2: 2

2

The words landed, and my ears rang.

Twenty-five years ago, the first time I came to the Simmons house, it was winter.

Rodney Simmons led me by the hand through the front door, and a wall of warm air hit me. My frozen fingers began to prickle.

Angela, her hair in two little pigtails, jumped down from the couch and ran over, looking up at me.

Her eyes were bright, and every other word out of her mouth was "big brother Miles."

She pressed her own hand-warmer into my palm and pulled me off to see her toy room.

That afternoon she lined up all her dolls in a row and introduced them to me one by one.

At dinner she insisted on sitting beside me, and she picked the chicken drumstick out of her own bowl and put it in mine.

"Big brother Miles is too skinny. Eat more meat."

Rodney sat at the head of the table, smiling at the two of us.

Fred arrived the next day, but Angela only circled around me.

When he tried to come over and join in, she pouted and pushed him away, saying, "I want to play with big brother Miles."

The old man's reason for taking us in was simple.

The Simmons line had passed down through three generations with a single heir each time, and by Rodney's generation there was a daughter born late in his life and no son.

He was afraid that once he was gone there would be no one to hold the family up, so he went to an orphanage and picked out two boys.

Fred was clever, good with people, sweet-tongued.

But he was restless, the kind who couldn't sit still through the hard, thankless work.

I was steady, hardworking.

I studied hard and wasn't afraid of hardship.

The old man never said it outright, but I only worked it out slowly, later.

From the start he'd never meant to raise both of us as his heir.

He was choosing.

Choosing the one who could carry the Simmons family.

Choosing the one who deserved Angela.

The year I turned twenty, his illness worsened and he was admitted to the hospital.

Once when I went to see him, he was propped up in the bed, already very weak.

But he held my hand and talked for a long time.

He said Angela was a stubborn girl, but her heart wasn't bad, and I should bear with her.

He said that once we grew up, we should be married, so that when he went down below he'd have something to answer to her mother with.

The pendant had been handed down through the Simmons ancestors, and only the head of the family had the right to wear it.

By giving it to me, his meaning was already clear.

"Miles, look after this family. Look after Angie."

"As for Fred... give a little more ground to him. He's a child with no father and no mother too. There's bitterness in his heart."

I said yes, with tears running down my face.

The night the old man passed, Angela cried all night long.

I stood guard outside her door, listening to the broken sobbing inside, and it tore at me.

I wanted to push the door open and go in, but I was afraid I didn't know how to comfort anyone and would only make her worse.

Later Fred went in.

I don't know what he said, but Angela's crying slowly quieted.

From then on, she changed.

At first she just didn't talk to me much, and at the table she'd only sit on Fred's side.

Every time Fred caused trouble, I was the one who had to clean it up.

She never once said thank you. Instead she'd turn it around and blame me, saying I was too hard on Fred.

He was just a little fond of fun, so did I have to wear a long face all day?

Then she stopped touching company matters entirely and dumped all of it on me.

Yet from time to time she'd take Fred along to all kinds of events.

In the years after the old man died, I ran Simmons Group as if my life depended on it.

From what started as a mid-sized construction company into one of the top enterprises in Riverton.

We moved into real estate, finance, and tourism, growing from a few dozen employees to over a thousand, and now we were about to go public.

Every day I was the first into the office and the last to leave, and I spent my weekends there too.

When a project went wrong, I took it on. When cash flow got tight, I covered it. When someone tried to poach our people, I held things steady.

At business dinners people plied me with drinks until my stomach bled and I landed in the hospital, and the next day I pulled out the IV and went straight back into meetings.

Angela never once asked whether I was tired.

She only came to me when Fred had gotten into trouble again, saying, Miles, help him out, just this once.

Every single time it was "just this once."

Two months ago, Fred drowned Mr. Finch's beloved dog.

It was a purebred border collie Mr. Finch had raised for eight years, flown in from overseas, one that had cost over a million.

The reason was simple. Angela had sneezed twice when she saw the dog.

When he found out, Mr. Finch was so furious he flipped the table on the spot.

I was still away on a business trip overseas, and I flew back through the night. First I apologized, then I got people to track down the same breed abroad.

That dog wasn't easy to find. I pulled three or four layers of connections and spent nearly two million to get one.

But Mr. Finch wouldn't take it at all.

I made six or seven trips to his company, gave up profit margins on three projects, and signed away our priority partnership rights for the next two years.

The last time, I sat with Mr. Finch in his office for four hours, and no matter what I said he wouldn't give.

My knees went weak, and I knelt down.

Mr. Finch was stunned. In the end he sighed.

He said, Miles, you haven't had it easy either.

The project was saved.

I never told Angela about it.

Those two months, she was flying all over the world with Fred, posting a dozen updates a day.

The northern lights in Iceland, the volcanoes of Italy, the Great Barrier Reef in Australia.

Every one of those locations was a spot pinned on the map in my study.

Over the years I'd built up a thick stack of travel plans.

I'd thought that once the company went public and things settled down, I'd take her to all of them.

There was no need for that now.

Because Fred had already taken her to every one.

3: 3

3

The wedding is tomorrow.

The wedding planner called two days ago to confirm the schedule. I told them everything stood as arranged.

The gown was ordered half a year ago. Angela went for the fitting. I didn't go with her. She said there was no need, Fred would take her.

I didn't think much of it at the time.

Looking back now, the signs were there all along.

She'd already shot the wedding photos with Fred.

The last thing she said to me tonight was, "I took the pendant."

Telling me. Not asking me.

And now I stand here watching Angela reach out and take the pendant from Fred's hand, close her fingers tight around it.

Then she lifts her eyes to me, brows knit, looking at me like some stranger making trouble for no reason.

The last thing left inside me finally broke.

"I won't be there tomorrow. I'll organize all of Simmons Group's files tonight and send them to your email. The company seal and the corporate seal are on the second shelf of the safe. The code is your birthday."

"The IPO is already squared away with the underwriters. From here on you just follow up."

Angela froze for a second, finally realizing I wasn't saying it in anger.

"Miles, what's that supposed to mean?"

Behind her, Fred tugged her gently by the arm and murmured, "Angie, Miles is upset right now. Don't take him seriously."

He looked at me with that not-quite-a-smile in his eyes, though his mouth still wore the face of the good little brother.

"Miles, cool off. Tomorrow's your big day. Calling it off at the last minute will only make you a joke."

I gave him one cold look and turned for the door.

Angela shouted after me, "Miles! You stop right there!"

"Let me tell you, this wedding is not being canceled. The Simmons family can't afford that kind of embarrassment!"

"If you don't show up tomorrow, I'll marry Fred!"

"Don't come crying later!"

I didn't stop.

By the time I got back to the old Simmons residence, the sky was fully dark.

The osmanthus tree in the yard was one the old man had planted with his own hands, filling the whole courtyard with sweetness every autumn.

The plaque above the gate had been passed down through generations of the Simmons family.

Four words carved there: A House of Good Deeds. Every year at New Year's, the old man watched with his own eyes as I wiped it clean.

I had packed my things and was about to leave when a white Porsche pulled in.

Angela pushed the door open and got out, that same cold look still on her face.

Fred came around from the passenger side and walked quickly up to me.

"Miles!" He reached for my suitcase. "Don't do this. Where are you going, dragging a suitcase around in the middle of the night?"

I didn't let go.

He paused, then drew his hand back.

He sighed, his tone gentle. "I know you're feeling low. But things are already what they are. Are you really going to push it this far?"

"What Angie said just now was only temper. Why hold it against her? You know what she's like."

Angela leaned against the car door, arms folded across her chest, watching me coldly.

"Fred, why are you even bothering to talk to him?"

"He's the one who wants to leave."

Fred glanced back at her, then turned to me and lowered his voice. "Miles, listen to me. Put the suitcase back. The wedding goes ahead tomorrow as planned."

"If you don't want that set of wedding photos, we can reshoot. I'll get the photographer to rush the prints tonight. There should still be time."

I looked at him.

Under the streetlight his eyes looked especially sincere, brows drawn slightly together, mouth set with just the right amount of worry.

But his mouth was smiling.

Faint. Almost impossible to see.

But I grew up with him.

Twenty-five years. I knew that expression too well.

Every time he made a mess and I cleaned it up for him.

He'd stand off to the side, wearing exactly this expression.

"Move," I said.

Fred blanked for a moment, then gave a wry smile. "Miles, why won't you just listen?"

Angela walked over, her heels clicking hard against the gravel.

"Miles, you just walk out like that. Did you ever think about how I'm supposed to explain it to our relatives and friends?"

"Everyone shows up first thing tomorrow, and the groom's gone. Where does that leave the Simmons family's face?"

"But I've got it figured out now." She let out a cold laugh. "You want to go? Then go. The Simmons family won't miss one of you."

"All these years, you thought you were so important? You think the company can't run without you?"

"Let me tell you, tomorrow I'll put Fred on the board. He's every bit as good as you."

4: 4

4

I said nothing and stepped around her, moving on.

That was when Fred called out, "Wait."

I stopped.

He strolled up to me, slowly, the gentleness on his face peeling away piece by piece like a mask.

"Miles." He gave a short laugh, his voice neither loud nor soft. "If you're really leaving the Simmons family, then there's something we need to make clear."

"You can go. But you don't get to take anything that belongs to the Simmons family."

Angela blinked. "Fred, what are you saying?"

Fred turned, spread his hands at her, all reluctance.

"Angie, think about it."

"When Grandfather took him in, he was just an orphan. He had nothing to his name."

"The food, the clothes, everything he used — which of it didn't come from the Simmons family?"

"His tuition, Grandfather paid for it."

"His position in the company, Grandfather arranged it."

"The house he lives in now, the car he drives, all of it is Simmons money."

"He wants to leave? Fine. But he doesn't get to take Simmons property with him."

"Otherwise, how is that any different from stealing?"

Angela frowned slightly. "That's... maybe a bit much?"

Fred sighed, walked over and put an arm around her shoulders, his tone earnest. "Angie, I know you have a soft heart."

"But think about it. Grandfather was so good to him, raised him like a real son, even gave him the family pendant."

"And now he's throwing a fit over something this small and threatening to walk out. Is that how he repays Grandfather's memory?"

Then he pressed harder. "Yes, he ran the company all these years. But that's Simmons property. Without Grandfather backing him, what did an outsider have that gave him the standing to run anything?"

"Grandfather giving him that chance was a kindness, not something he was owed."

"So the way I see it, leaving with nothing is only fair."

Angela's eyes flickered, but she kept her face cold and nodded.

"You're right."

"Miles, open the suitcase."

My hand tightened around the handle.

The streetlight was dim, too weak to make out her expression.

But her chin was tilted up, like she was interrogating a criminal.

I pressed my lips together and spoke each word slowly. "That's right. The Simmons family raised me for twenty-five years."

"But after Grandfather passed, I took over Simmons Group."

"I poured everything into it these years, took it from a mid-sized company to one of the top firms in Riverton."

"And now it's about to go public."

"I didn't eat and live off anyone for free!"

"Angela."

"Are you sure you still want to search my suitcase?"

Angela went quiet.

That was when Fred twisted the knife from the side. "Miles, I know you're good."

"But without the Simmons family as your platform, do you really think you could have gotten this far?"

"Don't put Angie in a hard spot. She's only thinking of the family too."

"You open the case, we check it, everything's fine, and we let you go right away."

"If you won't, that only proves you've got something to hide."

Angela's eyes went colder. "You heard him. Open it!"

I said nothing more, bent down, laid the case flat, and pulled the zipper open.

The lid flipped back, the case lying open on the ground.

When they saw what was inside.

Fred froze.

And Angela froze too.