He pulled up in a black car.
Not flashy.
Not loud.
Just… deliberate.
I was tightening bolts under the hood of a Jeep when the tires crunched the gravel.
Jesse was behind me, welding.
He didn't hear the door open.
But I did.
---
The man stepped out like he was walking into a courtroom.
Tailored suit.
Slicked-back hair.
Clipboard tucked under one arm.
He stopped just short of the garage door and said,
"Jesse Monroe?"
Jesse's head snapped up at the name.
Not Hayes.
Monroe.
He hadn't used that name since long before me.
---
I straightened. Moved closer.
Jesse didn't blink.
The man smiled politely. "You've been difficult to track."
Jesse wiped his hands on a rag.
"Depends on who's looking."
"Fair," the man said. "My name is Dean Mercer. I represent a private legal concern."
"Not interested," Jesse muttered, already turning away.
But Dean didn't leave.
"You might want to see the letter before you dismiss it."
He pulled a sleek envelope from his inner jacket pocket.
Held it like it was radioactive.
---
Jesse didn't take it.
So I did.
Dean didn't resist. Just nodded.
"It's regarding the estate of Martin Monroe"
Jesse froze.
I looked at him. "Your… father right?"
His jaw clenched.
Dean added, "He passed last week. Jesse is listed as next of kin."
I could feel Jesse's body tightening beside me. Every muscle coiled like he was preparing for something violent.
---
"I didn't know," Jesse said, voice low. Dangerous.
"We figured as much. He left instructions to withhold until after the service."
"Typical," Jesse muttered.
Dean hesitated.
"There's more. A will. A property deed. Conditions."
"What kind of conditions?" I asked.
Dean looked at Jesse.
"He'll want to read it himself."
He turned, buttoned his coat, and offered a final nod.
"You know where to reach me."
Then he got in the car.
And left.
---
The silence afterward was deafening.
Jesse stared at the envelope in my hand like it might bite him.
I held it out.
"Want me to open it?"
He shook his head. "Not yet."
"You okay?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then—
"I haven't answered that name in ten years. Thought I could bury it."
"You didn't bury it," I said quietly. "You survived it."
---
Later that night, I found the envelope unopened on the kitchen counter.
And Jesse?
Sitting on the porch.
Staring into the dark like it held answers.
I sat beside him.
Said nothing.
Just waited.
And finally, he whispered:
"If he left me something… what the fuck am I supposed to do with it?"
I reached over. Laced our fingers together.
"Maybe not destroy it. Maybe just… face it."
---
And when he leaned into me, head resting on my shoulder, I realized:
This wasn't about inheritance.
It was about the weight of a name.
And Jesse?
He was finally strong enough to carry his own.