Only three weeks had passed since my father’s funeral, after an eight-month battle with cancer. I hadn’t had time to tell him everything I wanted to, nor to ask him why my brother, Jesse, had distanced himself from me to be closer to Simon.
“My father didn’t leave Simon a single penny,” I stated firmly, even though I knew my father had many qualities, but that he had never been a fool.
For a brief moment, the confident smile that lit up Misty’s face began to falter.
“We’ll see tomorrow, especially since Jesse doesn’t seem to share your opinion.”
A sudden shiver ran down my spine at the mere mention of my brother’s involvement.
“Did you talk to my brother behind my back?”
He took a step toward me and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial hiss.
“Let’s just say it helped me understand your father’s true state of mind during his final months.”
I gripped the scissors so tightly that my knuckles turned white and my fingers began to hurt. My father always said that roses should be treated firmly, but never cruelly, because even the sharpest thorns have their uses.
“Get off my property, Misty,” I told her, “before I forget how to be polite to a guest.”
He gave a short, dry laugh that irritated me deeply.
“Your wealth? How kind of you to think you can keep all that wealth for yourself while the rest of us sit around doing nothing!”
“My father built every inch of this house and planted every tree with his own hands, so for me it’s not just about the money.”
“Wake up, because in this world everything revolves around money,” he replied sharply. “You’ll learn that the hard way tomorrow.”
He turned to leave, but before crossing the garden gate, he struck one last, cruel blow.
“You should really start packing, because Simon and I are going to renovate everything as soon as we get there. We’ll start by uprooting these old rose bushes, because everything here needs a more modern style.”
Her heels clicked on the stone path until she disappeared from my sight. I looked down at the white flowers and realized I’d accidentally crushed some delicate petals with my muddy hand.
I took out my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart.
“It’s me, Mrs. Brenda,” I said as soon as she answered. “Misty came here to threaten me.”
His professional tone immediately gave way to deep concern.
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