The Seacrest by Aaron Lazar Page A

the end of a pen. “I don’t think you’ll regret this, Finn.”
    I slumped on the chair—sullen and exhausted—having just listened to the list of my brother’s holdings, and all the legal rigmarole that went with the process of inheriting it.
    My fingers burned where I’d held the pen and signed the documents. I still didn’t feel right about it, and if Libby hadn’t pushed me, I wasn’t sure I would have accepted the whole parcel.
    But I did.
    I signed the papers. The farm was mine. The house was mine. And all the land—with bushes that were overgrown and probably didn’t produce berries any more—were mine.
    “So,” Sawyer said. “Here are the house and garage keys. Jax’s car keys. Your bank book. All the paperwork that goes with the offshore accounts.”
    I just stared at it.
    “I’ll email you everything later today, too. What’s your address?”
    I told him and he wrote it down.
    “You okay, Finn?” He frowned, spewing a chuckle. “I never met anyone so upset about inheriting a fortune.” He got up and walked around the desk, squeezing my shoulders as if we were good old buddies, which we weren’t. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
    I nodded. “If you say so.”
    “When are you going to move up there? You’ll have to take over paying the bills. I did it for your brother, it was part of our arrangement, but there’s a new cycle coming due soon. Electric. Phone. The usual.”
    “What about the mortgage? How much is left on it?”
    He looked at me as if I hadn’t been listening to him spout facts all morning. “There’s no mortgage. I told you that. You own it outright.”
    “Oh.” I couldn’t help but think of the bills my parents had paid monthly, and how difficult it had been for us to meet that dreaded mortgage every month.
    “Like I said, your brother was a genius at investing. When all of us were losing our stock value or at best staying even, he was cleaning up. He just had that kind of intuition.”
    “Something I never had,” I said, finally rising. “I’ve been broke since I left home.”
    He shook his head and smiled. “Not any more, my boy. Not any more.”
    I pocketed the keys and picked up the thick folder, turning for the door. “Did you tell me what he did to the house? To repair it after the fire?”
    “No. But I thought you knew?”
    “I don’t.”
    “Okay. Well, it was the wing over the living room and kitchen that was destroyed. He had it completely torn down and rebuilt, an exact replica of the original. You’d never know there’d been a fire.”
    I grimaced. “Unless you’d been there,” I said bitterly.
    His color faded. “Oh. Right. I am sorry.”
    I collected myself. “No need,” I said. “You’re just doing your job, Sawyer.”
    His keen blue eyes caught mine. “That’s right, son. Now, you go do yours. Bring that property back to its glory. Your brother knew how to make money, but he didn’t care about the farm. The house is in pretty good shape; he took decent care of it. But the rest is all overgrown. Get up there and make your parents proud.”
    I sighed, fingered the keys in my pocket, and hefted the thick folder of documents at my side. “I’d best put these in a safe deposit box, right?”
    “We have one already. It’s across the street in your brother’s name, of course. But you now have full access. I’ll call ahead to remind them. It’ll be turned over to you officially when you sign the papers at the bank. You know, a new agreement, and all that.”
    Great. More signing. “Thanks,” I said, and walked into the brilliant Cape Cod heat.
     

Chapter 14
    July 14, 1997
    11:00 P.M.
     
    I ’d fallen asleep against the base of the Jetty, my head nestled against the soft bunched up blanket I brought with me. Sassy didn’t show up at seven o’clock, nor eight. I waited until ten, but since I had to haul my butt out of bed every morning at six, I was dead tired and had drifted off to sleep.
    I woke to a soft kiss on my