How much had changed since I’d left?
I pushed Ford from my mind. Not your problem, I reminded myself. “The bastard changed his will after I left. Again.”
My father was famous for changing his will. He used that thing like a weapon, setting my siblings and me against one another in a constant play for dominance.
It wasn’t enough that the Sawyers practically owned the town of Sawyers Bend, owned hundreds of millions of dollars of real estate and industry in North Carolina and the surrounding states.
Prentice Sawyer wasn’t happy unless the rest of us were dancing to his tune like puppets on strings. That will had been changed so many times the fees he paid to the family estate attorney had bought the man a second home.
I’d walked away from Sawyers Bend, turned my back on my family after they’d betrayed me in the worst way. My father’s will was not my problem.
“He kicked me out fifteen years ago,” I reminded her. “I have my own life now. Solve your own problems.”
A ghost of emotion flitted across Hope’s face. Fear? Worry? Desperation? It was gone so fast I couldn’t tell.
She leaned forward a scant inch. “Griffen, you need to understand—everything is frozen. Everything. Personal funds. Business funds. Everything. People won’t get paid. Businesses will go under. The town will go under. You don’t have to stay. Please, just come home so Harvey can read the will. As soon as it’s done you can leave, and you never have to see any of us again.”
Fucking hell. My goddamned father. He always knew how to twist the knife.
He wanted me back in Sawyers Bend for some godforsaken reason, and he was an expert at getting his way, even from beyond the grave.
He knew I wouldn’t come back if he asked. I didn’t need the Sawyer fortune. I’d been raised to take the helm, groomed to follow in my father’s footsteps, but I’d walked away. I’d made my own money, and I didn’t owe those people a fucking thing.
My family was poison, but the town of Sawyers Bend was a different story.
Sawyers Bend was filled with people just trying to live their lives. Good people. People dependent on Sawyer Enterprises for their livelihood. Without the free flow of Sawyer cash, Sawyers Bend would grind to a halt, and it was the people of the town who would suffer first.
I wanted nothing to do with my family, but I wouldn’t destroy the town.
“When is the reading of the will?”
“Tomorrow at two o’clock. Harvey’s office.”
“I’ll be there. And then I’m leaving.”
I watched Hope walk out of my office, her back straight, posture perfect, the girl I’d known nowhere in sight.
Two o’clock. I’d be back on the road to Atlanta by five, finally done with Sawyers Bend.
Nothing on this earth could convince me to stay a second longer.
Chapter Two
Griffen
The drive from Atlanta to Sawyers Bend only took three hours, but it felt like an eternity and was over far too soon. As I left the highway for the two-lane road winding through the mountains, I was catapulted back in time. I hated every second of it.
I don’t look back, I look forward. Forget all that ‘past is prologue’ bullshit. We can’t change what’s come before. Hell, we can barely control our futures. If we could I wouldn’t be speeding toward the home I’d left behind with a bum shoulder that carried a chip the size of North Carolina.
Driving into the town of Sawyers Bend was surreal, to say the least. Lost in a hazy fog of memory, colored by childhood, I’d remembered it as a perfect slice of small-town Americana.
It still was, minus the patina of memory. This version of Sawyers Bend was thriving in the now. I drove slowly down Main Street, taking in the couples strolling hand in hand, the crowd waiting at the corner for the light to change.
I hadn’t expected so many tourists on a Thursday in early March. The first few months of the year aren’t the most hospitable around here. The mountains are always pretty, but it’s cold by the standards of the South, and the icy wind can be a bitch. Not to mention the way the temperature swings from freezing to pleasant and back to freezing. And the sudden snowstorms. They didn’t happen often, but they were all the worse for their unpredictability.
None of my memories of winter in the mountains matched up with the scarf-wearing, rosy-cheeked tourists strolling the streets of Sawyers Bend. The town itself was cheerful and welcoming despite the weather. Neatly painted shop windows lined Main Street, framed by striped awnings that were vaguely familiar.
I didn’t recognize most of the businesses. Restaurants, galleries, tourist shops. Two craft breweries. More restaurants. Sawyers Bend was taking advantage of the foodies and beer lovers who flocked to the area along with the nature lovers. Not a surprise. The Sawyers had always been good at profiting off trends in the market.