place and make it look like a robbery gone wrong.”
I glance at Neal, hoping this is all part of some game but he raises his eyebrow and says, “Now, can you get dressed?”
I nod.
Alanis spits out a sigh of relief. “Eight minutes.”
______
I shuffle in the backseat of Alanis’s SUV, Neal in the passenger’s seat, Alanis behind the wheel, the three of us hunched down as we watch the street through the back window. There’s no one out this time of morning, Neal’s neighborhood filled with the sound of early birds chirping in the dark.
“One minute,” Alanis says.
Two bright lights appear down the road. Shining yellow orbs, the size of marbles, growing with every second.
My chest tightens. “Is that them?”
Neither Alanis nor Neal answers, their gaze fixed on a grey Honda, four doors, economy. Manufactured for teenagers or middle class moms who need something to cart around their kids. As non-descript as you can get.
All four doors open. The men are dressed in black – black hats, black jackets, black pants, and black shoes – the perfect color for blood stains. I think of Neal’s suit at his party and Carl’s blood splashing over his wrists.
They crowd around the front door, three covering one as he expertly picks the lock in seconds. One of them brandishes a gun from his hip as they storm inside the house.
Alanis starts the car, calmly driving to the end of the block, then around the corner where she presses her foot hard against the gas and floors it.
It’s all in my head – the sound of gunshots, of couches flipped, glass shattered, bullets ringing out in the night – but I can’t shake the image of Neal’s ransacked home.
I’m not naive enough to think we can call the cops. The Chicago PD knows to stay out of disputes involving my father or Lee Geon. “You’ll work it out,” I remember a police officer telling my father the summer after the FBI raided his apartment. A hand clapped against his shoulder, a relieved smile on his face. Thank god we don’t have to deal with this shit.
“What’s Lee pissed about?” I ask.
Neal meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’ve screwed him over for years and taking over your father’s company is the biggest fuck you I could give him.”
Alanis scoffs. “That’s not the only reason and you know it.”
Neal shoots her a warning look.
“What’s she talking about?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Neal says.
I lean forward in my seat.
A small smile plays at the corner of Alanis’s mouth. “A relationship built on lies is a sinking ship.”
Neal ignores her, fixing his gaze out the passenger side window.
“Do you know Carl Geon?” Alanis asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Yes, you do,” Neal says, his eyes flickering to mine. “Carl. The guy from the club.”
His sweat-stained face flashes in my mind. “Carl’s last name is Geon?”
Neal nods.
“So that means --”
“Carl was adopted. He’s Lee’s brother. A few nights ago this idiot,” Alanis punches Neal’s shoulder, “broke four of Carl’s fingers and his nose. The icing on a poisoned cake, Lee was already sending Neal’s way.”
Neal won’t meet my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“And now Lee wants to kill Neal?” I ask.
“Or cut off a couple of limbs,” Alanis says, casually, like she’s ordering her morning coffee.
A sliver of panic raises inside of me. “And there’s nothing we can do?”
“Of course there is,” Neal says, “We can beat Lee at his own game.”
My skin pales. “You mean kill him?”
“No,” Alanis says. “I mean yes, that’s exactly what Neal means. But there might be another way to get through to him.”
“How?” Neal says.
“It has nothing to do with you,” Alanis says, glancing at him. In the rearview mirror our eyes meet. “And everything to do with Caitlin.”
Thank You!
Writing The Inheritance (Volume Two) has been such a wild ride. I hope you’re excited for more! If you enjoyed volume
I glance at Neal, hoping this is all part of some game but he raises his eyebrow and says, “Now, can you get dressed?”
I nod.
Alanis spits out a sigh of relief. “Eight minutes.”
______
I shuffle in the backseat of Alanis’s SUV, Neal in the passenger’s seat, Alanis behind the wheel, the three of us hunched down as we watch the street through the back window. There’s no one out this time of morning, Neal’s neighborhood filled with the sound of early birds chirping in the dark.
“One minute,” Alanis says.
Two bright lights appear down the road. Shining yellow orbs, the size of marbles, growing with every second.
My chest tightens. “Is that them?”
Neither Alanis nor Neal answers, their gaze fixed on a grey Honda, four doors, economy. Manufactured for teenagers or middle class moms who need something to cart around their kids. As non-descript as you can get.
All four doors open. The men are dressed in black – black hats, black jackets, black pants, and black shoes – the perfect color for blood stains. I think of Neal’s suit at his party and Carl’s blood splashing over his wrists.
They crowd around the front door, three covering one as he expertly picks the lock in seconds. One of them brandishes a gun from his hip as they storm inside the house.
Alanis starts the car, calmly driving to the end of the block, then around the corner where she presses her foot hard against the gas and floors it.
It’s all in my head – the sound of gunshots, of couches flipped, glass shattered, bullets ringing out in the night – but I can’t shake the image of Neal’s ransacked home.
I’m not naive enough to think we can call the cops. The Chicago PD knows to stay out of disputes involving my father or Lee Geon. “You’ll work it out,” I remember a police officer telling my father the summer after the FBI raided his apartment. A hand clapped against his shoulder, a relieved smile on his face. Thank god we don’t have to deal with this shit.
“What’s Lee pissed about?” I ask.
Neal meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’ve screwed him over for years and taking over your father’s company is the biggest fuck you I could give him.”
Alanis scoffs. “That’s not the only reason and you know it.”
Neal shoots her a warning look.
“What’s she talking about?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Neal says.
I lean forward in my seat.
A small smile plays at the corner of Alanis’s mouth. “A relationship built on lies is a sinking ship.”
Neal ignores her, fixing his gaze out the passenger side window.
“Do you know Carl Geon?” Alanis asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Yes, you do,” Neal says, his eyes flickering to mine. “Carl. The guy from the club.”
His sweat-stained face flashes in my mind. “Carl’s last name is Geon?”
Neal nods.
“So that means --”
“Carl was adopted. He’s Lee’s brother. A few nights ago this idiot,” Alanis punches Neal’s shoulder, “broke four of Carl’s fingers and his nose. The icing on a poisoned cake, Lee was already sending Neal’s way.”
Neal won’t meet my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“And now Lee wants to kill Neal?” I ask.
“Or cut off a couple of limbs,” Alanis says, casually, like she’s ordering her morning coffee.
A sliver of panic raises inside of me. “And there’s nothing we can do?”
“Of course there is,” Neal says, “We can beat Lee at his own game.”
My skin pales. “You mean kill him?”
“No,” Alanis says. “I mean yes, that’s exactly what Neal means. But there might be another way to get through to him.”
“How?” Neal says.
“It has nothing to do with you,” Alanis says, glancing at him. In the rearview mirror our eyes meet. “And everything to do with Caitlin.”
Thank You!
Writing The Inheritance (Volume Two) has been such a wild ride. I hope you’re excited for more! If you enjoyed volume
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