3. Sebastian
CHAPTER 3
sebastian
T he private terminal was all glass and chrome, designed to make the wealthy feel special while they waited. At the moment, it made me feel exposed. Every surface reflected my father's face—the face of a murderer who still remembered to bring his daughter's favorite dried strawberry fruit from the ranch store. We met up with Jace as we waited for the plane to be ready.
Dad strode to the coffee bar like he didn't have blood on his hands. "Mechanical issue," he announced, stirring creamer into his cup. "Should be resolved soon."
Mechanical issue. Like Carlos's ‘car accident’. Everything was just a problem to be managed, a story to be spun.
Brooklyn was curled up on one of the leather chairs, her phone clutched tightly like a lifeline. "Still no answer from Max," she murmured, her voice small. "Not even read receipts."
I sunk into the chair beside her and fought the urge to tell her everything. To shake her and scream that our father—the man who still checked her closet for monsters—had become one himself.
“I’ve been trying to reach her since you told me what happened but no answer. I keep getting her voicemail.” Jace looked down at his phone. When did he and Maxine grow so close? I know they interned together for Carlos last year, but I didn't know they were friends like that. I didn’t like it; I didn’t like it one bit. I might not have told her how I felt, but she was mine .
" R emember when Carlos taught us to ride horses?" Brooklyn's voice cracked. "Max was so scared, but he kept talking to her in Spanish until she stopped crying. Called her his pequena princess—his little princess."
The memory hit like a physical blow. Carlos, patient and steady, leading Max's horse while Dad filmed on his phone. Mom was still alive then, sitting in the shade and calling out encouragement. Just two families bound by friendship and trust.
Now we were bound by murder.
Dad's phone chirped—his private line again. He walked a little way away, but I caught fragments. "...landing in three hours... weather permitting... arrangements..." He lowered his voice, and it sounded intimate almost. Like he was talking to a lover, not his partner in crime.
My stomach turned. How long had this been going on? Was Carlos's murder just business or something more personal?
"Earth to Sebastian!" Brooklyn waved her hand in front of my face. "You're doing that thing again where you look like you're plotting someone's murder."
The irony nearly made me laugh. Or scream. Instead, I tugged her ponytail like I used to when we were kids. "Just thinking about Max. About what we're walking into."
Brooklyn's face crumpled. "She must be so lost. Ciara's probably just... existing in the same house, being her usual ice-queen self. God, remember when Max broke her arm, and Ciara didn't even come to the hospital? Carlos was the one who—" She stopped as tears spilled down her cheeks.
I pulled her close, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo—Mom's brand, still, even after all those years. "We'll take care of her, Bee. I promise."
And I would. Even if it meant destroying our family to do it.
Lauren, the flight attendant, appeared with a professional smile that never quite reached her eyes. "We're ready to board, Mr. Trevino."
Dad gestured us forward, appearing every inch the grieving friend. "Remember," he murmured as we walked across the tarmac, "Ciara and Maxine need stability right now. Let's not burden them with... unnecessary questions."
Translation: Stick to the script. Car accident. Tragic. Unexpected.
Lies. Lies. Lies.
The jet's interior still smelled like new—Dad's latest toy, bought with blood money for all I now knew. Brooklyn settled into her seat, already pulling out her kindle. "L. Clara just dropped her new book," she said, trying for a bit of normalcy. " The Unexpected First . I’ve been dying to start it."
I watched Dad take his usual seat, his phone still in hand. Probably coordinating with Ciara, making sure their stories aligned. Ensuring no one looked too closely at Carlos's accident.
The jet engines whirred to life, and I closed my eyes, remembering the last time I saw Carlos. It was only two weeks ago, at the quarterly board meeting. He'd pulled me aside afterward, his face unusually serious.
"Sebastian, mi muchacho," he'd said, gripping my shoulder. “Te estás convertiendo a un buen hombre de negocios. Pero recuerdase—algunos tratos cuestan mas que dinero. Aye precios demasiado altos incluso para constrir un imperio.” Had he been warning me? Did he know something was coming ?
The jet lifted off, pointing west toward California. Toward Maxine, who was living in a house with one of her father’s murderers. Toward a web of lies I'd somehow gotten tangled up in.
Sorry Carlos I thought, watching San Antonio shrink below us. I should have seen it. I should have known.
Brooklyn was already lost in her book with her headphones in. Dad was typing on his laptop, probably crafting more lies. Jace was sprawled in his chair, his headphones on and already asleep. While I sat here, thirty-thousand feet above Texas as I tried to figure out how to expose a murder plot without destroying the only family I had left.
Family or not, Carlos deserved justice. Maxine deserved to know the truth.
Even if that truth shattered everything we thought we knew.
The seatbelt sign dinged, telling us it had been turned off. It was a three-hour flight to Los Angeles. Three hours to decide if I should protect my father's secret and become complicit in murder? Or did I protect Maxine and risk losing everything—including my sister's love?
Carlos's voice echoed in my memory " Aye precios demasiado altos, incluso para construir un imperio”.There are some prices too high, even for building an empire." I guess I was about to find out exactly how much it cost.