Page 44 of The Lilac River (Silver Peaks #1)

Believer – Imagine Dragons

Nash

“ H ow the hell did you learn how to do that?” I muttered, watching Gunner crouch in front of the lock on Dad’s apartment door, fiddling with a small tool kit like he was cracking a safe in some heist movie.

“YouTube,” he said, grinning like this was the most fun he’d had all week.

I shook my head. “So while I’m over here learning how to braid Bertie’s hair without turning it into a bird’s nest, you’re learning how to commit major crimes?”

The lock gave a satisfying click. Gunner winked and shrugged. “Something like that.”

He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the stairwell. All clear. He pushed the heavy door open and let us into the private inner lobby—quiet, too quiet.

The lights were dimmed to a soft golden glow, and everything smelled faintly like pine and polish. Expensive.

“Shit,” I muttered, glancing up. “Is that chandelier made of real crystals?”

“If this clock’s real gold, then probably.” Gunner gave a low whistle as he wandered over to an ugly, modern grandfather clock in the corner. “Sure, looks like it might be.”

We both stood there for a second, taking it all in. Ridiculous didn’t even cover it.

The apartment took up the entire top floor of the building, Dad’s precious penthouse.

Way too fancy for Silver Peaks, a town where most folks lived in old ranch houses or cabins with wood-burning stoves.

This place? Cold and industrial. Like something airlifted in from Denver or Aspen and dropped at the tail end of Latymer.

Out of place. Just like him.

The building backed onto the trees that bordered town, as if Dad couldn’t quite bear to live too close to the rest of us.

“Come on,” Gunner said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s stop admiring Dad’s ego trip and find the damn deed.”

“You take his bedroom,” I said. “I’ll check the office.”

He nodded and veered off. I scanned the hallway ahead. The first door was open just a crack, light spilling through onto the marble-tiled floor.

“Pretty swanky in the lounge, too,” I called out.

Gunner’s laugh echoed from deeper inside. “Funny how neither of us knows our way around our own father’s house.”

“Well, he’s not exactly warm and fuzzy, is he?”

“Nope. Which is why I’m so damn looking forward to nailing his ass tonight.”

I grinned grimly, the thrill of it sparking in my chest. “Let’s do this.”

Gunner opened a door and cursed. “Bathroom. We’ll leave that to the last.”

I moved on, checking the next door. Jackpot.

“Found the bedroom,” I called. “You’re up, Gun. And wait till you see the bed, it’s fucking huge.”

He chuckled from down the hall. I didn’t want to know what he was imagining.

I kept going, through a formal dining room so over-the-top it looked like it belonged in a European castle, a guest bedroom, and finally, the office.

Now this looked more like Dad.

Rich mahogany furniture, thick, imposing, and far too polished. Everything about it screamed authority. Or insecurity. Probably both. A shiny Mac sat on the desk like an afterthought. He probably didn’t even know how to turn it on.

The pièce de résistance? A massive, framed portrait of himself hung directly opposite his chair, so he could stare at his own smug face all day long.

I stood in front of it, arms crossed, baring my teeth in a mock grin.

“You’re living like a king while trying to sell our land out from under us. Not happening, old man.” And I set to work searching through every drawer and cabinet, grateful that he didn’t seem safety conscious and locked them.

“Anything?” Gunner asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway after a while, still tapping his foot like a caged bull.

“There’s nothing in here, so far,” I said. “Just the usual shrine to himself.”

“Bedroom’s the same,” Gunner added with a grimace. “Except for a stupid number of condoms for a sixty-year-old man. Can’t unsee that.”

“Did you put everything back exactly how you found it?”

“Yes, I’m not an amateur,” he snapped.

“Right,” I muttered. “Because you’ve broken into dozens of places before?”

“You’d be surprised.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I’ll check the lounge,” he added.

“What if he already destroyed whatever we’re looking for?” I called after him.

“Then we’re fucked,” came his reply. “But I’m not giving up yet.”

Neither was I.

But the deeper we dug, the less hopeful I felt.

The office turned up nothing. No hidden drawers. No safe behind the painting. No files or folders marked “PROPERTY I STOLE FROM MY CHILDREN.”

I moved into the lounge. Gunner had already torn the place apart with couch cushions scattered, throw blankets tossed on the floor.

“You better remember how they were,” I said. “If we don’t put them back right, he’ll notice.”

Gunner held up his phone. “Took pictures. I’m not stupid.”

“Good thinking. I’m gonna hit the bathroom and then check the kitchen.”

He grunted, already halfway through disassembling the recliner. Highly unlikely it was hidden there, but then again we didn’t get our newly acquired criminal minds from our father.

I made my way down the hallway, unease gnawing at me again. This whole thing was feeling more and more like a long shot.

“Fucker,” I muttered, zipping up after doing my business. “Where the hell did you hide it?”

As I turned to wash my hands, my eye caught something, just the faintest glow behind the mahogany vanity. A thin slice of light coming from somewhere it shouldn’t.

My heart skipped.

“Gunner!” I yelled.

“What’s wrong? Got your dick caught or something?”

I dropped to my knees, squinting behind the vanity. The air was cooler, the light brighter now that I was closer.

Gunner came in, brows raised. “Is there something down there?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I whispered. “Hidden panel. Definitely.”

He crouched beside me, already pressing around the wood. “Thank God he’s a clean freak. Lying on the floor next to the john wasn’t on my bingo card.”

“Actually, smells clean for a guy who probably pees twenty times a night,” I joked

Then—

Click.

The panel popped open with a satisfying thunk.

“There we go,” Gunner said smugly.

“You clever little shit.”

Inside the hidden drawer was a chaotic jumble—flashlight still on, an old address book, loose photographs, a couple of manila folders, and one envelope sitting right on top.

No postage. No stamp. Just a name and address scrawled across the front in familiar handwriting.

Henry Jacobs.

My stomach twisted.

“That’s Mom’s handwriting,” I said softly.

Gunner blinked. “Think it’s a love letter? Maybe Henry’s our real dad?” he joked but the tension in his voice was real.

“No. Henry was her lawyer. College friend. Mom always trusted him.”

The envelope wasn’t sealed. My pulse pounded as I opened it.

“Maybe Dad steamed it open,” Gunner said. “Wouldn’t be the first time he got sneaky.”

As my brother passed it to me, a smaller slip of paper fluttered to the floor. Gunner grabbed it and started reading aloud:

Henry, Here are the deeds of ownership for the lavender farm.

I’d like you to keep it safe until I surprise them at Thanksgiving.

I appreciate everything you did on this and your discretion.

I can’t wait to see their faces when I give this to them for all their hard work over the years.

I do like your suggestion of framing it and may just do that.

Thanks again for everything, and I’ll be in touch over the other matter very soon, Emily.

The silence that followed felt thick and holy.

“It’s dated just a few days before she died,” Gunner said, voice hoarse.

“She must’ve been planning to give it to him or send it when she got in that accident.”

Gunner’s throat worked as he swallowed. “You think maybe... she had it with her? And that’s how he got it?”

“Maybe,” I whispered, picking up the folded deed. “Or maybe he found it later when they returned her things.”

My fingers trembled as I opened the document written sixteen years ago.

The deed to our legacy.

The lavender farm. Transferred by Emily Miller to…Shane and Felicia Daniels.

“Shit. She signed it over to them,” I choked. “Before she died.” I showed it Gunner, watching as he read it.

“That’s incredible,” he said, eyes glassy. “She protected them and the farm without even realizing.”

“Or maybe she knew what he was like deep down,” I whispered on a swallow.

We went silent for a moment. There was nothing we needed to say except admire the generosity of our mother.

“Go Mom,” I said, a tear slipping free.

“He can’t sell it,” Gunner breathed.

For a moment joy overwhelmed everything else, the grief, the anger, the fear. Mom had protected her legacy by giving it to the two people who deserved it most.

Gunner started rifling through the rest. “What’s the rest of this crap?”

A sharp intake of breath followed.

He handed me a photo.

My stomach turned.

A prison yard. Two men standing side-by-side. One tall. Blond. Familiar. Smoking.

I didn’t know him, but I didn’t have to. Everything about the man’s straight spine and shape of his eyes told me who it was.

“That’s Lily’s dad,” I told him.

“Is this what he used... to get rid of her,” Gunner growled.

He handed over more, including one of her dad exiting a courthouse and of Ella walking in. From years ago.

Dated. Catalogued. Held like weapons.

And then one more folder full of more documents. Gunner held it out.

Something inside me went cold.

Rage bloomed hot and sharp in my chest.

“Take it all,” I said. “Photos. Folders. Everything.”

“What if he notices it missing?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I snarled. “Because things are about to get real nasty.”

Minutes later, we slipped out of the apartment, adrenaline crashing through us in waves.

Just in time.

Our phones buzzed in unison.

Wilder

You fuckers better get out of there. He’s having a brandy then heading back for calls. I just survived the most boring night of my life. You owe me!!

I smirked despite the weight on my chest.

Because tonight, we had something real.

And Dad?

He had no goddamn idea what was coming.