a scene. No point in doing this in public. Why don’t you come in and have a seat?” He opens the door wider.
Now this asshole is shy? He was anything but the night he firebombed my engagement.
I hesitate.
Going in puts this on his turf, and I don’t want that.
I’ve learned the hard way not to put anything past him.
Sure, there’s a need for discretion, but who here will care about Brandt drama or even know who we are? He’s hiding like the viper he is.
Fortunately, I know a thing or two about skinning snakes.
He’ll tell me what it’ll take for him to disappear for good, or else I’m going to let him know he won’t be the first man I’ve shot.
Not that it’ll ever escalate that far. He’s too chickenshit. I stalk past him, swallowing a growl.
He shuts the door.
I survey the pea-green carpet with dark stains, the beige bedspread that’s coming apart, and the dented walls.
“Nice digs you’ve got here,” I mutter.
He gives me that cringe-inducing rattle of a laugh.
“It’s a hard life when you’ve been disinherited and thrown to the curb, son.”
For a microsecond, my eyes flinch shut. I can’t stand it when he reminds me we’re blood, cynically expecting my sympathy. Old man, that died long ago.
“Of course, you wouldn’t know about that,” he sneers in his cocksure tone. “You’re not even her kid. You’re her grandson.”
“Grandma’s still alive, you twit. There isn’t anything to inherit yet. Until her recent health crisis, she was still working. You could do the same being twenty years younger,” I bite off.
He holds up his hands, wiggling long, thin fingers.
“I wasn’t built for hard labor, Ward.”
What the fuck do I say to that? He’s telling the truth for once.
“Your parents built an empire. All you had to do was man up and run it.”
“And waste my entire life chasing more coin? Besides, you and your brother took over that role so well, don’t you think?”
“You had so many chances. If you’d just tried, Grandma would have taught you everything she knew. Just like she did for us.”
“You got my gift, didn’t you? I take it that’s why you’re here ruining my evening?”
Straight to the point and nasty as ever.
My hand balls into a fist. “You’re a sick son of a bitch. I can’t believe you sent those letters to the Art Institute. Private letters between your loving parents. The letter about Grandma’s miscarriage...Dad, you fucker. I didn’t even know about that.”
I have to pause and breathe. Otherwise, I’m going to hoist him up and slam him right through the wall.
“It’s history, Ward, and Mother’s a famous artist. People eat this crap up. Don’t you think they’d gush sympathy all over her if they knew?” He actually shakes his head like he tried to do her a favor. “I know you’re used to jumping to conclusions, but—”
“Shut it. If she doesn’t talk about it, she doesn’t want all of Chicago blabbing either. Private letters to Grandpa about needing him to submit her work, so she could be paid because people wouldn’t hire a woman in those days. She didn’t want anyone reading that shit, and you know it.” I rake a hand down my face. “What’s your malfunction? Why are you so...you? Your own mother’s recovering from a serious heart defect, and you just had to go shit on everyone.”
“I shit just fine, boy. You want to know? Really?” he snaps. “Here’s my biggest worry—the bitch dies before she puts me back in the will. You don’t know what it’s like to grow up a Brandt and then be disowned.”
“She didn’t disown you—you did that to yourself!” I roar, lurching toward him. “I assume the letters were to embarrass Grandma. I’m just not sure how that helps you get back in her will. Why would she want to leave you money for hurting her again?”
The turd I’m ashamed to share DNA with doesn’t answer.
He never does when hard questions slug him in the face.
“Why the boat, you ass? Are you suicidal?” I’m shaking as the rancor pours out of me like pus. “You realize there’s no statute of limitations on murder—”
“I didn’t kill that prick! It was an accident. We talked business. We partied too hard. Then there was a freak storm on the lake, and...tragedy.”
He’s rattled, but I can’t take any pleasure in it.
“They’ll haul your ass into court if they ever find evidence. It’s in your best interest and everyone else’s that the Parnell crap stays forgotten. It’s not the