Page 52 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Silas

I sit on a chair in my formal living room, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the dark mahogany armrest. Jeremy and Natalie occupy the couch across from me. Jeremy’s sunk deep into the cushions, while Natalie stares off at the wall, lost in thought.

The grandfather clock in the corner ticks so loudly. We’re all waiting for William’s lawyer to show up, as well as Davey, who is supposed to be on his way after attending a few in-person meetings.

Technically, we’re on bereavement for another three days, excluding the services next Tuesday, but the world doesn’t stop when someone dies. Even for the great William Wells.

Elena stepped out of the room just before my siblings arrived. She shot down my protests, saying her presence would only add tension with Jeremy here, especially because he had such a poor reaction to learning her real identity during a phone call yesterday.

It was only a matter of time before he found out, and I assumed that it was better to tell him myself, but all he could focus on was being the last to know.

He started to go off on a tangent about how our father was right about her before I cut him off with a single warning. He hung up on me only seconds later.

She's probably right, but it doesn’t change the fact that the buzzing under my skin hasn’t stopped since she left .

The last anyone knew, William’s substantial assets, including his Wells shares, were to be split equally among the three of us.

But with the way the last few months have gone, there’s always the possibility that my father revisited the family trust to divide his assets in a new way as a final “fuck you” after I refused to bend to his every desire.

My only hope is that he was arrogant and believed he had ample time to change it, or was waiting for Jeremy to become COO before committing to anything.

Natalie catches my eye, her lips pressed into a thin line.

That singular look seemed to be enough for Jeremy to notice. “Why the fuck don’t either of you care?” he asks, head jerking as he moves back and forth to look at both of us.

The rims of his eyes are red, whether from lack of sleep or shed tears, I can’t tell.

His shirt is wrinkled and untucked, hair disheveled as if he's been running his hands through it all night. For all the ways that my brother seems to lack emotion, he isn’t lacking it here.

Next to him, Natalie and I might as well be from a different universe.

Natalie’s quick to respond. “We all handle things differently. I wasn’t close to Dad like you were.”

“But he’s our father ,” Jeremy shoots back, looking at me expectantly. Sitting up in my seat, I run a hand down the length of my face.

“I’m trying to focus on what’s in front of me, and right now, that’s a corporation that lost its CEO.” My words are as tired as I am of pretending to give a damn about William anymore.

Jeremy scoffs. “That’s all you ever care about, isn't it?”

“The thing Dad cared about most? Yes,” I correct, jaw clenched. Defending the bastard feels like poison on my tongue. “People are relying on us to be rational and level-headed. I’m compartmentalizing.”

Jeremy's voice drops as he speaks through his teeth, “Don’t talk to me about what was important to Dad.”

The blood in my veins boils, but I reel in the anger from seeping out into my words.

“You’re right. You and Dad were thick as thieves these past few months.

” My neutral tone seems to temper Jeremy’s anger.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you. Did he tell you why it took so long for us to audit the servers? ”

Jeremy stiffens. Natalie turns slightly towards him to also take in the pinch in his eyebrows. Instead of waiting for an answer, I lie.

“Dad had an outside team encrypt the servers without our knowledge,” I say, leaning back in my seat, tracking every change in his expression.

“It took Davey a while, but what he’s found shows evidence of tax evasion.

If this information gets out, it would severely damage our reputation and the board would question all of our involvement. ”

My words only make the crease in his forehead deepen. “We're correcting it so it's no longer an issue, but did he tell you about what else he might be hiding? If you know anything we should get ahead of, now’s the time to speak up.”

My brother's eyes narrow.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” His posture hardens from top to bottom, first his facial features and then every muscle down to his feet, which are now firmly planted on the ground, as if he’s getting ready to lunge.

“He has to ask, Jer,” Natalie answers softly, uncrossing and recrossing her legs.

Jeremy whips his head to our sister. “You already knew about this.”

He knows well enough that Davey wouldn’t keep that type of information from his own wife. However, it does nothing to dull his anger. “So, this was the plan all along? Wait until we’re alone so you both can gang up on me?”

“No one is doing that,” she sighs, reaching over to place her hand on his forearm. Jeremy tracks her movement, lips pursed with disgust. The skin on my neck burns. Still, Natalie continues, “We need to make sure that we’re all on the same page and share information with one another.”

He huffs out a bitter laugh. “Oh, please. You both—”

Rising abruptly, I tower over my younger brother, who suddenly seems much smaller, slumped against the couch cushions. I'm aware of Natalie's glare to reel it in, but I ignore it .

“You’re lucky I’m asking you directly after some of the shit you pulled,” I seethe so low it’s barely audible.

Jeremy’s eyes widen. I have no idea if it’s fear or guilt that holds him hostage, but he stays quiet.

“Sneaking around to board members with Dad, trying to make them doubt my abilities.” Jeremy shrinks under my gaze.

I lean in, eyes not straying from his. “I'll ask you one more time, and you better consider your answer carefully.” My voice drops. “Is there anything you want to tell us?”

Jeremy’s face flushes a deep red before he crosses his arms.

Almost reluctantly, he mutters, “He never told me what was on the servers. He just asked me to go with Brenden to the satellite office and report back on what Davey was finding.” He pauses before continuing, almost to himself, “I guess that makes sense now.”

Natalie and I exchange a look. Jeremy’s always been a terrible liar. Incompetence can be masked, but Jeremy never mastered that art outside of superficial interactions.

My eyes flick back to my brother and then to my sister again before I nod once. Natalie silently agrees. Jeremy has likely been in the dark as much as the rest of us have.

Something eases in my chest knowing that my brother won’t have to be another person I need to deal with. But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t trust him, and probably never will.

The sound of footsteps on tile breaks the silence that had settled over the three of us. All at once, we look through the cased openings as Davey comes into view with my father’s lawyer and an old family friend, Jonathan Hale, in tow.

My siblings and I adopt our well-practiced facades. Sad smiles are exchanged, and we move in for brief, consoling hugs with Mr. Hale. The veneer of solidarity, whenever outsiders are present, is a dance we learned early in life.

Though Jeremy maintains a slight distance, Natalie greets Davey. Not wanting to delay this any longer, I gesture for everyone to take a seat, with Mr. Hale positioning himself on the couch to utilize the coffee table for his briefcase.

“Let’s discuss the next steps,” he suggests gently, pulling out his documents. As if flipping a switch, we set aside our grievances for the moment, our expressions schooled into those of attentive children.

I take the lead, gesturing for Mr. Hale to begin. “Please, go ahead.”

—

Mr. Hale has been hunched over the coffee table, which has served as his temporary desk for almost an hour, going over many of the finer details of how the trust works, including how we can contest it if we so choose. However, he made it clear that this option was an uphill battle.

His paperwork is organized into neat stacks across the polished surface, documents meticulously ordered. As he flips through each section, his wire-rimmed glasses slide down the front of his nose.

“Per the terms of the primary family trust, Mr. Wells's outside investments are to be divided equally among his three children. This includes any commercial real estate assets not already held in corporate structures. Detailed contact information for his financial advisors has been provided to assist in the transfer process,” he announces.

We each nod in quiet acknowledgment before he moves on.

“In addition,” he says, flipping to the next page, “a lump sum of two million dollars will be granted through the Wells Charitable Trust to the Harper Foundation for Ovarian Cancer Research. Mr. Wells noted this was an organization he and his wife, Caroline, supported during her treatment, with the hope that this gift will bring further awareness and access to early detection resources.”

Hale and Jeremy’s expressions soften, and I almost roll my eyes.

Even when my mother was alive, there was little my father would actually sacrifice for her. Every decision was calculated. This one probably hit a tax bracket and a PR sweet spot simultaneously .

Still, if this helps someone else’s mother catch it early, then maybe that counts for something.

“To his surviving sister, Mr. Wells allocated his extensive collection of paintings,” Hale continues, tone returning to neutral.

“Though Georgia was invited to join us, she was unable to attend. We’ll ensure she receives all relevant documentation regarding the transfer and management of the collection. ”

Natalie stiffens at this. Those paintings are probably the only items she actually cared about. In typical William fashion, he’d never paid attention to what mattered to her.