Chapter 1: Chapter The Brazen: Prologue

“ANY NEWS ON THE FARMHOUSE?” Dad asked from his recliner.

“Nope.”

“What about the studio apartment?”

“Another nope.” My answer was the same at this Sunday’s family dinner as it had been last week.

I kept scrolling through my phone. Maybe if I didn’t make eye contact, it would spare me from the conversation that had come after last week’s questions about my vacant rental properties.

“You know . . .”

Not again.

“Any time you want to come and work for me, I’ve got a spot for you.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I gave him a tight smile.

“You could work in finance,” he said. “Or be an assistant manager like Zach. Use that business degree of yours and teach us all a few things.”

My brother’s jaw clenched from his spot beside me on the couch. I was the first in our immediate family to have earned my bachelor’s degree. Larke had hers too for teaching, but Zach was the oldest sibling and his lack of higher education was a touchy subject.

“Or you could—”

“I’d better see if Mom and Larke need help in the kitchen.” Zach shoved off the couch and strode away before Dad could toss out another job opportunity for me at his car dealership.

Great, now he was in a mood. Dinner should be fun. Especially if Dad didn’t drop this subject before Mom served her lasagna.

Why had I told my parents I was running low on money? Why? I should have kept my damn mouth shut.

A couple of weeks ago, Mom and Dad had stopped by my house for an impromptu visit. I’d answered the door wearing two sweaters and my wool socks because I’d been keeping my thermostat at sixty to lower the power bill. By the time they’d left an hour later, Mom had been shivering and Dad had convinced himself that I was penniless.

I considered it more desperate than destitute. Funding three vacant properties didn’t exactly lend itself to a cushy cashflow position, and trimming expenses had been my only option. But it was going to be okay. I was nearly broke, but not broken. And after my conversation with Gabriel on Tuesday, I wasn’t as freaked out as I had been.

He’d given me the pep talk I’d needed. He’d promised that all successful entrepreneurs hit their peaks and valleys. I was just suffering through my first low. And he was extending my loan. The paperwork hadn’t come through yet, but I was sure his lawyer would send it over shortly.

Gabriel Barlowe was a billionaire and the most successful man I’d ever met, so to have him tell me that everything would be okay, to have his financial backing, soothed a lot of my fears.

I went back to my phone, pulling up the news. The first three stories were of no interest, but then a headline caught my attention.

Oh, God. I opened the article and its words hit me like a bullet to the chest.

My eyes blurred as I kept reading. It couldn’t be true. This was wrong. It had to be. He wasn’t . . . gone.

“You might like sales,” Dad said. “Always good commission income.”

I stood from the couch and left the living room, my phone clasped in my grip as I hurried to the bathroom and closed myself inside. Then I dabbed furiously at my eyes before forcing myself to read the article again.

And again.

And again.

I lost track of the number of times I read those tragic words, hoping and wishing they weren’t true.

“Kerrigan?” Zach knocked on the door.

I swiped at my cheeks, drying the tears that wouldn’t stop. “Yeah?”

“Dinner’s ready. Mom wants to know if we should wait or . . .”

“I’ll be right there.” I waited until my brother’s footsteps retreated down the hallway before burying my face in my hands and letting out one more sob.

Gabriel.

He was gone.

Killed in a plane crash two days ago.

No one had told me. No one had called me. I had just spoken to him and now . . .

He was dead.

Gabriel.

My mentor. My investor. My unwavering advocate.

My friend.

He’d never doubted me. He’d championed my ambitions rather than questioned them.

And now he was gone.

Another sob escaped followed by another and another.

My family ate dinner without me.