He Thought Tuesdays Were Pottery, Now He Begs Me Home novel · Chapter 22 of 24
Chapter 22: The Last Thing
We sat on a wooden bench in the courthouse lobby, under a portrait of a judge nobody remembered, beside a radiator that clanked.
Cliff and Dess waited across Lakeside Avenue in the truck, with the engine running.
I could see them through the glass doors.
Dess had her arms folded.
Cliff did not look away.
Bennett sat at the far end of the bench with his coat open and his hands on his knees.
"I'll start with what it cost," he said. "Not so you'll feel anything. So you'll know it's real."
"All right," I said.
"I put the house on the market Saturday night. My mother's moving to the lake condo. She isn't speaking to me, and she told the movers she'd rather have been struck by lightning."
"Bennett," I said.
"I put my forty percent of the company into a voting trust on Sunday, with three outside trustees, so that nobody named Hetherington can vote it. Not my mother. Not me. I lose control of what my grandfather built. I should have done it at twenty-five."
The rest of this chapter is part of the paid portion of the series. Chapters 1–12 of He Thought Tuesdays Were Pottery, Now He Begs Me Home are free to read — start from the beginning, then unlock the rest with coins in the app.
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