Sell it.
Lease it.
Develop part of it.
Preserve it.
Or use it.
Dad looked at Derek.
“Do you want the workshop?”
Derek hesitated.
“Yes.”
Then Dad looked at me.
“And you?”
I laughed.
“I’m an accountant. My last successful woodworking project was a birdhouse that leaned.”
“You were nine.”
“It still leaned.”
Dad did not smile.
“The letter says Ruiz Brothers Workshop.”
“That was Granddad’s idea.”
“What’s yours?”
Nobody had asked me that.
I looked around the kitchen.
Mom was sewing a loose button onto Dad’s shirt.
Veronica had brought pastries from the bakery.
Derek waited quietly.
And I realized the inheritance question had always been wrong.
I did not want half of a workshop.
I wanted a reason to stop living like my family existed mainly through phone calls and bank transfers.
“I could handle the business side,” I said.
Derek blinked.
“What?”
“Books. Contracts. Pricing. Tax planning.”
