It had only been three weeks since we laid my father to rest after a brutal eight-month battle with cancer. I didn’t have enough time to tell him everything I wanted to, or to ask why my brother, Jesse, had pulled away from me to cling to Simon instead.
“My father didn’t leave Simon a single cent,” I stated firmly, knowing that my dad was many things, but he was never a fool.
For a brief moment, the confident smile on Misty’s face began to falter.
“We will see about that tomorrow, especially since Jesse doesn’t seem to agree with your assessment.”
A sudden chill ran down my spine at the mention of my brother’s involvement.
“Have you been speaking with my brother behind my back?”
She took a step closer to me and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial hiss.
“Let’s just say he has helped me understand your father’s true mental state during those final months.”
I gripped my shears so tightly that my knuckles turned white and my fingers began to ache. My dad always said that roses should be treated firmly but never cruelly, because even the sharpest thorns have a purpose.
“Get off my property, Misty,” I told her, “before I forget how to be polite to a guest.”
She let out a short, dry chuckle that grated on my nerves.
“Your property? How sweet of you to think that you can keep this fortune all for yourself while the rest of us just sit back and watch.”
“My father built every inch of this house and planted every tree with his own hands, so this isn’t just about money to me.”
“Wake up, because everything in this world is about money,” she snapped back at me. “Tomorrow you are going to learn that lesson the hard way.”
She turned to leave, but before she passed through the garden gate, she delivered one final, cruel blow.
“You really should start packing, because Simon and I are going to remodel the second we move in. We are going to start by ripping out these old-fashioned rosebushes since everything here needs a more modern look.”
Her heels clicked away down the stone path until she disappeared from sight. I looked down at the white flowers and realized I had accidentally crushed several delicate petals with my muddy hand.
I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart.
“Attorney Brenda, it’s me,” I said the moment she picked up the call. “Misty just came here to threaten me.”
Her professional tone shifted instantly to one of deep concern.