Scene 1 in Beyond Trust

This scene is NOT the finished product. Only my generous offering to you for your reading pleasure.

Still working on a cover.

Chapter 1-Scene 1

What a night. Tyson ran a hand down his face, trying to rub away the weariness.

Each night, insomnia pressed down on him, thick and suffocating. Even sleeping pills couldn’t quiet the relentless echoes of war—explosions flashing behind his closed eyes, the phantom scent of gunpowder, and the distant whir of helicopters. He’d tried to ignore it for months when he returned home, then the VA doctors eventually diagnosed him with PTSD.

By 5 a.m., he had showered, dressed, and gone to his office, one floor down in the Byford & Sons law firm building. Upon his return home to Calf Creek, he renovated the top floor. The sharp scent of strong imported coffee filled the air as he poured himself a cup, letting the warmth seep into his hands. He ignored the stack of briefs on his desk, his gaze drifting to the window, searching for anything to distract him from the heaviness.

Tyson stared out at the lit buildings of the quiet, small town. The public park remained in darkness, but in his mind’s eye, every tree, bush, dog park, path, and playground came into focus.

He gripped his mug tighter and waited for the rising sun to bring the park to life. An hour had eked by until one by one, the town’s lights went out.

He drew in a breath and took another swallow of coffee from a fresh cup. The aroma filled his nostrils, waking him further. Tyson had chosen this office for the peace it offered. Watching people in the park across the street soothed some of his anxiety.

“You’re right on time.” An auburn-haired woman and a yellow dog jogged down the path. He’d seen them many times over the past year—jogging, playing fetch, or tug-of-war at the dog park. Something about the woman seemed familiar—the way she moved, the tilt of her head.

Where have I seen her before?

He couldn’t put his finger on how he might know her. He’d grown up here. His family’s wealth and influence reached every street—sometimes it felt like they owned half the town. So he’d probably seen her around.

Under his mother and granddad’s tutelage, he never lived a life of luxury, unlike his dad and older brother. His mom and granddad made sure he stayed grounded, level-headed, and considerate of others’ feelings.

All that changed during his junior year of high school. Racked with grief, he had no one to talk to, not his family, especially not his family. So he sought attention, and he wore it well, with girls falling over him and classmates wanting to do his homework just for the distinction. It was his money, not him, that drew people, and he knew it.

When the jogger and the dog disappeared from sight, he set his curiosity aside and focused on the town coming to life.

He checked his watch and sighed. “Two interviews today.” He suspected both candidates were bubble-headed women who thought the position was entry-level. It was far from that. He needed more than someone who just looked for people—he wanted an employee who could research and help build each person’s life story for the probate court. These people had inherited property, money, stocks, bonds, and wealth—all the heirs needed to be found.

Dealing with someone’s loved ones after they passed on hit home in every case. Oh, Mom, I wish you were still here. If you hadn’t gotten in your car that night, drunk, you’d be alive today. I’m not blaming Dad or Doyle for arguing with you or for not keeping you from driving. Granddad died two months later. Then, a year after high school, Haylee, the woman I wanted to marry, ran off with a mechanic. How was I supposed to process all that? My heart burst, and I haven’t trusted a woman since.

A sudden sob tore from his throat, raw and unexpected. Tyson headed to the washroom next to his office, the cold tiles pressing against his palms as he braced himself at the sink. He splashed icy water on his face, gasping at the shock, willing his hands to stop shaking.

His cell phone dinged with a notification that someone was on their way up in the elevator. Never wanting to be blindsided by anyone entering without his knowledge, he had the security system alert him whenever anyone was there after office hours. The entire top floor was his apartment, and he didn’t welcome clients or visitors there.

Sounds of others chatting and moving through the reception area echoed. He had to switch to a professional persona, regardless of how he felt or his circumstances. He straightened his silk tie and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

He glanced down at his motionless legs, bitterness pricking in his chest. Dad was right. No woman would ever see past this chair, past the metal and leather, and want to be with me. Not really.

A fist pounded his chest.

Accept it and move on. Everyone calls me a tyrant since I returned home, so get your head around that and live with it.