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A middle man.
The last herald of a ghost.
“Listen, I’m not here to browbeat you into releasing the money early. I’m a lawyer. I’m ensuring that things are moving smoothly for the transfer next week. So if you can just give me that assurance—”
“Brogan.”
“What?”
“Your grandmother changed the will.”
The floor shifts from under me.
I blink.
Grip the edge of the table.
Try to swallow past the giant lump in my throat.
“She was worried. After the divorce,” Levy says.
I hear his words from somewhere outside of me. Like it’s not quite penetrating my brain, not quite connecting.
Gran changed the will.
I’m not getting the money.
She’ll die.
I scratch that voice out with all my might. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs. “You weren’t supposed to find out.”
“What?”
“She was…” His eyes slip away from me. Fall on the portrait of a stately older woman on the wall. She has my blue eyes. My long nose. My sandy-blonde hair. “Eldrina was hoping you wouldn’t find out.”
“She cut me off?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then?”
I hate that hope is creeping into my voice, into my face, into my heart.
I hate that Levy can see it.
I’ve been gunning for indifference since that day. I’ve been wearing a shield of apathy like it’s a second skin. But right now… I can’t afford to pretend I’m not desperate.
Levy looks away, his sharp chin jutting out in profile. Behind him, the city speeds along. Cars on the highway. Birds in the sky. Crowds in the streets.
Looking at them from above, it feels like I’m not a part of it. Like I’ve been ostracized. Removed. Whether it’s my own doing, society’s or both, it hasn’t stopped my drifting.
I haven’t been tethered to anything in a long, long time.
