Chapter 2 - The Gift
Three days after my surgery, Flynn finally visited me.
He brought roses.
That almost made it funny.
He entered my private hospital room wearing the navy suit I'd bought him for our anniversary and carrying enough pink and white roses to make him look like an apologetic groom.
Cordelia followed.
Neither expected me to smile.
Flynn stopped.
“Sloan.”
“Hello.”
His gaze traveled over my bruised arms before settling on my cast.
For half a second, shame crossed his face.
Then it disappeared.
Cordelia remained near the door.
“How are you feeling?”
I looked at her.
“You pushed me down fourteen stairs.”
Her expression hardened.
“It was an accident.”
“No, it wasn't.”
“You lost your balance.”
“You put both hands on me.”
Flynn exhaled.
“Can we not do this?”
I looked at him.
“You mean discuss what happened?”
“We're here to resolve things.”
Of course.
Not to apologize.
To resolve things.
Flynn placed the bouquet beside my bed.
Then he sat.
Cordelia remained standing.
I let the silence stretch.
Finally Flynn said, “I assume you've read the filing.”
“I have.”
“I didn't want things to happen this way.”
“Which part?”
He frowned.
“The divorce?”
“The staircase.”
Cordelia shifted.
Flynn's eyes dropped.
That was enough.
I reached toward the bedside drawer.
Cordelia immediately watched my hand.
I removed a small silver key.
The lake house key.
I held it between my fingers.
“You wanted the house?”
Flynn stared.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm giving it to you.”
Cordelia stepped forward.
“The lake house?”
I nodded.
Neither spoke.
That silence was worth five million dollars.
Flynn finally narrowed his eyes.
“What's the catch?”
“No catch.”
“There has to be.”
I extended the key.
“Take everything.”
He didn't move.
Cordelia did.
She reached toward it.
I pulled my hand back.
“Flynn signs first.”
Her expression tightened.
“Signs what?”
“Transfer documents.”
Flynn stared at me.
“You're serious?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked down at my cast.
“Because I'm tired.”
It wasn't entirely a lie.
“I want out. You want the house. Your mother wants the house. Fine. Take it.”
Cordelia studied me.
Greedy people rarely believe generosity.
But they desperately want to.
“What about the divorce settlement?” Flynn asked.
“My attorney will send terms.”
“You're giving up your claim?”
“To the estate, yes.”
Cordelia's lips parted.
She was trying not to smile.
I almost admired the effort.
Flynn still looked suspicious.
Then I said the sentence I knew would finish him.
“You won.”
His expression changed.
There are people who value money.
And there are people who value winning.
Flynn valued both.
But winning came first.
He reached for the key.
Before releasing it, I whispered, “Grandfather made sure the house came with everything.”
His fingers stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
Cordelia laughed nervously.
“She's trying to scare you.”
I released the key.
Flynn stared at it in his palm.
Phoebe arrived forty minutes later.
The paperwork was thick.
Very thick.
Flynn frowned when she placed it on the hospital table.
“Why are there so many pages?”
Phoebe's face remained professionally blank.
“Your grandfather-in-law established several covenants and ownership conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“Standard obligations attached to the estate.”
Cordelia interrupted.
“Does he own the house or not?”
Phoebe looked directly at her.
“Once executed, Mr. Mercer becomes the owner of the estate and all property legally inseparable from it.”
I almost smiled.
Cordelia heard only one word.
Owner.
“Sign it,” she told Flynn.
He began reading.
Phoebe waited.
After five pages, Cordelia became impatient.
“Flynn.”
“I'm reading.”
“You have a lawyer.”
“My lawyer hasn't seen this.”
I said nothing.
That worried him more.
“What exactly am I accepting?” he asked Phoebe.
“Everything legally attached to the estate.”
Again.
Everything.
Flynn looked at me.
I closed my eyes against the pillow.
“Don't sign it, then.”
His ego took care of the rest.
He picked up the pen.
Page after page.
Initial.
Signature.
Initial.
Signature.
Cordelia watched like someone observing a lottery drawing.
Finally Phoebe collected the documents.
“The transfer becomes effective Monday at nine a.m.”
Cordelia smiled.
Flynn stood.
For the first time since entering, he looked genuinely pleased.
At the door, he turned.
“You're really walking away?”
“Yes.”
His expression contained something close to pity.
That was my favorite part.
“You'll regret this.”
I smiled.
“No, Flynn.”
He waited.
“You will.”
Cordelia rolled her eyes and pulled him into the hallway.
Phoebe remained.
We waited until their footsteps disappeared.
Then she closed the door.
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes.”
“Sloan, once Monday comes, there's no reversing this without his cooperation.”
“I know.”
“And if your grandfather's documents mean what we believe they mean—”
“They do.”
Phoebe lowered her voice.
“Then Flynn just accepted responsibility for something enormous.”
I stared through the window.
“How enormous?”
She opened her briefcase.
Inside was a sealed envelope bearing my grandfather's handwriting.
TO THE NEXT OWNER OF BRIAR HOUSE.
Phoebe placed it in front of me.
“I think it's time you read this.”
I touched the envelope.
My grandfather had been dead for eighteen months.
Suddenly, he felt very close.
I broke the seal.
There was only one sheet inside.
Sloan,
If you are reading this, someone has finally wanted the house badly enough to accept it without understanding why I refused to sell.
Do not stop them.
The truth is beneath the east wing.
And ownership is the key.
I read it again.
Then I looked at Phoebe.
“What is beneath the east wing?”
She shook her head.
“Your grandfather never told me.”
“But you drafted the trust.”
“I drafted what he instructed me to draft.”
“What exactly did Flynn accept?”
Phoebe pulled out another document.
Her finger landed on a paragraph I'd never seen.
My stomach tightened.
“Phoebe?”
She looked at me.
“Your grandfather didn't hide an asset under that house, Sloan.”
“What did he hide?”
Her expression turned grave.
May you like
“A responsibility.”
And suddenly I understood that whatever game my grandfather had begun twenty years ago was much larger than revenge.
