Chapter 2 - Wings Over the Midwest
Brooke stood by the bedroom window of her modest apartment in Indianapolis, watching the rain streak down the glass as the events of that morning replayed in her mind. Thirty-two years old and a senior cargo pilot for a major regional aviation firm, she had spent the last nine years of her life fighting for every single accomplishment. While Derek had coasted through life as their father’s golden-boy assistant at Sullivan Woodland Retreats—managing upscale vacation cabins and sprawling wooded properties across Ohio—Brooke had chosen a vastly different path.
Her passion for flight had started when she was just a little girl sitting in the passenger seat of old single-engine Cessnas while her father taught weekend hobbyists how to navigate the skies. Back then, Walter Sullivan hadn't been a wealthy real estate mogul; he had been a passionate flight instructor with grease under his fingernails and dreams bigger than his wallet. Brooke had inherited that exact same sky-hunger. But when she dropped out of her business administration program to enroll in flight school, her father’s reaction had been devastating.
She could still vividly remember the heavy silence that fell over his office the day she told him. Walter had stared at her across his heavy mahogany desk, his expression hardening from shock into profound disappointment. "Brooke, you already have a secure future waiting for you right here in the family company," he had said, his voice laced with quiet grievance. "Why would you throw all of that away for an unstable career?"
"Because I've dreamed of flying since I was a little girl, Dad," she had replied, her voice trembling but resolute.
Walter had turned away, gazing out the window at the rolling hills of Ohio before speaking his final verdict on the matter. "Well, I guess you've already decided."
From that moment on, a cold, invisible wall had erected itself between them. While Derek worked by their father's side, securing his position as the natural heir to the multimillion-dollar empire, Brooke carved out her existence thousands of feet in the air. Their phone calls dwindled into awkward, transactional exchanges. "Are you still flying?" Walter would ask. "Yes, Dad." "All right. Keep flying, then." That was the extent of it. No praise, no inquiries about her ratings, no acknowledgment of her safe landings through ferocious winter storms or perilous night approaches.
Brooke had pushed herself harder, earning her multi-engine rating, her commercial license, and eventually captaining heavy cargo transports. She achieved captain status through sheer grit, operating under the agonizing illusion that her father considered her a failure. Even when Walter’s heart began to fail him six months ago, and Brooke rushed to his hospital bedside to spend two agonizing days holding his frail hand, she couldn't bridge the gap. He had been too weak, too exhausted to speak of the past, leaving her with the bitter conviction that he had died wishing she had been more like Derek.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking her reverie. The caller ID displayed the name *Arthur Harrison, Esq.*
Brooke wiped a stray tear from her cheek, took a deep breath, and slid her thumb across the screen to answer. "Hello, Mr. Harrison."
"Brooke, my dear," the elderly attorney’s voice came through, steady and formal yet carrying a warm undercurrent. "I hope you made it back to Indianapolis safely. I am calling to remind you of our appointment tomorrow morning at ten o'clock sharp in my Columbus office. It's time to read your late father's final testament."
"I'll be there, Mr. Harrison," Brooke said, her voice firm. "And... are Derek and Aunt Eleanor scheduled to attend?"
May you like
A dry chuckle sounded on the other end of the line. "Oh, yes. They insisted on being there first thing. They are under a very specific, very lucrative impression regarding your father's estate. Let's just say tomorrow's reading is going to be... illuminating."
***
