Chapter 18: The Family Table

Bridget's POV

Brett's father set the family meeting for Sunday at two, in the dining room where I had eaten forty holiday dinners.

I flew in that morning with my Portland lawyer's folder in my bag and Nathan's text on my screen: Eat before you go. Call me after.

I ate a banana in the taxi.

The house looked the same.

The long table was set for eleven, and nobody was eating.

Brett's grandmother sat at the head with her hands folded on top of her cane.

An aunt and an uncle sat on one side, a cousin on the other, and Brett's mother stood by the window with her arms wrapped around herself.

Brett was at the far end, in a gray sweater, looking at the wood grain.

"Bridget," his father said. "Sit by me."

I sat.

Brett looked up once and down again.

"Thank you all for coming on short notice," his father said. "I am going to say three things and then I'll sit."

He stood with a paper in his hand.

"One. My son ran a game for two years in which he made a good woman earn the right to his company."

His voice stayed level.

"He made her earn it while her mother was in surgery. Several of you knew the game existed. I knew. We all called it a quirk."

The uncle shifted in his chair.

"Two. That woman owes this family nothing."

He turned his head toward Brett.

"This family owes her sixty-one thousand dollars of her own savings."

"It was paid out on a wedding my son stood through with someone else."

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