His Saint (Forever Wilde 5)

I looked to my uncle. “Eric, why this particular piece of property? Why not look for something more affordable and appropriate to donate to CSP? Maybe even something in a location near the elementary school or the hospital?”

“We already own all three properties in question,” Eric explained.

“Not true,” Grandfather muttered. “The company owns one, I own one, and CSP owns one. Three different owners.”

“Yes, but my dad is in charge of the company’s assets,” Brett said, gesturing to Eric. “Grandfather, you can sign over the one you own, and CSP already has the third.”

I wondered if I should just agree. Was my current building worth fighting for? I loved it, but shouldn’t I love my family more? Why not just step away, move my shop, and be done with this whole family conflict?

But did I love my family enough to support such a massive fraud on the taxpayers of Hobie? Could I abide a quasi-charity taking a donation from my family foundation and using it to take advantage of tax loopholes? The answer was no.

“Why in the world would I support the efforts of a fraudulent nonprofit?” I asked Eric. “And why, specifically, do you want our family foundation to support this particular charity with such a high-value donation?”

“Dammit, Augie, we don’t have to explain this shit to you. You’re a tenant for Christ’s sake,” Brett said. “We just need you to convince Grandfather you’re willing to move your shop.”

Saint sat still next to me with his hands clasped together in his lap. I wanted to ask him what I should do or simply lay my head on his shoulder and have him take over for me. I was tired of being the odd man out in my family. I hated making important decisions on my own. Moreover, I’d always disliked being in charge of anything.

But I also hated being bullied by anyone, especially my own family.

“I’m not willing to move my shop.” There, I’d said it.

Everyone stared at me, presumably trying to work out how quickly I’d cave under pressure.

“But darling,” Mother said. “Think of all the people who would be helped by this project.”

“What people?” Saint asked. “Hobie’s poverty rate is less than 8 percent. That’s unheard of in rural Texas. It’s an affluent town because of the lake property, whereas the people who need low-income housing live in nearby Valley Cross. Why not do this project there? I’ll tell you why—there’s no low-income housing project. It’s a sham.”

Eric chimed in. “Hardly. Besides, we don’t determine the best places. CSP does that. We’re just the benefactors.”

“Why is this particular project so important?” I asked. I wanted to hear them say it.

Eric clenched his teeth and looked away. Brett took over.

“Look, Augie. We made a commitment to this nonprofit to assist them in putting together this package. How does it look to the nonprofit community if we fail to deliver on that commitment?”

“Why this building in particular?”

“Because CSP’s plan involves combining all three lots for their housing project,” Brett explained.

“So they plan to raze the Depot?” I asked incredulously. Jen’s shop was in the town’s original train station. The charm was half of what made Apple Dots so special. “That’s even older than the Huddler building.” My shop’s building had been originally built by Cletus Huddler to house his construction business in Hobie. I even had two of the original drafting tables left from the original business assets in the third-floor storage space.

The warmth of Saint’s body came through the leg of my pants as he moved a little closer to me.

“The Depot?” Grandfather asked in surprise. “Eric, you didn’t tell me they planned to tear down that historic station.”

“They don’t even provide low-income housing,” I snapped. “They’re a sham. They’re a front for a commercial developer. Did you know that?”

“That’s not true, son,” Eric stated immediately. “I don’t know what information you think you have, but CSP is a registered nonprofit that specializes in low-income housing.”

“That’s what they say,” Saint added. “But their actual property transactions show a full history of putting together commercial development packages for strip malls. Eight of their last ten projects included a Health Plus drug store, a Ship and Save mailing center, and a Starbucks.”

“What?” My mother suddenly looked confused. “Is that true?”

“Dammit, Eric!” Grandfather barked. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“Dad, it’s a multimillion-dollar property deal. It’s a low-income housing project to help those in need, and we need the Huddler building to make it happen. Augie, I’m ashamed of you. Since when are you so goddamned selfish?”

I sat there with my mouth open, but Saint didn’t have the same problem.

“How dare you call him selfish,” Saint boomed, standing up from his seat. “Do you have any idea the lengths this man has gone to in order to accommodate this family? You say jump, he asks how high. You say don’t be gay, he keeps his whole life in shadow. You say dinner’s on, he drops everything to get here for it just to find out it’s canceled and no one bothered to say. He lost his father!” He looked at Rory. “They both did. They lost their father, and you all told them to stop fucking crying. Who does that?”