Chapter 2 - My Brother Sold His Future for Mine
Jake woke to find me sitting across from him.
“You look terrifying,” he mumbled.
“Good morning.”
“What time is it?”
“Six thirty.”
He pulled the blanket over his face.
“Then this conversation is illegal.”
“Jake.”
Something in my voice made him lower the blanket.
I put the lottery ticket on the coffee table.
He stared at it.
“What?”
“You remember what you said last night?”
His eyes narrowed.
“I say a lot of stupid things when I’m tired.”
“You said maybe God owed us a miracle.”
Jake slowly sat upright.
I turned my phone toward him.
He looked at the numbers.
Then the ticket.
Then the numbers again.
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Finally:
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No way.”
“Yes.”
He grabbed the ticket.
“Emily.”
“I checked it three times.”
He checked it six.
Then he stood so quickly he nearly knocked over the coffee table.
“Two point four million dollars?”
“Before taxes.”
“I don't care about taxes!”
“Apparently.”
He paced in a circle.
Then suddenly stopped.
“Your surgery.”
That was Jake.
He had just discovered we were holding a multimillion-dollar lottery ticket, and his first thought was my knee.
“Yes,” I said. “The surgery is happening.”
He sat down again.
His eyes filled.
I reached across the table.
“And you're getting Grandpa’s tools back.”
His expression changed.
“I sold them to Romero.”
“Then we call Romero.”
“He already has a buyer.”
“We'll figure it out.”
Jake shook his head.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.”
I pointed at the ticket.
“This is ours.”
“You bought—”
“You bought it with money left over after selling Grandpa’s tools for me.”
“Emily.”
“Ours.”
He studied me.
“Half?”
“Half.”
“You're serious?”
“Completely.”
Jake looked down.
Then he whispered, “Don’t tell Mom and Dad.”
I had been thinking exactly the same thing.
“I won't.”
His shoulders relaxed.
That reaction told me more than I wanted to know.
“What aren't you telling me?”
Jake looked away.
“Nothing.”
“Jake.”
He stood.
“You need to get ready for surgery.”
“Jake.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Dad’s been asking me questions.”
“What questions?”
“About Grandpa.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about him?”
“His estate. Papers. Stuff like that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“Last couple months.”
I watched him carefully.
“What exactly did Dad ask?”
Jake hesitated.
“He wanted to know if Grandpa ever gave me documents.”
“What kind?”
“He wouldn't say.”
That was strange.
Grandpa’s estate had supposedly been simple.
A small house sold after his death.
Tools to Jake.
Several personal items to me.
Some money divided among family.
Nothing that should still matter four years later.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You were deployed.”
“And?”
“And every time you called, you sounded exhausted.”
I sighed.
“Stop protecting me from information.”
He smiled faintly.
“Runs in the family.”
“Apparently only our branch.”
Two hours later, I was speaking with the surgical office.
The lottery ticket couldn't be converted into cash instantly, but that problem became irrelevant when Jake told Romero what had happened.
The mechanic who had purchased Grandpa’s tools returned the $840.
“All of it?” I asked.
Jake nodded.
“He said Grandpa once fixed his transmission for free when he was broke.”
I closed my eyes.
Even dead, Grandpa was still taking care of us.
Between the returned money, what I had already gathered, and emergency arrangements facilitated through the clinic, the surgery went forward.
I woke afterward with my knee heavily supported and Jake sitting beside my bed.
“How'd it go?”
“Doctor says well.”
I exhaled.
Then Jake held up the ticket.
“I have been guarding this thing like nuclear launch codes.”
“Please never say that in a military hospital.”
He laughed.
Two days later, after receiving legal guidance, we went to Los Angeles.
I chose a law firm with expertise in trusts, asset protection, and forensic accounting.
The attorney assigned to us was named Michael Reeves.
He was forty-eight, calm, meticulous, and almost impossible to read.
I placed the ticket on his desk.
“I want the claim structured with as much privacy as legally possible.”
He nodded.
“We can discuss the appropriate entity and trust arrangements.”
“And half belongs beneficially to my brother.”
Jake looked at me.
Reeves looked between us.
“Understood.”
“There’s something else.”
I told him about my parents.
Not emotionally.
I gave him facts.
Their businesses.
Grandpa’s estate.
My father's recent questions to Jake.
Reeves listened.
When I finished, he steepled his fingers.
“What specifically do you want me to investigate?”
“Everything legally available.”
“That can become expensive.”
I looked at the lottery ticket.
“I can afford expensive.”
Jake almost smiled.
Reeves didn't.
“Why?”
I thought about that question.
Revenge would have been the easy answer.
But it wasn't the truth.
“I want to know why my father suddenly cares about Grandpa’s documents.”
That caught Reeves's attention.
“Did your grandfather own interests in your father's company?”
“Not that I know.”
“Did he provide startup capital?”
“I don't know.”
“Real estate?”
“Maybe.”
Reeves opened a yellow legal pad.
“Full name?”
“Franklin Carter.”
He wrote it down.
Then his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
“Excuse me.”
He answered.
“Reeves.”
He listened.
Three seconds.
Maybe four.
His expression changed.
“Send that to me immediately.”
He ended the call.
“What?” I asked.
He didn't answer at first.
Instead, he turned toward his computer.
An email arrived.
He opened an attachment.
His eyes moved quickly across the screen.
Jake leaned forward.
“What is it?”
Reeves looked at me.
“Emily, you need to hear this.”
The room became very still.
“What?”
“My researcher ran your grandfather’s name through archived property and corporate records while we were talking.”
“And?”
Reeves rotated the monitor slightly.
“There is a property holding company called FC Harbor Holdings.”
I frowned.
“So?”
“Your grandfather created it twenty-seven years ago.”
I stared at him.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“According to the records I'm seeing, neither you nor your brother inherited his controlling interest.”
Jake shifted.
“Who did?”
Reeves's eyes returned to the document.
“That is the problem.”
“What problem?”
“The interest appears to have been transferred shortly before his death.”
“To Dad?”
“Yes.”
I felt disappointed, but not surprised.
Then Reeves continued.
“Except the signature date creates a serious question.”
“What kind of question?”
He looked directly at me.
“According to hospital records referenced in an older probate filing, your grandfather was unconscious on the date he supposedly signed the transfer.”
Jake stopped moving.
I felt cold.
“Are you saying the signature was forged?”
“I am saying we do not make that accusation until we have evidence.”
“But it's possible?”
“It's something worth investigating.”
“What does FC Harbor own?”
Reeves typed.
A property list appeared.
He scrolled.
Then stopped.
His eyebrows rose slightly.
“What?” Jake asked.
Reeves looked at us.
“Your parents’ house.”
My pulse jumped.
He continued scrolling.
“Two commercial properties.”
Another pause.
“And apparently a marina asset.”
I leaned forward.
“Which marina?”
He read the address.
I knew it immediately.
It was the marina where Madison’s yacht was docked.
Jake whispered, “You've got to be kidding.”
Reeves shook his head.
“No.”
I stared at the screen.
My father had been searching for Grandpa’s documents.
Now I understood why.
Maybe he wasn't worried about what Grandpa had left Jake.
Maybe he was worried about what Grandpa had left behind.
May you like
And before that afternoon ended, Michael Reeves would uncover a second document—one containing my name.
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