My mom looks up and with a scowl so fierce, she says, “About time you showed up.” We are right on time, but anything but twenty minutes early isn’t acceptable to my mother. “We can start now.” She stands from her chair and walks up to reception. “The rest of the party is here.” She glances over her shoulder at me and Ryot and says, “Although, he’ll have to stay out here and wait for you.”

I grip him tighter, and he steps in before I can say anything. “Myla has made it quite clear that she will not be left alone with you. If you have a problem with that, we can speak to the authorities about how you used your fists and other objects to beat her after her father passed away.” Ryot’s voice is harsh, threatening, and thankfully, it works, because my mom turns her nose up and says to the receptionist, “Just show us to the conference room.”

Looking confused, the receptionist stands from her chair, offers us some drinks, and then leads us to a conference room in the middle of the law office. My mom sits on one side while Ryot and I sit across from her. When we are informed that Mr. Tarkin will be with us shortly and the door is shut, Mom wastes no time in starting to harp on me.

On us.

“Surprised you’re even here, Ryan.”

“It’s Ryot, but I understand your pathetic need to show dominance. Please, continue with whatever pointless drivel you need to feel a minuscule amount of importance.”

I nearly choke on the water I’m drinking as I set my bottle down and glance over at Ryot. His jaw is clenched, the veins in his neck are popping, and his gaze is unwavering as he stares my mom down. He resembles a wild beast, ready to take down anything and everything that crosses his path.

Mom’s eyes narrow, and a response is on the tip of her tongue, but before she can reply, the conference door opens and Mr. Tarkin walks in with a folder tucked inside his arm.

My mother might thrive on playing mental fuckery with people, but when in public, she holds herself to a higher standard. She just waits until we’re alone.

“Good afternoon. So sorry about the delay on all of this.” Mr. Tarkin takes a seat.

“I’m just a little confused,” Mom says. “Not sure why we have to meet at all. After all, this was my husband.”

Mr. Tarkin shifts uncomfortably and unfolds his folder. “Yes, well there were some alterations and stipulations made to Mr. Moore’s will a year ago.”

“Excuse me?” Mom proclaims as she sits taller. “What sort of alterations and stipulations?”