He hangs up. I sit there with the phone in my hand, staring at the wall.
A triggering event. It’s obvious what that event is.
My worst fear has come to life. My father built contingencies into the trust. He’s dead, but still controlling me. And I have a feeling that whatever he planned, whatever contingencies he built into that trust, it's going to destroy me.
All I can hear is his voice in my head.Don't fumble Julie, son. You'd regret it forever.
Apparently he planned to make sure of that, even from the grave.
CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN
JULIE
The fishand chips are getting cold on the coffee table, but none of us are really eating anyway. Jamie is curled up on one end of the couch with a blanket, picking at a piece of battered cod. Ryan is sprawled in the armchair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. And I'm in the middle of the couch, staring at the TV without really seeing it.Real Housewives of Salt Lake Cityis playing. Someone is screaming at someone else about a party or a rumor or something. I don't know. I can't focus.
"This one's unhinged," Jamie says, gesturing at the screen with a fry. "Like, clinically."
"They're all unhinged," Ryan says. "That's the point."
"True. But this one takes it to another level."
I reach for my water and take a sip. My hand is shaking slightly. It's been doing that for days now—this low-level tremor that won't go away. Like my body is still processing the shock even though my brain has moved on to numbness.
"You okay?" Ryan asks, watching me.
"Yeah. Fine."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
Jamie gives me a look but doesn't push. She's been good about that. They both have. They're letting me process at my own pace, not forcing me to talk when I don't want to. But the truth is, I don't know if I'm okay. I don't know if I'll ever be okay again.
"Have you thought about calling mom?" Jamie asks carefully.
I shake my head. "She's on one of her cruises.”
"You could still call her."
"And say what? 'Hey, Mom, remember that wedding you cried at? Turns out the groom was a sociopath who orchestrated the entire relationship to please his dead father. Also, he's been fucking his eighteen-year-old stepsister. How's the buffet on the ship?'"
Ryan snorts. "When you put it that way."
"I just—I can't," I say quietly. "Not yet. I need to have my shit together before I tell her. She's going to be devastated."
"She's going to be pissed," Jamie corrects. "At Asher. Not at you."
"I know. But still."
My phone—the burner phone Ryan gave me—buzzes on the coffee table. All three of us freeze.
"It's probably just a spam call," Jamie says.
But my stomach is already twisting. I reach for the phone and look at the screen. Gregory Hale.
"Shit," I whisper.
