Chapter 9 #2
I downed the rest of my beer and tossed the bottle in the trash.
This was hard for me to explain. She didn’t know anything about the night of the wreck.
I hadn’t wanted my sister to see the level of callousness her father could attain.
She knew he was terrible because of the paternity denial, but that was all the evidence she had.
I hadn’t been a true brother long, but Whit has taught me how to be a good one, and I’d do anything to save Melanie one ounce of unnecessary hurt.
Another part of me didn’t want her to know how badly I’d messed up with my decisions, afraid she might look at me differently, too.
Mel looked up to me, and I wanted to keep it that way.
“It’s not that easy. Her best friend hates me, and personally, there’s a lot of regret on my end. It’s a lot to consider.”
“You’re the best man I know, Bram. If this woman is worth her salt, she knows it too.”
The compliment made me smile.
“Thanks, that’s kind of you. I gotta go. Tell Doug and Junior I want to see them in my office first thing tomorrow morning.”
She laughed. “That’ll scare the shit out of them.”
“That’s the goal. Talk to you later.”
I pressed the end button, and my phone immediately began to buzz again.
“Hey, Gladys,” I answered. Gladys Bell was Mill Creek Aid’s president of operations. Five years ago, she took on the role after retiring from city government. The job didn’t pay anything—no one who helped MCA took a salary—but she treated it like the career of a lifetime. And she was efficient.
“Oh, Bram, it’s bad.” Gladys was the most uplifting and optimistic person I knew, so this instantly captured my full attention.
“What’s going on?”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “It has to do with the secret project.” I froze .
“What’s happened?” I asked, gripping the edge of the counter.
“I had some extra time today, so Allie and I came to the storage container. We were sorting through some things and taking inventory for Friday’s dinner when some man showed up and handed us a plain white envelope.
It was addressed to MCA on the front, so I opened it. But inside, it was addressed to you.
“It said that the mobilization of heavy equipment was spotted on the property off the park, and it reminded you that buildings within so many yards of public recreation spaces are prohibited under some ordinances. It said to cease all construction immediately or face hefty fines from the town. It’s on Mill Creek Township letterhead. ”
I frowned. “That’s not right. I have all the required permits. They said it wouldn’t be an issue, even if it were a little close,” I quickly remembered Gladys didn’t know anything more than I did. “Something is up. Can you send me a picture of the letter? I’ll get it on Friday.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
I hung up, and a few moments later, a picture of the letter came through. I opened it, zoomed in, and my blood boiled. The letter with the zoning board president’s signature was on the town stationery. Yet, the first paragraph referenced my father’s lawyer in Roanoke.
I was building a new community center for MCA.
I had wanted to do the project for a long while and finally pulled the trigger a few months ago.
The Senior Citizens’ Community Building, where we had most of our events, was aging and too small.
The wealthy nearby who funded significant upgrades to the local schools didn’t care much about MCA out of solidarity with my wealthy father.
So, I’d taken the burden to find more space upon my shoulders.
All my assets, including my home, were tied up in building this center. But somehow, my bastard of a father found out, and he had found a way to hold the town accountable for shutting me down.
Part of me wanted to jump in a vehicle, drive straight to my parents’ mansion, and deck the man right in the face.
But that’s precisely what he was doing—baiting me.
Not only was he denying solutions for problems he created, but he was also sticking it to me personally.
He knew I’d be angry and wanted me to lose my cool.
He wanted me to confront him to fit his narrative that I was just like him, to make me out to be his protégé, if it was the last thing he accomplished.
He thought that the town would believe I had abandoned the project, making me more like my father in their eyes.
No one knew I was building the center, except the contractor and crew I’d hired with NDAs. Gladys and Allie were involved, but I wanted my contributions to remain confidential. I didn’t like the attention and the wariness of the older community members who only saw me as an extension of my father.
The land we were building on had come from my maternal grandfather.
His father had once owned half our little town, and my grandfather inherited it at a young age.
He’d sold much of it off. When he eventually passed away, four years ago, I inherited five acres of land on the main road of Mill Creek, adjacent to the small city park, along with a tidy sum of $500,000.
Over the years, I’d used the $500,000 to pay for MCA operations, the house I was standing in, and the surrounding land of the adjacent valley. My last $100,000 had secured the massive loan I needed to build the community center.
Who did my father have in his pocket to make the officials change their minds after I’d been issued verbal reassurances and official permits? I knew he had the police force in his back pocket, but was the town government as well ?
The back door opened with a creak. Lakey bounded through the mud room and into the kitchen, tongue and tail wagging.
“Getting kind of brisk out there.” Julianna’s voice echoed into the kitchen before I saw her, and her presence changed everything. It was as if the sun had pierced through the fog that had clouded my mind. I drank her in as she walked over to the breakfast table.
Would I ever not be stunned by her unyielding beauty?
“I saw you outside,” I admitted, reaching down to pet Lakey, who panted happily.
She looked up at me from where she sat at the table and paused from unzipping her boot. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?” I was a terrible liar. I ran my hand through my hair. “I’m upset about some stuff going on.” I mulled over the facts and tried to decipher which ones I could share and which I needed to keep secret.
“What happened?” Her furrowed brow showed her worry. Meanwhile, I stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the counter and deciding what to lie about.
Don’t be an asshole.
“You can tell me. I’m a vault. Anything I can help with?”
I shook my head. “No. It’s my dad. He approached some people in town, and they called to tell me he was making mischief. Not even sure what he was doing in Mill Creek.”
You are a lying asshole.
“Does he make ‘mischief’ often?” She put the word in air quotes.
“He’s a professional at it,” I murmured. “Just set me off.”
“I know you’re not telling me the whole truth, for the record.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems. You’re going through so much.
” It wasn’t that I didn’t want to share my issues with her, but I didn’t want her to feel like she needed to be concerned with me and my problems. I didn’t want her to scheme ways to help me when I was supposed to be helping her.
“It’ll feel better if you spill your guts. Misery loves company.” She smiled up at me.
I mulled it over. If I wanted to support this woman, I needed to be transparent. I knew the saying: to have a friend, you have to be a friend.
I sighed. “I was building a community center for MCA, the nonprofit I told you about. It’s something I’ve dreamed of for a while.
My grandfather left me some land in town, and it’s the perfect spot.
Ground broke this week. Now, I’ve been told I can’t build there because it’s too close to Mill Creek Park.
So, unless I can change someone’s mind, I’ll have to back out of the build.
I’ll still owe partial payments to the contractor for the dirt removal they did and the materials they’ve bought.
Then I’ll have to find other land and buy it, which is much more money than I can afford. The project will be dead.”
I watched her absorb my words, chewing her lip.
“So what are your choices? What if you could find another spot to build? Maybe someone else would be willing to donate land?”
“Unlikely, seeing as this roadblock is my father’s doing. And he has his hands in everyone’s pockets.” I got a glass from the cupboard, unable to look at her lest my face give away more than I was willing to tell.
“Why would he want to stop it?” I turned around just in time to see her brows lift. “Oh, I see. Because this whole foundation had to start because of him, and so now he’s pissed you’re a part of it at all.”
“Exactly.” I reached into the fridge, pulled out a soda can, popped it open, and poured the contents into the glass.
“Money talks. Where can we find more money?”
“We?” I said, handing the glass to her. “ We will not be finding anything. This isn’t your problem, sweets. ”
She looked into the glass.
“How did you remember I prefer a Coke in a glass with no ice?”
I remember everything about you.
I shrugged and winked. “Lucky guess.”
Her cheeks pinked, and she took the glass from my hands, our fingers touching for half a second—enough to make the hair on my arms stand on end.
“It may not be my problem, but I want to help,” she said.
My chest tightened as I watched her openly. I tracked her every movement as she gathered her long, dark hair and secured it with a tie from around her wrist. As she let go of her hair, she looked up at me, our eyes meeting.
“Are you watching me?” She laughed. I smiled, not at all embarrassed about being caught. I wanted her to know I loved watching her every move.