Page 29

CHAPTER 29

MARCUS

Princess D-Bag: I need to talk to you

Princess D-Bag: I'm kind of freaking out a little

Princess D-Bag: Are you still planning to come to town?

Me: I'm here, at my old house, checking up on some things for mom. Want to meet somewhere?

Princess D-Bag: Where are you?

Me: 827 Wildwood Court

The three little dots that indicate Ashton is responding pop up, then disappear three times before the screen goes blank. Does that mean he's coming here? I'm not sure how I feel about Ashton James coming to my childhood home. It feels almost disrespectful of my father's memory when he tried so hard to warn me about the James family. And now that I know what I know, his warning feels even more foreboding. Ashton's father held enough of a grudge against my father to not only cut him out of any kind of inheritance, but to make sure he never got ahead.

I spent some time at the Pinecrest Public Library before I stopped by to check on the house. We're in between renters at the moment, and checking on how the rental management company is taking care of the property was a good excuse to come for a visit. Going to the library to look for old news coverage of Ashton James Senior's death and the subsequent drama involving the inheritance was the other excuse to come here. I'm barely acknowledging to myself that my visit might have something to do with Ashton being gone for five days. I know he's struggling with having to spend so much time around his parents, and worrying over his grandmother, who is more or less the head of their family.

As long as I'm here, I might as well follow through and do a walk-through of the property. It's odd being in here. It's the same, and yet so different. If I stand in one spot and use my imagination, I can remember, in vivid detail, where every piece of furniture was placed, or photo hung on the wall. I can hear the laughter from my childhood in my bedroom, the smell of Dad's bacon waffles in the kitchen, or see the shattered glass and flowers from his funeral. Inside the large archway that leads into the kitchen, there are still marks that tracked my growth, until I was too tall for my mom to measure. I'm a good two inches taller now than I was then. I chuckle to think of Ashton standing in the doorway to be measured. He'd probably have to bend his head to get through at all.

Thinking of Ashton reminds me of the very few articles I found, and the other information I spent the day obsessively researching. It's not healthy to dive this deep into something you can't do anything about. All it's going to cause is more tension, and maybe resentment, between Ashton and me. Or at least with his family. He didn't defend them when I told him about our dads being stepbrothers, or the story my dad told me about being screwed over by his family. Will he feel differently now that Matilda isn’t doing well, or now that he's been spending time at home? Did he try to talk to them about any of it, ask questions, or bring it up to see if they say anything?

Thankfully, Ashton arrives and I can stop overthinking. A large black SUV pulls up to the curb in front of my childhood home. I stand on the front stoop outside and watch as Ashton opens the back door, met by the driver, who hands him a small duffle bag. They talk to each other for a moment before the driver nods, looks over his shoulder at me, then gets back in the SUV. As the SUV pulls away, I walk down the small stone path that leads to the end of the driveway. Ashton sets his bag on the trunk of my car, which is parked in the street blocking the driveway, and turns to meet me.

The hug he envelops me in catches me by surprise, as does the way he bends down to kiss me. I'm not sure if it's the open affection that throws me off, or the desperation I feel radiating off him.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure, honestly. It's been a strange few days, especially since Mimi woke up yesterday."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"I think so?" It sounds like more of a question than a firm statement. It's obvious he has something to get off his chest, but doesn't know how to talk about it, or at least where to start.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see my old metal basketball hoop is still intact. It's not quite regulation height, but I doubt Ashton cares. If there's one thing I'm learning about him, it's that he isn't quite as snooty as I always thought he was. Maybe his family is, and his so-called friends, but he showed me last week just how little he cared about their opinions when he stood up to them and defended me. He didn't even know I was listening, and that's what’s crawling under all my defenses.

Walking to my car, I pick up Ashton's bag and open the trunk. I put the bag inside and pull out a basketball. I toss it to Ashton, who catches it cleanly and stares at me curiously.

"This is how Vell men talk. Nearly every important or deep conversation I ever had with my dad took place on this driveway."

He gives me a pained smile, bounces the ball a few times, and then passes back to me. "I'm really sorry your family struggled because of what mine did, and that you lost him so young. He sounds like he was a really great dad."

"He really, really was," I say, focusing on dribbling so I don't choke up. "I'm sorry that you didn't get the same kind of support from your father."

Ashton chuckles sardonically. "I know this is going to sound super privileged of me, and believe me, I know I am, but sometimes I think I would have preferred to grow up with a lot less if it meant my family wasn't evil."

I shoot. The ball sinks through the old chain net and bounces over to where Ashton is standing.

"Ashton, just because your family is rich, doesn't make them evil."

"No, the things they've done to get rich and stay rich are, though," he says quietly, picking up the ball and dribbling slowly. "Did you know my dad's company nearly tripled in value during the pandemic? Most of our town and the surrounding areas were struggling, businesses were shutting down left and right, people were unable to work. He laid off more than half his workforce, despite the fact that his investments soared. He used that money to pay off shareholders and buy more stock in other big companies that were flourishing financially instead of taking care of the people that worked for him. AJames Enterprises got a whole lot of good press for donating money to pharmaceutical research to develop the vaccines, but he quadrupled that investment and put exactly none of it back into his community."

He shoots the ball, which bounces off the rim and into the grass at the edge of the driveway. I pick it up, dribble, and pass it back to him. Holding the ball helps to get it all out.

"Your dad's business made it through the pandemic," he says. A statement, not a question. I nod anyway, confirming. The store barely survived, and never quite regained the success of pre-pandemic sales, but it did survive. My dad did what he could to stay relevant during lockdown, selling used bikes, scooters, sports and exercise equipment at the deepest discounts possible to keep people active while they were in lockdown. He sponsored vaccine drives when they were finally available, and organized donation drives for food, clothes, and services like lawn care. He really cared about his community, which is one reason he fought the construction of the new shopping center so hard. It wasn't just because his business was at risk, it was because Market Square was the heart and soul of the Pinecrest’s locally owned businesses. I truly believe he would have campaigned just as hard if his business wasn't in direct danger of being shut down.

"His store made it through the pandemic, but it couldn't survive my father's pettiness."

I'd like to go back to believing it was nothing personal, like my father said. But after what I've learned, I know that isn't true, and I don't think my father truly believed that. Maybe Ashton knows the truth, too.

"I always thought it was weird that my dad was so obsessed with your dad. I mean, I can't even tell you how often I overheard my parents talking absolute shit about your mom and dad. Stuff I'd never repeat because I'm so ashamed. Mostly, I'm ashamed that I never spoke up about it."

"It wouldn't have made it any better, it just would have put you in the line of fire. You were a kid."

Ashton ignores my attempt to placate him. "While my dad was busy comparing how successful he was compared to this random—or so I thought—small business owner, I was comparing how much happier you all seemed. Whenever we had games against each other, I'd watch your interactions. Even if your team lost, your parents were there cheering you on and congratulating you for playing your best, or some wholesome shit like that."

"Creeper much?"

That gets a small smile, and he shoots again, making a clean basket this time. "I've never been under the illusion that my dad was a good guy. And yeah, I said something to him on occasion. All he ever said was that it was the cost of doing business , that it took grit to be successful, and someday when I take over, I’d understand the sacrifices that have to be made to keep moving up in the world."

I stop to look at him, a recent fear of mine being spoken out loud. What if Ashton comes into his inheritance, takes over his rightful place as the CEO of AJames Enterprises, and becomes one of them? I've only recently started to become convinced that he really is different, and hearing him talk now, it's clear he thinks differently, but could that much money and power corrupt a good person into believing they're entitled to profit off the misfortune of others?

"I don't want any of it," he says firmly, his expression grim and serious. His soulful brown eyes are almost black with emotion. "I don't want to be like them. It's important to me that you know how much I hate them all."

Tucking the ball under my arm, I approach him and reach for his hand. "I don't need you to hate your family, Ashton. They're still your family."

Ashton allows me to take his hand but won't meet my eyes. "Yeah, well… I think my family purposefully targeted your dad to put him out of business and potentially run him out of town." He says the words quickly, like he needs to force them all out at once. He's probably worried about my reaction.

"I know."

He snaps his gaze up to mine, eyes wide and incredulous. "You do? How?"

"I went to the library today. I found a few newspaper articles that mentioned my dad's case against your family. You were right, there wasn't much that made it to the local media. While I was there, I cross checked my dad's name with all the names I could associate with your dad or the company. I found multiple complaints for random small ordinances to zoning concerns, a bunch of small, petty stuff that seemed trivial. It didn't make sense why anyone would make complaints like that. Until I saw that every last one of the plaintiffs was represented by the same law firm."

"Richards and Langley?"

"Yep, that's the one. My guess is they were trying to prevent him from opening, or staying open, without causing a public scene. Because if the company really wanted to shut my dad down, they could have done it much sooner."

"So why did they wait so long?"

"That's what I haven't figured out yet. Maybe I'll never know. I'm not sure I know what I'd do with the information anyway."

Pulling his hand, I lead Ashton to sit on the doorstep. I don't try to push him to talk, but I keep my body pressed against his, so he knows I'm not pulling away. After all, I'm pretty sure I know enough, and I haven't run screaming yet. Maybe I should, but I haven't.

"So, what else is bothering you?" I ask, nudging him gently. "It feels like there's more."

Ashton blows out a heavy breath. "When we talked yesterday, I told you Mimi woke up." I nod. We texted after the game. He said he'd missed the end of it because she'd woken up but was really disoriented. "The doctor said the damaged brain cells from the stroke can lead to dementia. She probably won't regain the cognitive function she lost."

"I'm sorry to hear that." As much as I want to hate this woman I've never met, I wouldn't wish death or suffering on her. Not physically, anyway. I'd like her to feel bad about what she did, admit to what she did, maybe. Nothing can change the past, though, so there's no use thinking about that. Mostly, I don't want Ashton to be sad.

"When she first woke up, I was the only one in the room," he says, brow creased with stress. "She thought I was my dad. Called me Junior."

I chuckle. "That could be weird."

"It was really weird. Especially since she kept talking to me about a boy."

My eyebrow raises. "A boy? Like… a boy ? Or he had a friend she didn't like?"

"The way she was talking, it sounded like she'd caught them together."

Oh shit. Now this is getting juicy . "Okay, interest officially piqued?—”

"I think she was talking about your dad."

Uh, what?

"I have no way of knowing for sure, of course. She was really out of it. But, she said, 'I don't want him leaching off you like that woman is your father.'"

"That could mean anybody."

"Yeah, but that's not all."

He turns to me with wide, fearful eyes. "What if… What if Mimi had something to do with our grandparents’ deaths?"