Chapter Twenty-One
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Reese asked, twisting around in the driver’s seat, her frown deep enough to sink a ship.
But then again, Kendall was just about to march up to her dad’s mansion. She was ready to put her entire trust fund on the line to secure his backing for the documentary, so her worry was completely justified.
“I am,” Kendall replied, unbuckling her seatbelt. “We’ve gone through all the options.”
Kendall had considered a dozen other ideas—using all her savings, but much of that was locked up in investments, or selling her house and using some of that money to invest in the documentary, but then Reese, still in considerable debt, would have nowhere else to go.
She’d even thought about doing a charity car wash at the fire station, but there was no way that would make enough money.
“This is the only one that makes the most sense,” she said, straightening the sky-blue blouse she’d carefully selected this morning. It made her look mature. Sophisticated, not like a child on the cusp of begging her father to change his mind.
Reese wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure you can’t just dip into your trust fund instead of giving it all up?”
“I can’t dip into it without his approval,” Kendall said, remembering how her father had once painstakingly explained the labyrinth details of beneficiaries, trustees, and the endless layers of legal stipulations tied to her trust fund.
The conversation had gone over her head.
“Besides, he’ll shut my plan down immediately.
Choices have consequences, Kendall,” she said, mimicking his gruff voice.
This was the only way to save their work, to make it up to Sloane.
Yes, she had lied—or carefully omitted something important—but was it really all her fault?
Or was fear to blame as well? Since it had wrapped its bony fingers around Kendall’s wrist, whispering warnings of losing Sloane, of disappointing her, of ruining the documentary.
At the time, she had felt like a bug caught in a black widow’s web, trapped with no way out.
But now, Kendall saw everything with perfect clarity.
The only way to lose Sloane was to lie, to betray her trust.
This way, she was atoning for her sins.
“Well, then, it seems like you’ve made up your mind.” Reese squeezed her wrist and gave her a tender look.
“I have.” Kendall squared her shoulders and glanced toward her father’s mansion.
It was a Tuscan-styled villa with sun-drenched stone walls, balconies draped in ivy, and those typical terracotta roof tiles.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad giving it up,” she said, watching as a gardener trimmed one of the perfectly sculpted boxwood hedges.
“Not so bad?” Reese gaped. “You were born with a golden spoon in your mouth, babe. We’re talking about a spoon so diamond-encrusted that it would blind mere mortals. I bet your first word was Louboutin.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Kendall said, rolling her eyes. Sometimes Reese’s exaggerations were a little annoying. Like now, when she was clearly trying to nudge Kendall in the opposite direction of what she actually wanted to do.
“Maybe,” Reese said, shifting in her seat. “And I know you’re nothing like those Hollywood Heiresses who get winded just lifting a purse. You’re strong and independent, and you’re a real-life action hero, but just think about it properly, alright? We can always come up with another plan.”
“We don’t need another plan.”
“You’re giving up your safety net,” Reese said. “You’re giving up your golden parachute, your emergency jet fuel that will save you from plummeting thousands of feet to your death.”
“I’ll be fine,” Kendall declared.
“How do you know that?” Reese shot.
“Because I’ll be free from his expectations,” she said, feeling an unexpected, weightless thrill rising up in her chest. For the first time ever, the very idea of giving up her trust fund_of walking away from her father’s endless strings and expectations_felt entirely freeing.
It felt like stepping off a ledge, only to discover she could fly.
“I’ll never be able to live my own life with his money hovering over me like that.
Do you know that I’ve worked as a firefighter for almost five years now and he still won’t even acknowledge it’s a real job?
I swear, the only time he’d take me seriously was if his house was burning down… with him in it.”
“Please don’t set fire to your dad’s house,” Reese said, looking far more concerned than necessary.
Of course, Kendall wouldn’t actually do it, though she had dreamt about it a few times.
In the past, she had imagined saving her dad from his fiery balcony by throwing him over her shoulder and charging through the smoke-filled hallways.
The thought always made her bite back a quiet chuckle, imagining her dad’s shock stricken face.
“Wish me luck,” Kendall muttered, swinging her legs out of the car. She shot one last unsure glance at Reese. Her stomach was a bundle of nerves, but she shook out the fear. He was just her dad, after all.
With a deep, steadying breath, Kendall straightened and marched up the grand limestone steps like she owned them.
The doors opened before she could even lift a hand to ring the bell. Billy, the estate manager, stood just inside the grand foyer. He wore his usual uniform, which was an impeccably pressed black suit with a matching tie. His hair was buzzed down to a perfect number one.
“Can I help you, Miss Wilde?” he asked politely, but with an underlying tone of condescension. The man was devoted to Kendall’s father. He’d go down on all fours if Evans Wilde needed a rest for his weary legs.
“I’m looking for my father,” she said confidently. It was imperative to sound as confident as possible. There was no room for hesitation in this house. Not at the Wilde estate. “He isn’t answering my calls, and I need to speak to him. Right now.”
Billy looked her up and down and then nodded only once. “He’s in his study. I’m sure you remember the way?”
“Like an arrow on a map,” Kendall said, stepping past Billy. “If you don’t mind, can you get me a cup of tea?” Her voice was as sweet as sugar.
She imagined him rolling his eyes as she jogged up the sweeping staircase to the second floor. She then walked along a hallway lined with art pieces, each painting costing more than her house. Eventually, she came to a thick walnut door.
It was closed, but if she listened carefully, she could hear the clicking of fingers on a keypad. The nerves from before came swooping in like a swarm of bees. Kendall knocked and waited.
Even when she was little, Kendall never just barged in. The rule was to wait for permission. Her father had many rules. No shouting. No running up and down the halls and absolutely no talking back. That usually warranted an allowance cut.
“Come in,” said her father. His gruff voice echoed straight through the thick door.
She did as she was told, pushing it open with both hands and stepping just inside the room. Her father’s study was the same as it had always been—stately, with dark mahogany furniture, bookshelves taking up the left wall, and expensive art on the other.
Evans Wilde was a good-looking man in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair still thick and slicked back.
He had sharp amber eyes and broad shoulders from his college days as a water polo player.
He was sitting behind a massive desk with all the papers perfectly organized in piles.
A large flat screen monitor glowed softly in front of him, and behind the desk, on a polished table, was a row of gleaming awards—Oscars, Golden Globes, BAFTAs. He was, after all, a Hollywood legend.
“I expected you sooner,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against his knee.
“You did?” Kendall asked, surprised.
As far as she knew, her father wasn’t expecting her at all.
“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “I assumed you would come crawling back to me.”
Kendall swallowed hard. “I’m not crawling, Dad. I’m not here to beg you to change your mind about the documentary.” She pushed back her shoulders again, hoping it would inject a bit more confidence, and said, “I’m here to offer you something.”
“An offer?” Evans asked, sitting forward until his elbows rested on his table. “What kind of offer?”
Kendall walked to the center of the room.
The air felt unnaturally thick, as if she was sipping oxygen through a straw.
Not to mention the heat that was clinging to her arms, making her palms clammy.
She wondered if the air conditioner had malfunctioned, but she knew that wasn’t the case.
Nothing in that house ever malfunctioned.
“I want to give up my trust fund in exchange that you continue supporting the documentary,” Kendall said.
“I’ll give it all up if you just do the right thing and fund the documentary which we’ve been working our butts off to create.
It’s good, Dad. It’s really good, and it deserves to be seen by the world.
That’s what I’m offering. I’ll never touch any of your money again if you just agree to pay for what you said you would. ”
Evans didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. He raised a brow, intrigued but not impressed. “Is that all, darling? Is that your grand gesture?”
“Yes,” she managed softly. If her father wanted her to go down on her knees and grovel for funding, well then, he sure as hell was going to be disappointed.
“No,” Evans said plainly, setting his sights back on this computer. “I will not allow you to give up your trust fund. But I will continue to fund the documentary if you promise one thing.” He turned his attention back to her, those steely eyes boring right into hers.
“What?” Kendall asked, her entire body twisting into one huge spasm that should have had her on the ground if the shock wasn’t holding her up like a rod.
This was grossly unexpected.
Evans smirked, his fingers drumming on the desk.
“You’ll start visiting me. You’ll come for dinner once a week.
No more hiding behind your work or making up fickle excuses of why you can’t be at my birthday party or my wedding.
If you want the documentary funded, you’ll at least try to be a part of this family again. ”
Kendall blinked, caught completely off guard. “You… you want me to—”
“Visit me,” he finished. “And not once every year. All the time. And call me at least once a month,” he added, raising a finger. “I’m your father. We’re family, Kendall. For the last few years, you’ve seemed to have forgotten that.”
Kendall’s jaw dropped. There were so many things she wanted to say, like—you’re the problem, Dad. The reason I’ve been staying away. You’re the one who doesn’t respect what I do, who thinks it’s a cute little part-time hobby. I’ve stayed away because you don’t accept me and my choices.
But she couldn’t get a word out.
Her dad seemed to notice the conflict in her head and nodded knowingly.
“You know, I wanted you to do this documentary not so you’d quit your job, but so that, someday, when I give you a hard time about the path you’ve chosen, you could actually defend yourself.
Have something real to stand on.” He steepled his fingers in front of him.
“I never wanted you to quit firefighting, Kendall. I just wanted you to have something solid to point to when the world questions what you’re doing with your life.
I thought that this documentary would really give people an idea of what it’s really like to be a firefighter.
Especially what it’s like to be a female firefighter in a male-dominated field. ”
She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but Evans caught her confusion like a baseball and nodded.
“Unfortunately, Kendall, you were born into a life with certain expectations. People expect you to follow in my footsteps or do something even bigger in the film industry. But proving them wrong in your own way, that’s worth more than any movie I could ever make. But you need to own that.”
Kendall just stood there, completely still, feeling as if the entire foundation of her life had just shifted. Reese was never going to believe this.
“I want what’s best for you, Kendall,” he continued gently. “But you also need to recognize what’s best for yourself. And when you do, you need to stand by it completely.”
Kendall nodded, though she couldn’t actually feel that she was nodding. Her head felt detached from her neck. “Well, then,” she said, exhaling sharply. “I guess I’ll see you for dinner soon.”
“Next Monday,” Evans said, the edges of his lips lifting just a little that one could almost imagine he was smiling. “Be here at seven.”
“Seven,” Kendall repeated, backing toward the door. “Right. I won’t be late.”
She turned and stepped out of the room, her mind spinning like a blender on high. Nothing about that went as expected. On the contrary, it went exactly the opposite. She was walking out of there with her trust fund still intact and the documentary fully funded.
Sloane was going to be so happy when she found out—
Sloane.
She needed to make things right. Soon. Like now. Because one thing Kendall knew for sure was that she had fallen in love with the woman. Completely. Unmistakably. And if she didn’t fix it soon, she might just miss her chance of an actual beautiful, blooming adult relationship.