My Stepbrother's Price

My name is Iris Delmont. I'm 22 years old and just moved to this small town called Millfield, Oregon—population under five thousand, the kind of place where everyone knows what you had for dinner last night.

My mom Linda finally married Robert Cross, a gentle lawyer, making me the stepsister to his son Nolan.

Nolan is three years older than me and runs the family law firm.

And he seems to have made paying women to disappear his professional specialty.

That Wednesday afternoon, I brought him sandwiches Mom made. She insisted we needed to "build sibling bonds," which I personally thought was a terrible idea, but arguing would only make her more anxious.

I pushed open the wooden door of Cross Law Firm. Mrs. Patterson, the receptionist, looked up at me.

"Good afternoon, dear Iris. Nolan's in the legal aid center, last room upstairs."

I nodded and climbed the creaking wooden stairs. The hallway was quiet, only my footsteps echoing. I heard low conversation coming from the last room, the door not completely closed.

I raised my hand to knock but heard the conversation inside.

"Mr. Cross..." It was a woman's voice, young and trembling.

"This should cover your relocation expenses. Consider it a clean slate." Nolan's voice was cold and professional, like handling a contract.

I gently pushed the door open a crack and saw a woman about 25 standing in front of Nolan. She wore faded jeans and a worn sweater, holding a sleeping boy who looked three or four. The child's small face rested against his mother's shoulder.

Nolan wore a dark blue suit, looking like a model from GQ magazine, except for that cold expression.

I stayed hidden behind the door, listening.

The woman continued: "But why are you doing this? I never asked for money..."

"Hazel, listen to me," Nolan said, his voice carrying some emotion I couldn't understand. "Sometimes leaving is the best solution for everyone involved."

He picked up a check from his desk. As he slid it across the mahogany surface toward her, his hand paused for just a moment, and the check's angle aligned perfectly with the door crack. In that instant, I clearly saw the number: $20,000.

'What? Twenty thousand dollars? For legal consultation?'

My jaw nearly dropped. I didn't make that much working at the library for a year, yet he just casually gave it to a stranger.

Hazel took the check, tears in her eyes. "I... I don't understand. We never even went to court."

"This is better than court," Nolan said. "Take your son somewhere safe. Start over. Don't look back."

Just then, I accidentally bumped the doorframe. The door made a slight creaking sound.

Damn.

Nolan looked up and saw me. His expression instantly became even colder. "Sorry, I didn't know you were busy..." I said awkwardly, trying to pretend I just arrived.

Hazel hugged her son tighter and quickly pocketed the check. "I should go," she told Nolan, then hurried toward the door.

As she passed me, I saw the tears in her eyes. She looked both grateful and confused, like someone who had received salvation but didn't know why.

"Thank you, Mr. Cross. Really, thank you," she stopped at the door and said, looking back.

Nolan nodded but didn't respond. Hazel disappeared down the hallway with her child, leaving only a faint scent of laundry detergent.

I stood there, holding the sandwich bag, feeling like I'd just witnessed a secret transaction.

Nolan began organizing the documents on his desk, completely ignoring my presence. His movements were mechanical, like executing a procedure he'd repeated many times.

"So..." I tried to break the silence, "what was that about?"

He didn't look up. "That's none of your business."

"Of course not," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "I just brought sandwiches. Mom made them."

I placed the bag on his desk, but he didn't even glance at it.

"Thanks. But I'm not hungry."

Since I moved here, he'd maintained this distance with me. Not malicious coldness, more like... wariness. As if I were some contagious disease.

"Alright," I said. "I'll head back then. Tell Mom you were busy."

"Tell her I appreciate the gesture."

As I left the office, my mind was racing.

I had never seen Nolan give anyone that much money.

Walking down Main Street, I tried to understand everything I'd just witnessed.

When I got home, I went straight to my room. I sat at my desk and pulled out my diary. I'd been keeping a diary since I was sixteen; the habit helped me organize my thoughts.

[October 15th

Something strange happened today. I caught Nolan giving a woman named Hazel twenty thousand dollars. Twenty thousand! To leave town and start a new life.

He said it was an out-of-court settlement, but that woman looked like she had no idea what she was settling. She looked scared, confused, but also grateful.

There's a story here. I'm certain.

I stopped writing and looked out at the back garden. Moonlight illuminated the lawn, everything peaceful and quiet. But an idea was growing wildly in my mind.

What if this wasn't the first time? What if Nolan had a habit of giving other women money? What if he'd made paying to make "problems" disappear his standard operating procedure?

I remembered the wariness in his eyes when he looked at me. From day one, he'd treated me like some kind of threat. At first I thought it was just because he wasn't used to having a stepsister, but now I was beginning to suspect there might be another reason.

Maybe, in his eyes, I was just another problem that needed "solving."

If money is his way of solving problems, then maybe I can become a problem that needs "solving."]

I closed my diary, a smile forming on my lips. Tomorrow I would begin my research. After all, as a librarian, I was best at digging up information.

And if I was right, this little experiment might be more profitable than my library salary.