Possessive Best Friend

“Right. Are you still pining for the one that got away, Lora?”

“No, don’t get me off topic.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“So the warehouse. I think it’s a great idea. There’s nothing to do in this town but drive trucks in the mud.”

“I won’t even ask.”

“I know, right?”

“Well, look, if you’re excited, I’m happy for you. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can pull it off, you can.”

“Thanks, Shaun.” I smile and sit up. As I stretch my neck, I catch some motion off to my left, over toward the house. I turn my head and spot Uncle Ron stepping out of the back door. “Uh oh,” I say. “Uncle Ron’s coming toward me.”

“Really? What’s that fat old fuck want?”

“Bye.” I hang up the phone just as he approaches. He’s wearing khaki pants and a polo shirt tucked in, like he just got back from a golf game. He’s thirty pounds overweight with a big bushy mustache and a perpetual frown, probably because his brother, my father, is the head of the household and he’s not.

“Hello, Lora,” he says with his fake rich guy accent. “How are we today?”

“I’m fine, Uncle Ron.” I smile up at him. He’s kind of a dick but Dad likes him, so he sticks around and basically lives here. His children are awful and caused a whole bunch of problems a couple years ago, so they were basically banished from the manor. But Uncle Ron still sticks around, of course.

“I heard something interesting today.” He lumbers over to the chair next to mine and slowly sits on the edge. He lets out a breath and looks at me. “You want to buy a warehouse, or so I’m told.”

“Uh, yes, that’s right, Uncle Ron. The empty one up on Spruce. I plan on—”

He holds up a hand to shut me up and I stop talking. God, he’s such a prick, but I know better than to push him. That would only make this conversation even worse.

“Listen, little niece. I’m willing to help you on that front. I own that warehouse, and I’m willing to part with it on good terms, if you understand me.”

I frown at him. “My mother said we don’t own it,” I say. “She said—”

“Your mother doesn’t,” he snaps, annoyance creeping into his voice. “She has nothing to do with my warehouse. I bought it on my own with my own gains and money, and it is mine, not the family’s.”

“Oh,” I say and feel my heart sink.

This is going to be more complicated than I realized. Much, much more complicated.

Uncle Ron hates our family.

Well, that’s not totally accurate. He’s jealous of my mother and my father for having control of the estate. Uncle Ron thinks that it was criminal of his parents to pass him over and give everything to my father. And in a lot of ways, he’s probably right. He’s the oldest sibling, and so he thought it was all his.

But he wasn’t married, and so when it was time to pass along the family fortune, my grandfather named my father as the true heir and beneficiary. I suspect a lot of that had to do with my mother, but I can’t ever be sure. Her fingers are in everything that has to do with this family.

Still, he resents my father, and by extension, he resents me. I’ve always tried to be nice to Uncle Ron but he’s more likely to throw a ball at my face than to play catch with me.

I learned that one the hard way.

“As I said, I own it, and I am willing to sell it for a reasonable price. Would you like to hear my terms?”

I nod. “I would.”

“Good, very good. You have a lot to learn about business, but you’re off to a good start.”

I keep my mouth shut. He’s insufferable.

“I hear you’re doing this little business plan with a local boy. An Ashman boy, correct?”

I nod. “Dean Ashman, that’s right. He has a good head for this sort of thing.”

“Very good, very wonderful. I am very happy to hear that. The Ashman family owns car dealerships, isn’t that right?”

I nod slightly. “They do.”

“I want a Ford F-150 Limited. It’s the top of the line F-150. Please do not get me anything less than the Limited, I will not accept it, I am not interested. I want it fully stocked, all extras and add-ons and such. Can your Ashman friend make that happen for me?”

“Uh,” I say, blinking. I’m pretty sure this isn’t how most business meetings go, but fine, fair enough. Uncle Ron is a dick, after all. “I’m sure we can manage it.”

“Good.” He stands with some difficulty and lets out a heavy breath. “Bring it by soon if you can. I’ll be waiting.” He lumbers away without another word.

I watch him go, completely flabbergasted. It doesn’t occur to me to ask him if the truck is in exchange for the whole warehouse until he’s back inside and gone.