Chapter 80

Rain slanted against the window lattice as Michael Stone stepped into the old house, his straw raincoat dripping. The rhythmic patter of water from the eaves filled the air.

"Uncle's here!" Lily's bright voice called from the kitchen.

Michael shook the water from his raincoat, his gaze sweeping over Richard and George Jr., who shrank back like frightened quails in the corner—clearly still remembering the last time they'd been disciplined.

"Father. Mother." He strode into the main hall, where his two older brothers, Robert and William, were already seated at the square table.

John Stone Sr. tapped his pipe, the gray smoke curling in the dim glow of the kerosene lamp. "Michael's here. Sit down."

From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes as Lily and her sisters cleared the remnants of dinner. Mary emerged from the inner room carrying a red cloth bundle. She unwrapped it layer by layer, revealing a stack of crumpled bills.

"Three hundred twenty dollars, sixty-eight cents," she said, her fingers brushing over the money. "Your father and I have decided to split it equally among the three families."

"Mother!" Patricia's voice rose sharply. "Didn't Michael already get his share when he moved out?"

The room fell so silent that the raindrops hitting the roof tiles became deafening.

Michael narrowed his eyes, catching the calculating glint in his sister-in-law's expression. Slowly, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the firm lines of muscle along his arms.

"Forgotten already?" His tone was measured. "When I left, I didn’t take so much as a chopstick from this house."

Mary slammed her palm on the table. "Patricia! The money for Michael’s house came from his wife’s family. If you’re so envious, why don’t you ask your family to build you one?"

Patricia flushed scarlet, opening her mouth to retort, but William yanked her back with a sharp tug.

A soft scoff came from the corner. Elizabeth, stitching a shoe sole, ran her needle through her hair, her lips curling in faint derision.

"I remember," Michael said, his voice like ice, "when Patricia married into this family, she didn’t even have a decent quilt to her name."

The rain suddenly intensified, heavy drops hammering against the stone pavement like the firecrackers from that long-ago wedding day. Patricia’s face drained of color, her nails digging into her palms.

John’s pipe struck the table with a decisive crack. "The money gets split three ways. Anyone who objects can get out of the Stone family!"

The kerosene lamp’s flame flickered violently, casting the shadows of their varied expressions onto the mottled earthen walls. Outside, a thunderclap split the sky, illuminating the cold glint in Michael’s eyes.