I find my brother lounging on the deck with his laptop flipped open, dicking around on social media. It’s his job, taking care of that side of things, but half the time the messages are propositions from women, or boob shots. It’s creepy.

I toss the printout of the properties with all the ones we own circled in red on top of his keyboard.

He glances up at me, annoyed by the interruption. “What’s this?”

I hand him the magazine, open to the article featuring Lex, and drop down in the lounger across from him, crossing my arms over my chest.

He glances at the article. “Why are you giving me this? And what’s with the pissy mood? Didn’t you ball your girlfriend’s brains out last night? Shouldn’t you be happier?”

“I’d be happier if you weren’t planning shit behind my back.”

He has sunglasses on, but he can’t hide the tic in the corner of his right eye. It’s his tell. Everyone has them, and as a lawyer, I’ve had to learn how to watch for those. Rian was a signal flare for all kinds of sketchiness today. I gesture to the papers and the magazine. “Tell me how these two things are connected.”

He frowns, inspecting the printout. “They’re not. The circled properties are the ones we own.” He tosses the magazine back to me. “This is publicity for a Mills Hotel project.”

“Which happens to be in the Hamptons.”

“And?” He closes his laptop and taps on the arm of his chair.

“What kind of deals are you cutting with Lex behind my back?” No point in tiptoeing around the issue.

“Who said I was making deals?”

“For fuck’s sake, Law, be straight with me.” I motion to the documents in his lap. “Is this the reason we’re holding on to all these fucking properties? Are you waiting to sell them off when the time is right?”

He sighs. “Think about the financial logistics, Pierce. We own all these homes on the beach and they’re anchor points around the Mission Mansion, which is rumored to be going up for sale this fall. Having all these properties makes sense, especially if the Millses get zoning flexibility. And even if they can’t, imagine how much these beach houses are going to be worth if that mansion is renovated, or it’s turned it into an upscale resort. It’s been sitting empty for years, and there are ten bedrooms in that monster home. That’s not even taking into account the outbuildings. Think about the bank that could come out of that. And if they want to buy out the homes around it, then we’re looking at killer return on our investments.”

“How long have you been planning this with Lex?”

“I haven’t been planning anything with Lex. It’s just been conversations. Look, man, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life fucking around with dolls”—he points to the pair of plastic sunbathers to his right; today they have Frisbees—“just like you don’t want to be a patent lawyer. I’m trying to find a way to make bank and get out, exactly the same as you, and this is a way to do that.”

“And you didn’t think to mention any of this to me? Rian thinks I’ve been in on this.”

“Which is why I didn’t say anything to you. I mean, I figured you’d kind of clue in eventually, but you’ve got your face buried so deep in that pussy—”

I’m out of my chair and hauling him up by his shirt. The laptop hits the deck with a crack. “Don’t finish that sentence unless you want a black eye and some missing teeth, brother.”

He holds up his hands. “Jesus, Pierce, calm your shit.”

“You’re fucking this up for me.” I shove him back into his chair.

“How? By buying property? They could’ve been making a shit-ton of commission if they hadn’t played it shady with that flip of theirs.”

I give him a look. “It wasn’t shady and you know it.”

“It sure wasn’t above board.”

“The Paulson house doesn’t matter right now; the Mission Mansion does.”

“Why is this such a big deal?”

“Because Rian’s family used to own it.”

“What?” Lawson frowns. “How is that possible? That family was loaded.”

I don’t have enough background on Rian to really understand the connection. “She’ll be devastated if the Millses plan to tear down the mansion so they can put up another hotel.”

“I doubt that’s their plan, if they even really have one. They have something like five new hotels going up in the next two years. It’s not like they have any shortage of projects to keep them busy. I’m trying to make the best investments so I can get out, Pierce. Amalie Doll sales keep dropping every quarter, let alone every year. This train is going to go off the rails eventually.”

“Dad built this company and made room for us. Won’t he be disappointed if we jump ship when it’s sinking?”

“Dude. Dad needs to retire, us bailing would give him a reason to let go and sell out. Half the reason he’s holding on is because he wants us to have an easy life since his wasn’t, you know?”

I take a few deep breaths, the tightness in my chest a distraction. I can see what he’s saying. I know he’s right about the dolls. It’s why my father pushed for the life-sized doll patent and why my screwup was such a big deal.

We need alternatives. Something so my father doesn’t feel like he has to keep reinventing the wheel to keep us employed.

So many things seem to be up in the air, and while I don’t want Rian and I to be one of those, I’m too angry to get over her accusations.

* * *

It’s barely seven in the morning and I’m sitting on the deck, facing away from Rian’s half-renovated beach house, drinking coffee and going through Amalie Doll reports. I’m distracted, as seems to be the theme lately. I have unanswered messages from Rian on my phone. Yesterday she asked if we could talk, but I’m not ready to deal with her without going off yet.

“I think you need to see something, bro.” Law drops down beside me and holds out his laptop.

It’s an article on the history of the Mission Mansion. “Why is this important?”

“Click the next tab.” He taps the screen.

An image pops up that has nothing to do with houses.

He cocks a brow. “Those twins look familiar to you?”

A pre-teenage version of Rian and her sister smile at me on the screen. The shot is grainy, having been taken from a magazine article more than a decade ago. It’s a family photo, apparently, taken with the late Deana Mission, her daughter, Stephanie, and son-in-law, Nelson Fisher.

“Deana Mission was born a Sutter.”

I rub my forehead. “Which explains why they go by Sutter, I guess?”

“Possibly, but they’re technically Fishers.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Do you remember Fisher Estates?”

It sounds familiar, but I’m not sure why. “Should I?”

“A decade ago Fisher was huge; they represented some of the biggest real estate buyers in the area. Except Nelson turned out to be a real criminal. He screwed all sorts of people out of money, including the Millses. Harrison was the one who took him down. Bankrupted the family from what I know. And when Deana died, Nelson sold the mansion and fled the country with his wife.”

“So Nelson is Rian’s father?”