I nodded, looking back toward the elevator where Dusty had disappeared. Whatever was happening, I hoped it was something fixable. He deserved good things, this man who spent the last few days helping me remember how to breathe.
For the first time in months, I was genuinely optimistic about my future. The surgery consultation Tuesday, Alabama's coaching offer, ESPN as an option—they were all real possibilities, not desperate attempts to salvage something.
But standing here as October darkness settled over The Ranch, I realized none of those opportunities mattered as much as making sure Dusty was okay. Somewhere between that first yoga session and this moment, my priorities had shifted in ways I was only beginning to understand.
Whatever came next, either surgery, coaching, or broadcasting—I knew I wanted him to be part of it.
Chapter Eleven
Dusty
The elevator climbed toward Vincent and Ibrahim's offices while my stomach dropped in the opposite direction. Each floor we passed held luxury suites where billionaires were probably living out fantasies they couldn't explore anywhere else. The Ranch hummed with its evening rhythm: soft sounds from behind closed doors, laughter floating up from the pools, the constant pulse of pleasure that funded this entire operation.
Sam's words kept replaying.Urgent family business.
Sam didn't use words like “urgent” unless he meant it. He was the steady brother, the one who'd kept the family business running while I took off for six months each year to play yoga instructor for the rich and famous. Jake might panic over a flat tire, but Sam only called emergencies when they actually were emergencies.
Vincent's office door stood open, warm light spilling into the darkened reception area. The space felt different at night, like stepping into someone's private study instead of a workspace.
I sank into his desk chair and dialed Sam's number. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see The Ranch spread out below, lit up like a constellation.
Sam answered before the first ring finished. “Dusty, thank God. I've been trying to reach you.”
“What's wrong? Is Mom okay?”
“Everyone's fine. Physically.” His voice carried weight I'd never heard before. “But Dusty, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.”
Sam never swore. He was the one who said “dang” when he hit his thumb with a hammer, who called disasters “challenging situations.”
“What happened?”
“It's the money. Your gallery money.” Each word sounded like it was being pulled from him. “Jake lost it. All of it.”
The city lights beyond the window blurred. I gripped the phone tighter.
“What do you mean lost it?”
“You remember when you gave me access to your savings account before you left? In case something happened while you were out of communication?”
I remembered. Two hundred thousand dollars. Every extra shift, every private session that ran late, every time I'd said no to something I wanted because the gallery mattered more. Money I'd moved to Sam's oversight because I trusted him, because that's what family did.
“Jake had access to the account. He's been handling some of the business investments, trying to expand our equipment rentals, and I thought...” Sam's voice cracked. “I thought he'd gotten his gambling under control. That crypto thing from last year… I thought that was behind him.”
The leather chair was too soft, like I might sink through it and disappear. “Sam.” My voice sounded strange, disconnected. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“He saw the balance. All that money just sitting there, and he thought he could make it grow for you. Some cryptocurrency platform promising guaranteed returns, then when that went bad, he tried to win it back through day trading.”
Each word was another door closing. Two hundred thousand dollars. The adobe building in Marfa with its high ceilings and perfect light. The artists who'd submitted portfolios believing in my vision.
“How much is left?”
The silence stretched before Sam whispered, “Maybe eight thousand. After fees and penalties.”
Eight thousand out of two hundred. The number didn't compute, like trying to understand how an entire ocean could evaporate.
“Put him on the phone.”
“Dusty, maybe you should wait—”
