Chapter 9
Julian
“It’s strange that nothing else was touched.
Only Rusty’s office is ransacked. Like they knew what they were looking for.
” Mitch summarizes what he found on his arrival this morning as he leads us down the hall into the den that served as Taya’s dad’s office, concern etched in the fine lines on his face.
“It’s why I’d like to install cameras, as I’ve said. ”
“Yeah, Mitch, I know.” Taya walks into the den ahead of us.
Mitch motions me to precede him, so I follow Taya.
She turns a slow circle, taking in the half open drawers and scattered papers, ransacked bookshelves and vandalism. “What the fuck?” She says it more to herself but turns her bottle green eyes on me, askance.
Mitch clears his throat, drawing her attention. “I think they were looking for account information. Would you be able to tell if anything is missing from this drawer? It’s where he kept his statements and official documents. Locked, but you can see it’s been pried open.”
“I don’t think I’d know if something were missing. Fuck, I told him he needed a safe. Don’t listen to me, you stubborn ass.” Taya vacillates between talking to us and herself—or her dead father, I’m not sure.
I’m absently tapping my chest as I look around the room.
I know it in my gut as if I’d seen it with my own eyes.
Fucking Todd. The thought of voicing my suspicions to Taya or Mitch brings a glaze of sweat to my armpits despite the chill in the room.
I know I’m going to lie before the words even form in my brain.
Snagging my phone out of my pocket, I pretend to get a text.
“Guys, I’m sorry, I need to take this. Will you excuse me?
” I walk out to the Jeep, retrieve the mail from the console, tear open the envelope from Leva & Goody, Attorneys at Law and read, but I already know what it says.
Leva & Goody, Attorneys at Law
Estate and Probate Division
421 Harbor View Drive, Suite 208
St. Petersburg, FL 33701
Date: March 22, 2025
To: Jayce Keller (Possible Alias: Julian McKay)
P.O. Box 417
Blue Lake, CA 95244
RE: Estate of John Julian McKay, Deceased
Dear Mr. Keller,
Our firm represents the estate of John Julian McKay, deceased, currently under administration through the Circuit Court of Pinellas County, Florida. Court records list you as a potential beneficiary and next of kin.
We are attempting to verify your current contact information in connection with the distribution of Mr. McKay’s estate. Please contact our office within thirty (30) days of receipt of this notice to confirm your identity and provide a forwarding address.
If we do not hear from you within that time, the estate may proceed to final distribution under Florida probate law, and any undistributed assets may be held in trust or transferred to the state’s unclaimed property division until properly claimed.
This correspondence is not a summons or legal action but an official notice requiring your response regarding an estate matter.
Sincerely,
Renee Goody, Esq.
Leva & Goody, Attorneys at Law
Estate and Probate Division
My grandfather is dead. I guess I’m supposed to feel something, but other than some obscure memories, I can’t summon a connection to him or any real emotion.
Right now, his death is wreaking havoc on my life and the people in it.
I quickly dial the number on the bottom of the letterhead.
When the receptionist answers, I ask to speak to Renee Goody, the attorney that signed the letter.
“She’s in a meeting. Can I take a message?” The chipper voice pauses and waits for my answer.
I leave my name and number and that I received her letter.
The chipper receptionist assures me Mrs. Goody will return my call as soon as possible.
Now I wait. And hope that fucking degenerate, Todd, doesn’t approach anyone I know.
In good conscience I should tell them he approached me at the carnival, that my grandfather died and probably left me money, and that my father now wants it.
I want to tell them. Or, more accurately, I want to protect them from his lowlife ass.
But every fiber of my being wants to not claim him or come clean about my past. Todd is right about one thing.
I am ashamed of where and who I come from.
Who could blame me? Still I plan to solve this without involving anyone else—especially Ever and Taya.
That means I’ve gotta go back to the trailer park.
As I’m shoving the letter back into the console, a sheriff’s cruiser rolls to a stop behind my Jeep in the roundabout.
Blowing out a breath through puffed cheeks, I unfold myself from the driver’s side and turn to greet the deputies.
Working my way around to spilling the tea that the break-in may have been my fault, I step toward them as they exit the vehicle.