Noah's Adventure - 13. The proverbial slap

Caleb and Shiloh sat in silence.
They really needed to talk this out—Shiloh needed to understand it was a prank that went wrong, not the betrayal he kept replaying in his head.

“Did you boys settle things?” Caleb’s mom asked as she returned, Grandma and Grandpa shuffling in behind her.

“No,” Caleb said, sounding hollow. “No matter what I tell him, it’s never enough.”

“Shiloh is very much like his mother,” Caleb’s mom said with a smirk. “Hard-headed and stubborn.”

The mention of their mother made all the brothers look at each other. I wondered—did Caleb’s mom know why the boys were living at the ranch? Knowing Grandma, she probably spilled the beans the second she had them in earshot. Honestly, a lot about this family suddenly made more sense now that I knew the secret.

I sat there, absorbing the… well, lack of conversation.

A sharp knock at the door made me jump.

Uncle Matt stepped in with a well-dressed man in a tailored suit that hugged him like it was made for him—because it probably was. A leather briefcase crossed his body, and behind him stood two younger men who looked like they were trying really hard to appear “professional.” Just by looking at him, you could tell the main guy screamed lawyer. My stomach sank.

“Grayson!” Grandma beamed, pulling him into a long hug. “You’re early.”

“The trip was shorter than expected,” Grayson said, slipping off his sunglasses—and that’s when I saw the family resemblance. Grandma introduced his two companions as his nephews and newly minted lawyers.

“We need to talk immediately,” Grayson said, eyes snapping straight to me.

“About my mom?” I croaked. “She can rot in hell.”

A few people laughed, but I absolutely meant it.

“We need to talk privately,” Grayson said, scanning the room. “We’ve got a call with my counterpart in California soon.”

“Is it that bad?” I whispered.

Shiloh moved beside me on the couch, taking my hand. Warm. Steady. Helpful. I saw a quick spark of amusement cross Grayson’s face—too fast to really process—but with all the gay people in this family, homophobia wasn’t exactly the vibe.

“We need to have a discussion,” Grayson continued, choosing his words carefully. “As your guardians, your grandparents need to be present. You and I, obviously.” A mischievous look flashed in his eyes. “And your love-sick puppy.”

The room erupted in laughter.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Grayson teased.

“You’re not,” Shiloh and I muttered at the same time.

We shuffled into Grandma’s office, Shiloh and I sinking onto the couch, hands still locked together like I was about to be sentenced to life in prison.

“Your mother and her brothers challenged the will,” Grayson began. I could hear the disgust under every word.

“On what grounds?” Grandpa asked, clearly annoyed already.

“You’re going to love this,” Grayson said, standing and pacing. “She claims that because she terminated and severed her parental rights, you”—he pointed to me—“aren’t technically a relative of Evelyn’s and therefore have no right to her estate.”

“That has to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Grandpa said flatly.

“So I’m not family because she chose to be a skank?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Shiloh squeezed my hand, grounding me again.

“Evelyn wasn’t stupid,” Grayson said, still pacing. “She knew exactly what her children were capable of. Her will is detailed—very detailed.”

“So if she planned this well, what grounds does her daughter even have?” Grandma asked.

“None. It’s just a waste of time and money.”

“Where is she even getting money to fight this?” I asked. “She’s poor.” At least… I thought she was.

“That’s the question,” Grayson said. “My counterpart in San Diego—Grace Watkins—hired an investigator. She says something big came up. Huge.”

“Grace from law school?” Grandma asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, Megan. That Grace.” His tone dripped with long-suffering irritation.

“Keep your enemies close,” Grandma said with a Cheshire-cat grin.

God, I wanted the backstory on that one. I’d pay good money for that tea.

Next to me, Shiloh’s eyes widened as he looked something up on his phone.

“Look,” he whispered.

He held out the screen: Grace Kim-Watkins, JD, partner at Murphy, Jenkins, Watkins & Associates. Stellar résumé. Top of her Harvard undergrad class. Top of her Stanford Law class.

Oh. So that’s why Grayson hated her.

A while back when I’d googled Grayson, I’d discovered the family apparently had a whole army of Grayson Matthews clones—Seniors, Juniors, thirds, fourths. The man himself went to Harvard, then Columbia for his JD. Impressive. Just… overshadowed by Grace’s trophy shelf, apparently.

At exactly five, his tablet rang. When the video connected, a woman who looked more presidential than lawyerly appeared behind a massive desk.

“Hello, Gray,” she said with a smile.

“Hello, Grace,” he answered, painfully forced.

Introductions followed. Grandma and Grace bantered, trading sharp little jokes like two women who respected each other but didn't want you to know,

“Alright,” Grace said, leaning forward. “Now to business. You’re not going to believe what I learned.”