Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Isaac took over for me, talking and asking questions. A little while later, I was walking out of his office with my father’s journal and the numbers to a bank account in my name. Apparently, he was giving me a small portion of money now, to help get Mitchell Creek off the ground, and then I’d get the bulk of my inheritance after a year.
“You okay?” Isaac asked as we were driving back to the house.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. This was all a lot. Journals, name changes, NDAs, feuds and secrets. I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into.
Isaac knew me better than anyone, so he left me alone as I locked myself in my father’s office and read.
The journal was filled with recipes and formulas for whiskey, names of people they worked with, and lots of pertinent information I would need about the distillery. That, however, wasn’t what kept me up until the next morning. No, that was the other stuff, the personal things in the letter Harris Mitchell had written me.
Cohen,
I don’t imagine I’m your favorite person, and I can understand why. It’s probably confusing to you. Hell, it’s confusing to me, but the truth boils down to two things. The first and most important is that I love you. I have always loved you. I loved you and your mother with all my heart.
The second is that I’m a coward.
My dad always had a strong hold on me. I never crossed him. Never did what he didn’t want me to, unless it had to do with you and your mom. He never approved of our relationship, not liking that she was friendly with the O’Ralleys, but I wouldn’t walk away from her. I loved her too much.
We planned to run away together. The Mitchells…well, they have never been on the up-and-up. The truth is, we were involved in illegal activity my whole life, hell, since before I was born. Laundering money and likely more. It started with your great-grandpa, then every Mitchell afterward. When Pammy got pregnant, all I wanted was to give you a better life, but I also understood my daddy. If he knew there was another Mitchell child out there, he would have wanted you here with us, and I wouldn’t have had the courage to say no. So, we came up with a plan.
Your mom would leave. I’d give her money, then when things calmed down here, I’d go to you guys. Like I said, I’m a coward. I kept putting it off, using the excuse that my daddy would find us, that he would discover Pam and I had a son. There were rumors of her being pregnant when she left, but I played them off as lies.
When your mom died, I went to California. I knew you were heading to a family who hoped to adopt you, and when I saw them, I told myself you’d be better off without me, and I walked away…
My eyes blurred after that. I closed the book and cried. Then opened it again and continued reading. More of him saying he loved me, of calling himself a coward, saying that as far as he knew, the Mitchells hadn’t stolen the recipe from the O’Ralleys. All the things he said I needed to know.
I stayed awake all night.
The next morning, there was a knock on the office door, and Isaac was there with coffee. We sat down, and I told him what I’d read.
“Wow…that’s…wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“Yeah, me neither. I don’t think I’ve processed it all yet.” How could I? The truth about my family, about my parents…
“I’m still in if you are.”
It was the perfect thing to say. I looked at him and told him, “We do this legit, and we do it our way.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Isaac agreed. “You’re my family. Where else would I be?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Brody
“If you’re not having a good time, you might need to ask that Mitchell to come on over and suck your dick,” Walker teased, glaring at me from the riding lawn mower he was working on fixing.
In a white tank, stained from years of being covered in oil and mud, he took a socket wrench to the side of the riding lawn mower, which had gone down a few weeks earlier. Walker had always been the handyman around the house, fixing everything from the garbage disposal to broken equipment in the distillery whenever it wasn’t so bad we had to call in a pro.
“I’m having a perfectly good time, thank you very much. Here I thought I was being sweet by keeping you company.”
“You are. Now can you make yourself useful and hand me those sockets?”
He indicated the plastic case on the tool chest against the wall, near his ATV. I fetched it for him, and he fished out the socket he needed. As he affixed it to the ratchet handle, he went on, “Now don’t play with me, Brodes. I know you didn’t just head over to the Mitchells’ the other day to give him a tour of his own place.”