Commodore’s fist clenches around the cigar before it comes down on the wooden table with a thwack hard enough to make the leather photo album jump.

“I fucking knew it. That is why I didn’t settle. She was after the money and didn’t have a damned shred of evidence to prove she deserved it.” My grandfather shakes his head as he raises the cigar back to his mouth. He clamps his teeth around it, and to my surprise, he smiles. “She doesn’t have jack shit. That boy wasn’t your father’s son, and there’s no kid either. I knew it.”

“Then why did you even consider exhuming my father’s body?”

Commodore’s self-satisfied smile widens and the cigar hangs over his lip. “I was going to call her bluff. Now we don’t need to.”

Twenty-Six

Whitney

When Lincoln comes to our room, he looks like he’s returning from fighting a war, not spending the day at his luxurious family estate.

“What happened now? Was there something else?”

He shakes his head. “No, but from what the investigator says, it’s pretty clear that Renee Rango was full of it. There’s no evidence Ricky ever had a kid. She dragged all of us through this for nothing.”

Of course she did. And she might have lied to me about Ricky being a Riscoff too. I let her threaten me and take away ten years of the life I wanted all because she was after money. Part of me is relieved that it might finally be over, but the other part . . . the other part is done.

“All this destruction and loss just for money?” I sit on the bed, lift my knees to my chest, and wrap my arms around them. I’m officially losing it, because tears I didn’t know were forming spout from my eyes and track down my face. “How dare she?”

Lincoln sits on the bed beside me and pulls me into his lap. “I’m so sorry, Blue. So fucking sorry. You wanted peace, and you haven’t found any since you came home. I promise this is all going to be over soon.”

I lean against him, tears falling for all the lives that have been lost so senselessly. “It’s not about me. It’s about everyone. She ruined so many lives . . . all for money. It’s disgusting.” A hurricane of emotions threatens to drag me under, and there’s only one way I know how to stop it. “I know you made dinner plans, but . . .”

Lincoln’s hazel gaze meets mine. “Just tell me what you need. Dinner can wait.”

“I need to get it all out.” My fingers flex, and he knows exactly what I mean.

“I’ll get you paper and pencils. And I’ll be here when you’re done.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I wrap my arms around him and hug tight.

“I don’t know what else to do,” I whisper. “But I have to do something before it sucks me back under.”