2. Luke

Preston paced back and forth like an angry bull, his suit jacket flaring open with each spin. Every other minute, he stopped to slam his hand onto the desk and yell, "This is not happening to me."

I was draped on the couch in my father's office with an actual ice pack on my forehead, wincing at my brother's blurred motion.

"Preston." I sighed. "Will you please, for the love of god, stop shouting."

Another slap of his hand. "This is not happening to me."

"For fuck's sake," I whispered, sitting up and tossing the ice pack on the seat next to me. Preston whirled past once, twice, a third time. Behind him, Gregory stood next to the desk with an organized selection of documents in front of him. My father's last will and testament, which Gregory told us had been changed just three months before his death.

I shoved my fingers through my hair before focusing on our family's lawyer. Gregory appeared nonplussed by my brother's antics, although I had to imagine he'd seen worse over the years. I sent him a sympathetic smile and he nodded in response.

Preston halted midstep and pointed a finger at my head. "You did this, didn't you? Convinced Dad to change his will, to steal what had always been promised to me?"

"How in the hell would I have done that?" I asked.

"Charm him, like you do everyone else."

I dropped my elbows to my knees. "We're talking about the same dad here, right? Narcissistic asshole who took great pleasure in making us miserable when we were kids?"

He turned away from me. "It's poor manners to speak ill of the dead."

"Preston," I said, softening my voice. "Dad and I haven't had a real conversation in five, maybe six years? When would I have been using my powers of persuasion to change his mind? I don't even want the company."

TBG was in the business of luxury property development and had satellite offices all across the country, with the biggest in New York City. But Dad had been born in the town of East Hampton, here in the village of Cape Avalon, and had conducted business from the estate for the last decade.

Building swanky condos for the coastal elite wasn't exactly my area of expertise or my passion. Nor was continuing a legacy I didn't believe in.

"What did you say?" Preston asked.

"I don't want it. I've never wanted it."

He turned to Gregory, jerking his chin my way. "Does that matter at all? Luke doesn't want it and I've been prepped for this role my entire life."

Gregory's gaze slid my way. I shrugged. "I know this stuff is legally binding or whatever, but what's a guy gotta do to get out of this situation? The quicker, the better."

"You would say that," Preston muttered.

I quirked an eyebrow. "So you want me to inherit the company?"

My brother's face went red. "There must be a way out, Gregory. What do we do?"

The other man's lips pressed into a thin line. "You've inherited a corporation, Lucas. As the owner, your father was the majority shareholder, shares that you now own."

"Can I sell it then?"

"You wouldn't," Preston said with a growl.

"You could," Gregory replied. "But TBG's outstanding debts would need to be paid first and they're substantial. You'd be left with practically nothing. And I should mention that your father arranged for there to be consequences in the event of your noncompliance. He expressed concern that you would attempt to, in his words, shirk your responsibilities."

I tried to catch my brother's eye. These were the exact kinds of sibling rivalry mind games our father excelled at, pitting us against each other to win the table scraps of his affection. But Preston ignored me, and I was reminded yet again of our diminishing solidarity. How quickly he abandoned me as soon as Dad knighted him as the firstborn and presumed savior of our family. An heir-in-training.

What the fuck had he been thinking, leaving it all to me?

"What kind of consequences?" I asked.

Gregory cocked his head. "You don't inherit your trust."

My stomach pitched to the floor. We were set to inherit at the age of thirty—three years away for me, one for Preston.

"Yeah, that's not gonna work," I drawled. "I need that money."

"That's all this ever was to you," Preston said, pacing again. "Partying your way through the South Shore. Biding your time until you can fuck off with your millions."

My fingers flexed, curling into fists. Some arguments, this one in particular, were never worth it. And some secrets were too important to tell.

"If you sell the company, Lucas, you don't inherit your trust," Gregory continued, ignoring my brother. "Given the finances, your trust is worth considerably more than what would be left after a sale. If a sale is even possible at this point."

I released a jagged breath. "What you're saying is, Dad saddled me with a sinking fucking ship?"

"That's one way to describe it," Gregory said. "But Preston, failure to comply affects you as well. Your father made it clear that in the event of his death, Lucas was to inherit and your position at the company would be terminated."

My brother's face turned an alarming shade of red. "I beg your pardon?"

Our lawyer slid the documents across the desk with a single finger. "He allowed two weeks for you to find a suitable replacement. If you try to evade this mandate, you forfeit your trust as well."

Preston snatched up the will. Then sent me a glare that scorched my skin. My hands rose like he was a dangerous animal. "Preston, I'm so?—"

"You did this," he hissed.

"Dad did this," I snapped. "Don't come for me when you know this kind of shit was his favorite brand of emotional torture. I'm as shocked as you are."

But he didn't respond. Simply whirled out of the room with a barely concealed snarl of frustration. When I finally turned back to Gregory, he wore a mild expression with something almost like compassion in his eyes.

"You, Lucas Beaumont, are now the owner and CEO of TBG," he said softly.

He didn't even have to say the next part.

And there was nothing I could do about it.