Chapter 2
Martin was my father’s younger brother.
Sixty-seven.
Retired.
Supposedly.
He had never liked the way I raised my sons.
Too soft.
Too close.
Too much affection.
Those were his words.
He believed brothers born into Roswell should learn early that love and succession were different things.
I believed three-year-olds should learn how to use forks.
We disagreed.
He had mentioned separation before.
Not permanently.
That was how old men made ugly ideas sound reasonable.
One child spending winters at another estate.
One summer with another branch.
Different mentors.
Different loyalties.
“Healthy distance.”
I always said no.
Now Brielle’s phone was ringing with his name while my sons stood beside a post she had turned into a weapon.
I answered.
Silence.
Then Martin:
“Brielle?”
“No.”
Another silence.
“Damon.”
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
“What happened?”
Interesting.
Not what are you doing with her phone?
What happened?
He expected an event.
I looked at Brielle.
She closed her eyes.
“You tell me.”
Martin changed tone.
“Where are the boys?”
“Safe.”
“Good.”
Good.
As though there had been a version where they might not be.
I pressed:
“What was supposed to happen?”
He did not answer.
So I ended the call.
Caleb refused to release Micah’s hand.
That mattered more.
I crouched beside them.
“Caleb.”
He looked at me, horrified.
“I almost hit him.”
“You didn’t.”
“But I tried.”
“No.”
His eyes filled.
“You swung at what you thought was a piñata.”
He stared.
“You were tricked.”
Then I looked at Micah.
“And you were threatened into standing still.”
Two victims.
Not one guilty child and one hurt child.
That distinction mattered.
Brielle had tried to create exactly the opposite.
I stood.
“What was the video for?”
She whispered:
“The family council.”
Of course.
Roswell had an old rule.
One I had ignored since becoming head.
If siblings presented a “credible danger” to one another, senior relatives could recommend temporary separation into different households.
Not command it.
Recommend.
But recommendation becomes pressure when enough gray-haired men repeat it at dinner.
I looked at Brielle.
“You were manufacturing the reason.”
She said nothing.
Then Micah whispered:
“She said Caleb would live with Uncle Martin.”
Everything became clear.
May you like
Martin did not want the boys separated generally.
He wanted Caleb.
