Don't Go by L.J. Breedlove (series like harry potter txt) 📕

was in major rebellion anyway. But my grandparents raised me. And when they retired, they set up a trust fund for me. I’ve only used it for tuition — my friends think I get financial aid, like they do. So, the money just... accumulates. And I have deeds to most of their property in Portland as well, but it isn’t liquid. Unless you know someone who wants a 5,000 square foot house in the Portland Heights?” he said, almost hopefully. All of the property was in a management company. He hadn’t done anything about unloading it, but the property market was improving.

Vincent Ruiz whistled and sat back. “You’ve got legitimate assets,” he agreed. “But we’re probably talking six figures in cash. Can you get that? This week?”

Ryan tapped in a telephone number and identified himself. He chatted briefly with the bank manager who handled his trust fund, and then asked for its current balance. “Liquid funds,” he specified.

“You’re going to spend some of it?” the man joked. “Twice in the same year? What is it this time? A new car? That Prius you’re driving is ancient.”

Ryan laughed. “I like my Prius,” he said.

The bank manager gave him a figure. “If you need more than that, it’s available,” he said. “But I’ve been putting it back into CDs, because you didn’t seem to have any interest in using it. No point in just letting it sit.”

Ryan sensed that letting money sit was nearly a sin in his book. “I think this will suffice for now,” he said. “But I do want to get rid of the big house, and I’d like a current inventory of other properties that were deeded over to me.”

“We can handle that sale for you. We’d be delighted to do so,” the manager said. Ryan thought he would. “Would you like us to email you the property inventory?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ryan said, and ended the call. There was more money available than even he thought. It suddenly seemed strange how much money his grandparents had set aside for him, only to abandon him like they’d done. And then he had another thought. Just exactly when did his biological mother get out of prison? And which side of 18 had he been on? He set that aside. His problems were not on the table right now.

“We’re good financially,” he said.

Vincent nodded and looked at his nephew. “We can bring her here, do you think? Or send them to Seattle.”

“I’m concerned about getting Teresa anywhere near Portland,” Ryan interjected. “And she’d have to go through Portland to get to Seattle.”

“San Diego?” Vic suggested. “San Francisco is closer to where she is at. But San Diego is better.”

Ryan winced. “San Diego might be problematic for me personally.”

“Then San Francisco,” Vincent Ruiz said. “We have a joint agreement with a firm there. They can have all the paperwork ready for the two of you when you arrive. I assume that is your plan? To take your son and rendezvous with Teresa?”

Ryan nodded.

“You need to know this isn’t the equivalent to eloping to Vegas,” the attorney warned. “You’re likely looking at a week in San Francisco, then six months or so in Mexico to establish residency there while the state department processes her application for citizenship as your wife.”

As his wife. He liked the sound of that. He hoped Teresa would too. Well, she’d just have to get used to it, he thought.

“A lengthy honeymoon in Mexico sounds good to me,” he said.

“And your college career?”

Ryan started to shrug, then decided to answer. “Being the editor of the newsroom is a year-long commitment. With the challenges we faced because of COVID, the board extended my term of office for a second year. So, I postponed graduation. Not uncommon among editors — in fact it’s traditional.” He laughed, thinking about past editors.

“I can graduate without much more work,” he added. “The editorship is a bit more problematic, but I can solve that.”

“Oh, you’re on the five-year plan?” Vic said with a grin.

“Six-year, actually,” Ryan said. Vic laughed.

The intercom buzzed, and Vic picked up the phone.

“Your Provost is here,” he said. He looked at his uncle. “My office seems a bit small for this caliber of meeting. Perhaps yours? Or the conference room?”

Vincent nodded. “This way,” he said.

Chapter 20

3 p.m. Monday, Immigration Law Ltd — Ryan looked at his watch. “I’m being billed for all this, aren’t I?” he said in a low voice to Vic as they followed his uncle down a hallway.

“And at our top rates, now that I know you’re not a broke college student,” Vic said cheerfully. “Take heart. You’re helping fund someone else who doesn’t have your resources.”

Ryan snorted.

“By the way, I don’t think the Provost knows my family connections, and I’d prefer to keep it that way,” Ryan said.

“Noted,” Vincent Ruiz said before opening the conference door.

McShane was already in there. He was leaning slightly against the credenza along the wall opposite the door. And as Ryan had come to expect, he dominated the room. Ryan introduced the two attorneys — his attorneys, he thought with a mental eye roll — and everyone sat down. Cherry wood paneling, an expensive black stained table and black leather chairs. It looked a lot like the Provost’s conference room on campus, except the lawyers had Mexican art on the walls: a small rug, some Day of the Dead masks, a series of photographs — of the Yucatan, Ryan thought.

Ryan briefed the provost.

“I see,” McShane said thoughtfully, when he was done. “Something has to be done about Professor Black.”

Ryan had a brief flash of Black’s body disposed of in an unmarked grave somewhere. He didn’t think that was what McShane was planning, but if he was? He’d be glad to help.

“I’d like to see him teaching history 101 in some community college somewhere where he wakes up to tractors starting harvest in the fields at dawn and has to be on food stamps to make ends meet,” Ryan said grimly. It was