“Isn’t that what she’s supposed to do?” Zelda snapped, rolling her eyes. “If she won’t help her own brother, who will she help? People would laugh themselves silly if they heard about it!”
Ulysses shot Zelda a look.
Lately, it seemed he was coming to his senses a bit, realizing his mother’s grudge against Calliope had gotten way out of hand. Just because she’d had a rough delivery when Calliope was born, she’d never let go of it.
But honestly, that wasn’t Callie’s fault at all. She couldn’t control how she was born, could she?
He stared at Zelda, thinking she was getting a little obsessed.
“She is being unreasonable. We should talk to her about it sometime,” Valerian chimed in, trying to sound diplomatic.
“What about the shares?” Monty groaned, rubbing his forehead.
He wasn’t worried about anything else. The Jewell family’s whole livelihood depended on the Jewell Group. If something happened to the company, how would they make a living?
They’d be toast, plain and simple.
“She’s already sold them. There’s nothing we can do about it now, is there?” Horatio frowned. “We should probably talk to her. Do you think she really plans to just walk away after cashing out, leaving the Jewell Group in the dust?”
“That’s exactly what she’s planning,” Valerian said through gritted teeth. “She’ll take the money and leave us to rot. Calliope’s absolutely heartless.”
“I said it from the start, we never should’ve trusted her. She’s always been trouble,” Zelda huffed. “She’s just here to ruin our family.”
That Christmas Eve, the whole family sat around the table looking miserable, a stark contrast to the laughter and warmth coming from Calliope’s side of the world.
The next day.
Thinking harder, they realized they’d meant to get some information out of Silas, but instead, it seemed he’d managed to get them talking.
When Silas strolled into the kitchen, all three brothers glanced up at him in unison.
Unlike them, Silas seemed bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, not a trace of a hangover. He looked downright cheerful.
Feeling the room’s attention, Silas paused. “What’s up?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
“You’re looking way too chirpy for someone who drank as much as we did,” Norton accused, narrowing his eyes.
Silas grinned. “Guess I just bounce back quick. Sure, I was tipsy, but I’m good as new this morning.”
He joined them at the table, and as he did, he remembered in flashes how he’d actually been the one to ask the probing questions, and how, one by one, his brothers had spilled their secrets over pints and shots.
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