4. Logan

Chapter 4

Logan

Saturdays were typically the only days I was afforded a moment’s peace.

And after the activities of the past few days, peace was exactly what I needed.

As I sat in my bedroom, reorganizing my ties, my mind drifted to the matter of the bequeathments. Clearly Mother was toying with everyone and having a blast doing it. Personally, I couldn’t be bothered to clamor about like an idiot hoping to grasp a slice of her fortune. I knew my role in life: stay focused on my high-paying career and provide for my son.

That way, I wouldn’t need anyone’s help, and I could allow my relationship with my mother to be organic and based around love, not money.

A loud honk distracted me from my thoughts.

Glancing out the window toward the vast fields of green grass, I noticed a shiny new car meandering down the driveway, suddenly arriving at a stop.

Henry, in the driver’s seat, honked again and climbed out.

“Hey Dad!” he called out. “Come check out the new car Grandma got me!”

Mother climbed out of the passenger seat, beaming ear to ear.

The car was an elegant black Cadillac sedan.

That’s a boring car for a teenager, I thought as I descended the stairs and walked out the door toward them.

The last time I’d thought about Cadillacs was when Mother showed me a picture of my grandfather’s first Cadillac, that he’d purchased after the sale of his business in the 1970s.

Kind of a pricey car for someone as young as Henry, I thought, but I wasn’t in the mood to question Betsy’s decisions.

She’d spoiled the kid since Gloria’s passing.

But I knew Cadillacs had a reputation for being comfortable and reliable, and that was all that mattered.

Henry looked absolutely thrilled as I approached.

Casey had heard the commotion and appeared as well, smiling as he took in the site of the car.

I found myself wondering if our lifestyle was ostentatious to Casey. I knew the going rate for a nanny, and I knew he wasn’t a wealthy man. Part of me wondered if he judged me—judged us—just a bit.

Henry noticed Casey, obviously wanting his approval. “Casey, what do you think?”

“It’s a beautiful car,” Casey said, walking over to stand next to me.

As Betsy and Henry hopped back inside to talk about the high-tech screen, Casey tapped my shoulder.

He lowered his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard. “It’s a beautiful car,” he said, his tone careful. “But…,” he continued cautiously, “it’s a lot of power for someone Henry’s age, don’t you think?”

“Power?” I asked, chuckling.

Maybe Casey wasn’t familiar with the car brand.

“It’s a grandpa car,” I added. “It’s certainly no Mustang.”

Casey frowned as if he didn’t believe me. “I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but I have an interest in cars as a hobby. Let me tell you, this car is almost twice as fast as a Mustang.”

I cleared my throat. “What do you mean?”

“This is a special edition Cadillac Blackwing V-Series. It has six-hundred horsepower. A Mustang only has three-hundred. This Cadillac can really fly.”

I hesitated for a moment before glancing over at Henry and Betsy. I couldn’t tell which of them was happier because they were both positively beaming.

To me, a person with no interest in cars, it looked like a boring, comfortable sedan.

Casey pointed to the badge on the back of the car which had the word Blackwing emblazoned on the car next to a racing flag symbol.

Great, I thought. What am I supposed to do here?

If I took the car away, I’d be the worst dad ever.

And ever since Henry’s mother passed, I had a hard time telling him no.

Casey looked at me, silence filling the air as he awaited my response.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I said.

Casey didn’t say anything.

Henry and Betsy hopped out of the car. Henry took out his phone and recorded a video around the car, presumably to post it online.

My thoughts drifted away to my first car on my sixteenth birthday. Mother had given me my dad’s used Buick—it was certainly no race car.

But I knew that for Henry this was more than just a vehicle. It was his first taste of real freedom. I couldn’t take that away from him.

Although I was a little worried about what Casey had said.

Twice as fast.

That didn’t sound good.

Nine o’clock at night was the perfect time for me to steal a moment to myself.

Although, admittedly, with Henry’s recent independence, I had more and more alone time than I’d ever prepared for. Plenty of time to sit around and reflect on my personal life—something I’d tried to ignore since Gloria’s passing.

As I walked toward the kitchen to grab a snack, the sound of my mother’s voice jolted me from my daydream.

“You’re just in time for dessert!”

I entered the kitchen and saw Mother sitting at the small breakfast table, patiently waiting while Martin served her various desserts.

Approaching the table, I saw an assortment of cakes, pastries, and pies.

I could tell by the hint of a frown on Martin’s face that Mother had commanded him to make each of these from scratch on a whim.

“For you, sir?” he turned and asked with an almost rehearsed politeness.

“Oh, you must try one of each!” she said, grabbing my arm and ushering me to sit across from her. “There’s a rosewater pistachio cake, a sugared citrus cake, and my favorite, an Earl Grey lavender cake—it’s a light sponge cake infused with Earl Grey tea… and lavender! Frosted with honey buttercream.”

Martin sliced a piece of the Earl Grey cake immediately without hesitation, as if my mother’s words had been sufficient direction.

“Did you make these, Mother?” I asked.

I knew she hadn’t.

Martin sighed faintly enough for it to be barely audible.

Before I could enjoy my first bite, my phone rang.

Oh no, I thought. Please don’t be work.

I wasn’t on call for the day, but my heart still filled with dread at the sound of my phone ringing late at night. It was only ever one thing.

But tonight was different.

It was a number I didn’t recognize.

To my surprise—and horror—it wasn’t anyone from the hospital.

It was the police station downtown.

“Mr. Westbrook,” the officer said on the other end of the line, “this is Officer Adams from the Charleston Police Department. We have your son Henry here. You need to come down to the station.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was at the local precinct.

I’d never been to the police station in my life, and I certainly never dreamed I’d be there now.

And now, because of my overly rebellious son, I was going to be on a first-name basis with every officer in town. The entire city would hear about this eventually. The story would make the tabloids and local media papers the next day.

Henry sat in the waiting room at the station as Casey and I looked down at him.

The police officer next to us looked more annoyed than angry.

He sipped his coffee out of a flimsy paper cup and looked me in the eye. “We caught your son’s friend Matthew Elliot driving a black Cadillac, going a hundred and twenty miles an hour in a forty mile per hour zone.

Henry looked up at me, his eyes pleading. “I’m sorry, Dad. Matthew said he wanted to drive the new car, and he promised he wouldn’t go over the speed limit.”

Suddenly it dawned on me: Casey had been right all along.

Casey had only been trying to help. Maybe I should take his advice a little more seriously next time. He was obviously someone I could trust to have Henry’s best interest at heart.

I gritted my teeth, trying to hold back my frustration. “You’re not keeping that car,” I said as Henry looked down at his feet. “It’s too fast.”

Henry’s gaze remained focused on his feet. I could sense from his demeanor that he was genuinely sorry.

The officer scratched his chin. “Your son isn’t facing any charges and is free to go.”

I gestured for Henry to follow me. “We’re going car shopping tomorrow for something nice and slow. And Casey’s going with us. He seems to know a lot about cars.”

With Henry’s back to me, I winked at Casey and his face momentarily lit up.

As we walked through the parking lot toward my car, a familiar voice caught my attention.

I turned and saw the Mercers standing next to their car, lurking in the shadows.

I had no idea what the hell they were doing here.

Helen’s lips pursed as she walked toward Henry, gently placing her hand on his face as if he’d been hurt in a car crash. Her theatrics weren’t serving anyone but herself.

“Poor Henry,” she said, shaking her head. “Are you okay?”

I answered for him: “He’s fine. His friend drove the car over the speed limit, now we’re going to replace the car with something slower and more reasonable.”

Robert raised one eyebrow. “Over the speed limit? We heard on the police scanner that it was one-hundred and twenty miles per hour.”

That’s really none of your business, I thought, but didn’t say it. Plus, what the hell were they doing listening in on police scanners?

I didn’t want to agitate the situation further. I needed to get my son back home to Westbrook Meadows so I could give him a good talking to about not handing over his car keys to just anyone who asked.

Helen’s voice dripped with condescension. “That’s why we’re so worried about Henry. We just want to make sure he’s living in the best situation possible.”

It was starting to sound as if Helen wanted custody of my son.

Which was absolutely absurd.

I turned to Henry. “Go wait in the backseat of my car. Casey’s driving the Cadillac home.”

I didn’t want Henry to overhear our conversation. Casey stood next to me. Once Henry was out of earshot, I turned to Helen.

“Helen, what’s going on here?” I asked. “The last two times I’ve seen you, you’ve hinted that you have some ideas about Henry’s living situation. What are you getting at?”

Helen turned to her husband for approval, and upon receiving a nod, turned back to me.

“Fine,” she said, her words like venom, “since you insist. We’ve been talking about what’s best for Henry. We think new certain influences have been added to his life that have created an unstable environment for him.”

I lowered my voice. “Certain influences? Is this about me, or is this about Casey?”

Helen flinched at the name as if he disgusted her. “We’ve read the headlines, Logan. People are talking, and it reflects poorly on Henry. It’s a lot for a young man to endure. Don’t you think?”

I stepped closer to her, forcing her to hold my gaze. “Are you trying to say that you’re better equipped than me to raise my son?”

Robert had been uncharacteristically quiet thus far, but he finally chimed in. “We just want to make sure that Henry has a good future ahead of him. That he’s stable. That’s all, Logan.”

I hated the way my name sounded coming from him.

My voice rose in spite of my attempts to prevent it. “Stable? The only instability in Henry’s life is the two of you. You swoop in here every few months to make judgments from your ivory tower.”

Helen’s façade of politeness finally cracked. “We’re not the ones parading strangers into his life. We’re not the ones forcing him to live in a circus!”

Robert squinted at me. “We’ve heard the rumors about your mother.”

My blood suddenly boiled, and I snapped. “Enough! You can say whatever you want about me. But Henry is my son, and you have no right to dictate how I raise him.”

Tension lingered in the air outside the police station.

Helen’s lips pursed again as Robert tugged at her arm to pull her back toward their car.

“We’ll see, Logan,” she said with a disapproving frown as she walked away. “We’ll see.”

Minutes later, we were back at Westbrook Meadows.

Betsy greeted us at the bottom of the stairs, clearly fuming.

This was not going to be pretty. She’d probably already heard the entire story, likely through her many connections around town.

I had no idea how my mother was always able to obtain and process information so quickly. It was as if she had a network of people on call for her at all times, always available to clue her in.

Part of me wondered if her high-powered connections with local officials were in any way influenced by information. Or perhaps more specifically, compromising information.

I had nothing to base my speculation on, but I did know one thing for sure: when Betsy Westbrook wanted something done around Charleston, South Carolina, she always knew exactly who to call.

As she approached the car, I could see the fury in her eyes. She’d probably been worried sick about Henry the entire time I was gone. And I knew for a fact that she was going to be unhappy about my interaction with the Mercers.

I barely had time to process her presence before she looked us up and down and demanded answers.

She shook her head. “Henry Michael Westbrook.”

She only used his full name when it was really bad.

Next, she turned to me. “Logan, why on earth did you ignore Casey’s warnings about the car?”

Wait, how does she know about that?

Jesus, my mother learned about everything.

She turned back to Henry. “And Henry, did you honestly tell me it was a quiet, underpowered family sedan?”

Henry stammered, his eyes darting around. “Well… I thought you might not buy it for me if you knew it was so fast. So, I… might have left that part out.”

Betsy walked over to me, so close that I could smell her perfume.

“Logan, how could you not take Casey seriously? You know how boys are when they get behind the wheel of a car like that.”

I felt a hint of defensiveness, but I knew she had a point.

“I should have looked into it more,” I admitted.

I glanced at Casey who gave me a sweet smile. He had obviously only been trying to help. My gratitude was silent, but I knew that this would unlock a new level of respect between us.

Betsy pulled Henry close. “Henry, the Westbrook name comes with privileges. But it also comes with responsibilities. If you can’t be honest with me, how can I trust you?”

Henry nodded, evidently visibly humbled.

“As for the car—” she began, but Henry cut in.

“Let me guess,” he said with a sigh, “you’re taking it back?”

Mother shook her head and winked at him. “No dear, I’m not taking it back. I’m taking it for myself. I like a little bit of speed sometimes.”

Unpredictable, as usual.

She held out her hand, palm up. “Keys, please.”

Casey dropped the keys in her hand.

“And as for your car,” she added to Henry, “we’re going to a dealership tomorrow to find the smallest, weakest, most utilitarian car available.”

As they turned to walk into the house, Mother looked back over her shoulder at the Cadillac, obviously excited about her new toy.

I motioned for Casey to come over. “I’m sorry about earlier,” I said. “I should have trusted my gut and listened to you.”

Casey offered a slight smile. “That’s okay, Logan. I’m just glad everyone’s safe.”

He walked off toward the house, and I noticed that my mother had come back out to talk to me.

“What happened at the station?” she asked.

It was as if she already knew. My mother knew everything that happened in the historic streets of Charleston.

“The Mercers were there.”

The expression on her face told me she hadn’t known that bit.

“What did they want?” she asked through clenched teeth.

I grimaced. “I get the impression that Helen might be interested in pursuing custody of Henry. She hasn’t said it outright, but she’s hinting at it.”

Mother frowned deeply. “I see.”

I knew that by informing her she’d be immediately involved. And when Betsy Westbrook gets involved, things get real. For everyone.

It was as if she was commander in chief of the family, always looking out for everyone’s safety. Especially since Gloria’s passing, Betsy had been hawkeyed in looking after Henry. I’d never seen such mama bear—or in this case, grandmama bear—instincts from her before.

She loved my son.

Standing before her on the great lawn of Westbrook Meadows, I could see the fury in my mother’s eyes.

Crossing Betsy wasn’t just a mistake. It was an unspoken rule to avoid her bad side at all costs. Ending up on that list wasn’t just unwise. It was a surefire way to make your life complicated.

I knew it. The moment I voiced my concerns about the Mercers’ intentions, Betsy latched onto the idea, like a bloodhound on a fresh trail.

The distant cry of an owl echoed through the night, sharp and unsettling.

Like a warning.

My mother’s expression mirrored my own unease. We both knew the truth without speaking it.

The Mercers weren’t just showing up out of concern. They were plotting something.

And I was determined to uncover exactly what it was.