CHAPTER TWO
INHERITANCE

     LUKE Maybank was the second to drop, but of course no one noticed—or cared. He'd been hiding from the law for so long, the island had assumed he'd managed to leave the country by now.

     Now, Chandler Groff sat in his newly inherited house on Goat Island by himself—a smug expression on his face as he stared mockingly at the painting of his deceased wife.

     A scotch on the rocks resided on the end table, the condensation dripping onto the fancy coaster. The man, himself, was dawned in a fancy silk pajama top with matching pants, completely oblivious to the shadows creeping outside his windows—unaware that this would be his last drink ever.

     The landline that Wes had absolutely refused to get rid of rung, breaking the smug man from his malicious trance. His brows furrowed, blue eyes glancing briefly to his watch—who would possibly be calling at this hour?

     Begrudgingly, he answered the phone, "Hello?"

     A distorted voice crackled through the receiver, bringing forth goosebumps along every inch of his skin. "Hello, Chandler."

     "Who is this?" He asked, trying his hardest to hide the tremble in his voice. "Why're you calling this late?"

     He was answered with silence, a cold sweat breaking through his pores as his paranoid gaze flickered between each window; the property was hidden in the abyss of the night sky, leaving him blind to the dangers lurking beyond the panes of glass.

     A figure loomed behind him, dark cloak blending in with the shadowed hallway that lead into the room, ghastly white mask contrasting the abyss around them. They raised a gloved hand, a shiny hunting knife glistening in the firelight as the voice finally crackled through the receiver again. "Turn around."

     Chandler Groff dropped the phone, spinning around entirely with wide eyes. He knew he couldn't reach his rifles, nor could he reach any escape route—not with death looming over him from behind the armchair. He contemplated yelling, seeing if he could stun the threat long enough to escape, but before he could even open his mouth, a sharp pain struck across the front of his throat. Warmth soon began creeping down his neck and chest, and he suddenly couldn't breathe; lifting a shaky hand, he felt the source of the warmth, choking further when he saw the crimson staining his palm.

     He slowly began to slump over the back of the couch, blue eyes pricking with tears as he stared into the empty eye sockets of the mask; the coughing soon faded, quickly replaced by a sickening gurgling as he fell entirely limp.

     The figure looked to their left, smiling under the mask when they saw their partner standing there in a matching costume. The shorter figure held a forged note in their gloved hand, one exposing Chandler Groff for what he was: a murderer, a conman, and a deadbeat father. This way, his estranged son would inherit everything, he wouldn't remain penniless.

     The taller of the two placed the knife in Groff's right hand, flicking some drops of blood onto the note, before both cloaked figures fled Goat Island and the Genrette estate.

...

     Jordyn stifled a yawn as she trudged toward the front door of the Chateau. Her oak-brown hair was a tangled mess, and her oversized t-shirt hung loosely, brushing just above her knees. The morning sun filtered through the trees, but it did little to improve her mood. Whoever had the audacity to wake her up so early better have had a damn good reason—she wasn't opposed to getting aggressive.

     With a deep breath, she swung the door open, her tired eyes meeting the scene outside. Three figures stood on the porch: Victor Shoupe, Kiara Carrera, and Pope Heyward. Each wore an expression that hinted at trouble—confusion, apprehension, and unease painted across their faces. Jordyn's brows furrowed, her hickory eyes locking onto the faded blue ones of Officer Shoupe.

     "Jordyn," Shoupe greeted with a curt nod. "Is Maybank here?"

     Before she could respond, a familiar, sun-bronzed arm draped lazily over her shoulder. A sleepy, raspy voice followed. "Yeah, I'm here." JJ Maybank leaned casually into her, his blonde hair tousled from sleep as he peered at the trio on the porch. His voice, though relaxed, carried a note of suspicion. "What brings you by, Shoupe?"

     Victor Shoupe let out a weary sigh, briefly looking at the ground before meeting the young man's eyes. "Can I come in?"

     The couple exchanged a glance before stepping aside. The group filed into the living room, Pope and Kiara muttering subdued greetings as they passed. Shoupe settled on the couch, his demeanor heavy with unspoken tension. Jordyn sank into an armchair, JJ perching on the armrest beside her, his posture wary. His piercing blue eyes narrowed as he fixed them on the officer.

     "Alright," JJ prompted, his tone tinged with impatience. "What's this about?"

     Shoupe leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied the young couple. "What do you know about Chandler Groff?"

     The blonde tilted his head, frowning as he racked his memory. Jordyn's eyes darted between him and the officer, her own curiosity piqued. After a moment, JJ shrugged. "He's Genrette's son-in-law, right? The guy whose wife and kid drowned?"

     The man nodded solemnly. "That's him. But there's more to the story. Chandler Groff took his life last night." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. "And he left a note. A note that mentioned you, Maybank."

     He blinked, confusion flashing across his face. "What? Why the hell would he be writing about me?"

     Without a word, Shoupe reached into his bag and pulled out a manila envelope. He handed it to the twenty year old, his lips pressed into a thin line. "He confessed to the murders of Larissa and Wes Genrette. And he said that his son didn't drown. Instead, he said he dropped the kid off with Luke Maybank."

     Jordyn's breath hitched, her hand instinctively tightening on the armrest. JJ's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "That's bullshit."

     Shoupe's voice remained steady, though his eyes reflected the gravity of the situation. "At first, I didn't believe it either. But we ran the DNA—yours and his—through the system."

     His eyes narrowed. "How the hell do you have my DNA?"

     "Previous arrest," He replied flatly. "And it matched. JJ, you're the biological son of Larissa Genrette and Chandler Groff. That makes you the sole inheritor of Goat Island and the Genrette estate."

     The room fell into stunned silence. The blonde stared blankly at Shoupe, the words struggling to sink in. Jordyn reached out, her hand gently resting on his thigh in a silent gesture of comfort. "JJ..." she murmured, her voice laced with concern.

     But he remained frozen, his mind a storm of disbelief and unanswered questions.

     Shoupe rose to his feet, sensing the weight of his revelation sinking into JJ's silence. He glanced at the young man, his usually sharp expression softening just slightly. "Look, Maybank, I know this is a lot to take in. I'll give you some time to process everything. But we'll need to talk soon—there's a lot to sort out."

     He gave a stiff nod, his lips pressed into a thin line. Shoupe lingered for a moment as if he wanted to say more but ultimately thought better of it. With a brief glance at Kiara and Pope, he let himself out, the sound of the door clicking shut breaking the heavy silence.

     The silence that followed was deafening. Jordyn shifted in her seat, her eyes fixed on JJ's profile. His face remained stoic, unreadable. Her heart ached at the sight, and she moved closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

     Pope was the first to speak, stepping closer to his friend with an expression torn between concern and disbelief. "Man... are you okay? That's a lot to take in."

     JJ didn't respond immediately. His face remained stoic, unreadable, as if carved from stone. But then, a single tear slipped down his cheek, followed by another. He sat frozen, his body stiff, but the quiet trail of tears betrayed the turmoil inside him.

     "Jayj..." Kiara's voice broke as she crouched beside him, placing a gentle hand on his knee. "We're here, okay? We'll figure this out together. You're not alone."

     Jordyn, still seated in the armchair, reached for JJ's hand, intertwining her fingers with his. "You've got us, babe," she whispered, her tone steady and reassuring. "No matter what this means."

     The blonde's gaze dropped to his lap, his lips barely moving. "Thanks," he muttered, voice raw and hoarse.

     Pope, visibly unsettled, turned away to look out the window, his hands shoved into his pockets. "I just... I can't wrap my head around it," he said, shaking his head. "That guy dropping you off with Luke? And the murders? It's insane."

     Kiara stood and joined him, staring out at the horizon as she whispered to him. "Yeah, it's insane, alright. And now he's got to deal with all of it. I can't even imagine what that feels like."

     As their friends' backs were turned, JJ and Jordyn's demeanor shifted. His stoic expression broke—not with pain, but with a sly, knowing smirk. His eyes darted to his girlfriend, who mirrored the gesture with a subtle wink. A spark of shared mischief passed between them, an unspoken understanding solidifying their bond.

     When their friends turned back to face them, the couple's expressions had seamlessly returned to ones of exhaustion and quiet grief. Jordyn wiped her thumb across JJ's cheek, pretending to dry his tears, and he drew in a deep breath, letting his face return to its carefully crafted mask of vulnerability.

     Kiara stepped closer, her voice soft and careful. "We're here for you, dude. Whatever you need."

     JJ nodded, his gaze dropping again as if overcome. "Thanks, Kie," he murmured. But beneath his bowed head and quiet demeanor, the faintest trace of amusement lingered in the corners of his mouth, shared only with the brunette on his left.

     "We're always here for you, man," Pope said earnestly, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder.

     "Yeah," the curly haired girl added, her eyes still full of concern. "We'll figure this out together, okay? The four of us."

     JJ nodded slowly, but as Jordyn's fingers brushed against his, hidden from view, the smirk threatened to resurface. Beneath the weight of grief and confusion his friends believed they were witnessing, there was something far darker—and far more thrilling—that he and Jordyn shared.

     The truth was, JJ didn't need time to process Chandler Groff's confession. Everything was perfectly planned, crafted to their benefit—and now, with Goat Island in their grasp, it was time for the plan to continue.

—b speaks!
i'm so damn sorry this took so long to get out; my wisdom teeth have been killing me, plus my daughter's gotten more active in recent weeks lmao