“Of course, he is.” Jesse snorted. “Unlike you, Will has already received his marriage inheritance, which is enough byitself to power a small country for several millennia, but aside from that, he was also older than you are right now when he did itandhe’d built up an insane portfolio for himself.”
“Hey, I’m independently wealthy too,” I argued lightly. “I don’t know that I’d refer to my portfolio asinsane, but I’ve been smart.”
“I’m sure you have,” he said. “We were practically born knowing to make good investments once we gain access to our trust funds, but isyourmoney enough to see you through the rest of your life withoutWestwoodmoney? That’s the question.”
I sighed.
Over the years, I really had made some good investments. I wasn’t financially irresponsible and Jesse wasn’t wrong about the way we’d been raised. Turning a lot of money into even more money was basically written in our genetic code, but I wasn’t Will, or Alex, or frankly any of the others.
Zach, for example, had more money than God at this point and it wasn’t because of his trust fund. It was about what he’d done with it. While I wasn’t broke, I’d spent most of my twenties doing exactly what I wanted, taking trips around the world after booking last-minute flights to any destination that looked appealing.
I’d visited towns with names I still couldn’t pronounce properly and countries I’d never even heard of until I’d booked a flight to the capital city. Like North Macedonia and Moldova.
Once, I’d spent a month surfing badly in Portugal followed by nine weeks backpacking around Thailand. I’d chased experiences and stories, anything that made me feel alive enough to survive inside the polished glass mausoleum that was the W&S office tower.
Some people bought sports cars during an existential crisis, but not me. I bought plane tickets, and once that hadn’t beenpossible because I’d become a corporate drone, I’d started buying a whole lot of other stuff to make me happy.
Through it all, I’d barely made a dent in my accounts, but Jesse had a point.
“Alex will cut you off, Theo,” he said, sighing softly at the other end of the line. “Are you prepared for that?”
“I should be okay,” I said. “Maybe.”
“Just come home before November,” he said. “See how you feel by the time you get here. Alex will probably give you until then to decide what you’re doing.”
What he meant wasto decide if I was staying in the family or if Alex would have to cut me off from its coffers. I got the message, though.
“Yeah, okay. That’s surprisingly reasonable advice, coming from you.”
“I’m trying something new,” he said lightly. “It’s called emotional maturity. You should try it sometime.”
I groaned. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”
“You already are, little brother.” He paused for a beat. “Just think about what I said, okay? It’s not easy being out on your own. Even if you take the money out of the equation completely, it’s still tough. Take it from me.”
I nodded. “I’ll give it some thought.”
Jesse hung up, but as I threw my clothes in the dryer, I did what I’d said I would and thought about his advice. Most people would probably think that Alex would cut me off as a punishment, but it wasn’t that.
The system existed because generations of Westwoods before us had built it and it’d worked damn well so far. Alex carried that responsibility now. To him, structure was love and the rules were protection, of our money and our way of life.
If I wanted to walk away, he’d let me, but only once I understood the true cost of that independence. I shookmy head at myself. My family—and that included Jesse—was overreacting.
I wasn’t talking about leaving the family. At least, not yet. This was just a fucking road trip while I tried to come to terms with the fact that Alex expected me to get married soon. It was about choosing my own path, even if just for now, and processing what it would mean if I fell in line like my brothers had.
This was the first time I felt truly independent and I intended to savor that for as long as I could. I felt capable and strong, and I wanted to keep chasing that feeling. That was all.
Finally deciding that I needed some fresh air to clear my head, I left the laundry room and strode out into the narrow parking lot between it and the motel’s front office. Frieda, the owner, sat under the awning in front of it, smoking a cigarette and looking out at the quiet night like she was expecting something gossip-worthy to happen.
I’d met her at two in the morning the night after the trucker had dropped me off, alive and non-murdered. She was small but tough as nails, either ninety years old or immortal. It was genuinely hard to tell.
As I approached her now, she squinted at me through the cigarette smoke, apparently still skeptical of me despite the fact that I’d thought we’d bonded over my room rental. I waved at her, smiling as I stepped onto the tiny porch.
“Hey, Frieda,” I said cheerfully. “How are you doing this fine evening?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Depends on what you want.”
Well, at least she’s direct. I’ve got to give her that.“I’d like to know if my room is available for the next two months.”
