“The legal situation is more complicated than a simple petition.”
Sky put down the airbrush.
“Tell me.”
“Renata Voss isn’t only trying to control where you live.”
Gregory paused.
“She’s filed a claim on Luther’s estate.”
Sky went completely still.
“Luther had assets,” Gregory said.
“Mostly property. A storage unit with personal effects. Tools. Some other things.”
He leaned against the bench.
“And a small account. Not enormous, but enough to matter.”
Sky said nothing.
“Renata claims that because your mother is incapacitated, and because you’re the only direct relative aside from her, she has standing to administer the estate.”
Gregory’s voice lowered.
“But here’s the thing.”
He watched Sky carefully.
“In documents Luther filed with the chapter years ago before he disappeared, he named you specifically as the person his possessions should go to if anything happened.”
Sky stared.
“He named me?”
Gregory nodded.
“I was twelve.”
“Fourteen, technically, when he filed it.”
Sky seemed not to hear the correction.
“He named a fourteen-year-old?”
“He wrote it deliberately.”
Gregory thought for a moment.
“My brother helped him with some of the wording. Luther was very specific.”
Sky waited.
“He said, ‘Whatever I can’t give her while I’m here, she should have when I’m gone.’”
Sky’s hands rested on the workbench.
Perfectly still.
“He made sure there was documentation.”
“He knew.”
Not a question.
“He knew his life was complicated,” Gregory said. “He tried to make sure you’d be okay.”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
Gregory’s voice was quiet.
“He probably didn’t want you worrying.”
Sky swallowed.
“That is so Luther.”
Her voice broke on the last word.
Not collapsed.
Just broke.
The way a voice changes when something shifts weight inside a person.
“We have the documents,” Gregory continued.
“Our guy thinks Renata’s claim can be challenged.”
Sky looked up.
“It won’t be fast. It won’t be easy.”
Gregory shrugged slightly.
“But it can be done.”
Sky stared at him.
“Why are you doing this?”
Gregory frowned.
“I walked in here this morning.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You don’t know me.”
Gregory was quiet.
Then he answered.
“I knew your brother for nine years.”
Sky looked at him.
“I stood beside him at two funerals, a wedding, and a dozen moments I’m not going to describe.”
He gestured toward the garage.
“I know who he was.”
Then he looked directly at her.
“And I’m looking at you right now. At what you painted today. At the way you walked into this place this morning and stood your ground in a room full of people who could’ve scared you.”
Gregory stopped.
Then finished.
“You’re not a stranger to me, Skyla.”
A pause.
“You never were.”
Sky looked away.
Then back.
“Okay.”
Third time.
Same word.
Different meaning.
The first okay had meant acceptance.
This one meant something closer to belief.
And saying it cost her something.
It cost her part of the armor she had worn into Garland’s that morning.
Not all of it.
But the outer layer.