then what does ‘chaos’ mean?”
“You know, you’d make one fierce and incredibly tough lawyer.”
I shrug that off. I still don’t know what life’s getting ready to serve me yet. At this rate, I assume it’s more piles of shit.
“How about we get back to chaos.”
Mr. Briggs sighs heavily, then he sits back in his chair, removes his glasses and looks at me.
“I shouldn’t be saying this at all, but when your brother came in to see me, he was afraid for his life.”
“What?” I demand, plopping down into the chair across from him. “He was afraid that someone was after him?”
“He didn’t divulge that information, but he did make it clear that his life might’ve been in danger and in the event of his death, he wanted to make sure that in ten years’ time, on his birthday, you’d get this.”
“So… it was just a coincidence that his death fell on the same day as his birthday?”
“I’m more partial to that persuasion myself,” he says grimly. “But then again, how often does that kind of coincidence happen?”
Yes. How often does that kind of cruel shit happen?
Don’t get me wrong, shitty things happen in the world on a daily basis, but this…
“What else did he say?”
“He told me that if you passed all the stages before receiving this letter, that a time shall come when you’ll need my help,” he says, reaching across his desk for something. “And when that time comes, I have to give you this.”
“Your business card?” I stare at the thick, embossed card with just a phone number on it.
“No, this is the number you’ll use to call when you need my help.”
Tick.
Tock.
“Now, Mr. Montreal, it is imperative that this letter never fall into the wrong hands.”
“Wrong hands?” I ask.
“I’m sure you already know who I’m talking about.”
My jaw clenches. Yes, I know who the fuck he’s referring to.
My father.
“I have a question.”
“I only have time for one more question but then you have to leave using the back door after that.”
I stand up, my adrenaline spiking.
“Why?” I demand.
“Because your father knows that your brother went to see an attorney ten years ago and I’m sure he’ll soon figure out it’s one of us.”
“And why would he care about that?”
“I’m sure that letter will explain it all but I’m going to take an educated guess here from what I’ve heard from reliable sources,” Mr. Briggs says, standing up now and rounding his desk. “Your older brother, as the first born of a new generation of Montreals, was entitled to be the heir and sole proprietor of the Montreal inheritance, wealth and power.”
“I know tha
t.”
“That was only going to happen when your father passed.”
I grip the letter and the card in my hands, they might tear if I keep going. “The fucker didn’t die.”
“Yes. David Montreal left,” Mr. Briggs says. “He left—and rumor has it that he left before your brother passed.” I don’t miss the way he says the word rumor. “When he left, he forfeited the entire inheritance and so it was passed to your brother as it was rightfully supposed to.”
He falls silent, allowing me to see the picture he’s painted, but it’s still fucking blurry.
“But then Craig is dead,” I mutter.
“Yes, and so everything went to…”
“Me?” I croak.
“Yes. And now your father is trying to find you? Why do you think that is?”
And with that question hanging over me, he ushers me out the door. “If I were you, Noah, I’d be careful and practice discretion in everything. You have a big decision ahead of you.”
“Wait! What decision? I don’t understand—”
“The decision, Mr. Montreal, is whether or not you want to bear the weight and the responsibility of being the sole heir to such a powerhouse. The four families of Westbrook Blues are powerful, but surely after everything that happened before, I’m sure you know having a monopoly of power only makes you a big, shiny target.”
My mind is racing. I can see he wants me to leave but I just…
“Can I leave it all?”
“Sure. But be prepared to actually leave it all.” He says with emphasis on all. “But if that’s the course you’d like to take, just remember, there’s a reason why your brother feared for his life.”
And with that, he shuts the door in my face.
Dazed and confused I walk over to the waiting room where I assume my mother is.
Her back is to me, and I can hear her whispering something.
“Set it up in a way that she doesn’t know. She’s the only one. Trust me.”
I frown. Set what up?
“Mom?” Like she just got caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar, she turns to look at me.
“Noah! You’re done!” She quickly walks over to me. Her eyes are red and puffy, and I can see she looks shaken, but that doesn’t stop her from grabbing my hand and she starts power walking in the opposite direction from where we came.
“Where are we going?”
“We have to leave using the back door.”
“Why?”
She glances at me then.
“I think your father’s goons are watching us.”
Chapter 11
KIM
Past
Blue Fairy: How are they?
ME: Wow. Look who’s texting me! The world is really coming to an end.
Blue Fairy: I just wanted to ask if your sisters are all right.
ME: As well as can be expected which is to say, not well.
Blue Fairy: Why didn’t you tell me about your sisters?
ME: What were you expecting me to do? Rush to you and tell you that my sisters were taken by the man that made me lie to you in the first place?
Blue Fairy: You could’ve still told me.
ME: No, you made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me after everything came out. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain or to tell you that my sisters are the only ones that I love and I would do anything to protect them. You couldn’t even give me that.
Blue Fairy: Can we not bring that up? Tonight was a mess. Astraea was shot. Her mother won’t make it. She miscarried a baby that I didn’t even know she was pregnant with and your sisters were kidnapped by that…
ME: Stop! Just stop! Stop pretending like you give a damn about my sisters! You haven’t talked to me since Astraea was in the hospital that first time. I don’t imagine you give a damn about me or my sisters now.
Blue Fairy: That’s not fucking fair! You’re the one who… you know what, fuck that. Your sisters are innocent in all of this. So if they need anything, let me know.
ME: GO SCREW YOURSELF! We don’t need your charity. We’re going to be just fine by ourselves.
Present
It’s been a week since I grabbed all the essentials that we needed, picked up the packed bags and left my mother in that orgy of her own making.
I wonder if she’s still there.
I wonder if she’s all right and if she’s actually taking care of herself, but I force myself to keep going.
Spider introduced me to a guy who owed him for God only knows what, who rents out apartments between Westbrook Blues and the Valley.
It was a cute, quiet neighborhood, there’s no doubt about that, but it was pretty expensive. But what choice did I have?
The most logical thing to do would’ve been to leave this town, but I had to stay put like Spider had explicitly advised.
I trust Spider based on our history of being inducted in the Phoenix Corp together.
His recruitment was undercover, a bit easier than mine and more legit. I was beaten into submission by Larry’s men, then put in the system. Of course, back then, Eli Beaumont—Astraea & George’s father—was working with Larry but had no idea what Larry was doing behind his back, so there’s that.
Besides, it would be foolish not to trust Spider. The guy’s not just a well-connected double agent for the Phoenix Corp who infiltrated the FBI for Eli, he knows things, even stuff that you think no one knows, he knows.
“I don’t understand why I can’t just leave this town.”
“You already know why, Kim. It’s not just you anymore now, is it?”
When he said that, I looked at my sisters who were eating cake and having a dance party with Ivy and FaceTiming Raea, the two people they absolutely adored—and were spoiled rotten by.
Astraea and King sent down an entire doll house for Laura’s birthday and Casey got the painting equipment that she once told Ivy about in passing. Ivy, Astraea, Marie and even Spider cared for my sisters.
I appreciated that. If something ever happens to me, I knew I could rely on them.
At some time before, I wanted to introduce my sisters to Noah… but life had other FUCK YOU, KIMBERLY’s in store for me.
“But there’s nothing for me in this town anymore,” I mutter sadly, looking at Casey.
“I don’t think that’s true.”
I also got a job as a maid at a hotel in town. The pay is crap, but I think it’ll tide me over for a while as I look for another gig.
Thanks to Noah, I can’t go back to the strip club and I also lost my waitressing job at another club in town, after the boss found out what I had done to a client at another bar.
Yup, things are going great.
I’ve worked a ton of jobs since I was fourteen. I’ve worked at an ice-cream shop, a coffee shop, a pizza hut. I even worked at the Haven with Astraea but at that time, I didn’t have to worry about money. Now things are different.
But so long as I’m not being beaten down, kicked, spit at in a dark dungeon by the man who raped my mother, then I’ll keep going.
I have to keep going. I have no choice.
So now, here we are, in a new apartment, ready to take on the world.
I gave my sisters a shitty excuse about the absence of their mother while I work to create a better, more elaborate lie. Because if there’s one thing about my sisters, they’ll ask again.
But I’ll deal with that the day it comes. For now, it’s the first day of school and we’re going to be late.
“Hurry up, you little rascals! We’re going to be late,” I call out, rushing around to get everything ready for my sisters, but all I hear in return is muffled laughter. I roll my eyes. “Now, I know you both heard me.”
“Calm down, Kimmy,” Laura, my now ten-year-old sister going on thirty, says as she walks into the small kitchen with her slightly old backpack already on her back. She looks up at me through her glasses, a small smirk on her face.
“You’re late.”
&
nbsp; “And good morning to you, Kimberly,” she says, crossing her arms.
“Yes, yes, good morning, Lolo. Did you sleep well?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “You know, Kimmy, you’re not really a morning person.”
“Uh, I would be a nice, loving, sunshine and rainbows kind of morning person if you little rascals would listen to me every now and then,” I mumble, opening and closing drawers and the creaking cabinets. Where is it?
“Hey, we woke up on time. You’re the one who sleeps like the dead.”
That’s because I only get two or three hours to sleep so excuse me if I take full advantage of that whenever I can, but I don’t tell her that.
“And you snore.”
“I do not!” I deny immediately.
“Do too!” she says, giggling. “Like a hippo.”
“A hippo?” I gasp. Did I mention that my little Miss Genius is also snarky? “Take that back, Laura, or I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Tickle me so hard so that I sit here and tell you that you sleep like an angel in the clouds?” she says, with a hand at her hip.
“I mean, yes!” I say, with a hand on my hip, faking offense at her bluntness. “Is that too hard for you?”
“Uh, yes,” she says as if it’s freaking obvious. “I’m not a liar, Kimmy. I don’t believe lies are conducive to the kind of environment I want to live in.”
“Conducive to the kind of environment you want to live in?” I repeat.
“Yes. A tranquil, snore-fest-free environment where people don’t sleep like a log in the forest.” I blink at her, hardly believing that she just said that and uses all these big words but also not at all surprised. “Besides, lies just leave a bitter taste on my tongue.”
Well, then.
“But… a hippo? Laura.” I give her my best sad look, but she just rolls her eyes.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that. Someone needed to tell you. The entire house trembles when you sleep.”
I can’t help but laugh at that.
Jesus, the girl is just way too smart for her own good but damn, I love that about her.
I love that Laura doesn’t lie. Don’t get me wrong, her bluntness does cut a bit deep, but she knows how to control herself.
Petty Rage: Westbrook Blues Book 4 Page 15
