“All of it.”
“That’s too easy.”
“I know.”
He rested the bedframe against the wall.
“So tell me the hard version.”
I thought about that.
“The hard version is you don’t get to fix this in one conversation.”
He nodded.
“You don’t get to repay the money and act like that settles it.”
“I know.”
“You scared them.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“And I wasn’t here.”
“That isn’t on you.”
“Some of it is.”
Derek looked at me.
I had spent years believing my monthly transfers were a form of care.
And they were.
But money was convenient.
Money did not require me to notice Dad sounded tired.
Money did not ask why Mom suddenly stopped complaining about Derek, when she had always complained freely before.
Money let me live five hours away and tell myself I was taking care of them.
Derek saw the thought on my face.
“You called.”
“Not enough.”
“You came when Mom called.”
“After four months.”
“Gabriel.”
He leaned against the wall.
“We can both spend the next ten years deciding which one of us failed them more.”
He glanced toward the kitchen where Dad was making coffee.
“Or we can stop failing them.”
It was the wisest thing my brother had said in years.
The next morning, Inez called.
She had found the property from the map.
We met at the county office.
The clerk brought out records so old they smelled like dust and cardboard.
The parcel was seventeen acres.
Most of it was wooded.
There was a collapsed agricultural building near the road.
Ownership had changed twice since Esteban Ruiz.
Then Inez reached the final page.
Her eyebrows rose.
“What?”
She turned it toward us.
The current owner was something called MCR Holdings Trust.
