The fluorescent lights hummed above the worn courtroom table.

Malachi, Miguel, their mother—a baby nestled against her chest—and the lawyer sat facing each other.

The lawyer, a bald man with a neatly trimmed goatee, sported a surprisingly loud striped suit.

"Thank you all again," he began, his voice smooth and practiced.

His eyes, however, lingered a little too long on their mother's face, a subtle, unsettling smile playing on his lips—a clear breach of professional decorum that didn't go unnoticed by the sharp-eyed brothers.

She shifted uncomfortably, her hand instinctively moving to adjust the baby's blanket.

Miguel cleared his throat, a sharp sound that cut through the lawyer's practiced charm.

Both brothers leaned forward, their attention suddenly laser-focused on the proceedings, their protective instincts already on high alert due to the lawyer's inappropriate behavior.

The lawyer, momentarily flustered by Miguel's interruption and the brothers' intense scrutiny, continued, "Regarding the JDF enrollment… if the brothers choose to participate, they will be granted full access to Mr. Shaka's research."

Miguel scoffed. "Yeah, that's never going to happen," he said, his tone dismissive.

Malachi chuckled, a low rumble in his chest.

"Very well," the lawyer said, smoothly recovering.

"Moving on.

The estate will be divided as follows: your mother will receive fifty percent of the financial assets.

The remaining fifty percent will be divided equally between the two of you. Miguel, you will inherit the Audi R8."

Miguel's eyes widened, a grin splitting his face.

He practically bounced in his seat, a stark contrast to his usual reserved demeanor.

The sheer childish glee was palpable.

Malachi, his hand at his jaw, side-eyed his childish brother, a hint of amusement and exasperation playing across his features.

"Malachi," the lawyer continued, "you will inherit the secluded house in Blue Mountain."

Malachi's eyes went wide as he heard the news.

"What?" he exclaimed.

Suddenly, Miguel reached over and gave Malachi's shoulder a playful shake, laughing heartily.

Malachi looked over to see his mother smiling warmly at him.

She raised her eyebrows expectantly, and Malachi found himself nodding in response, still processing the unexpected inheritance.

Then came the reading of the personal effects.

Their mother received a collection of antique books, each inscribed with loving messages from their father; a hand-painted watercolor of a mountain landscape, strikingly similar to the view from the Blue Mountain house; and a small, worn leather-bound journal filled with his private thoughts and sketches.

The lawyer's eyebrows rose; even the brothers exchanged surprised glances.

Malachi, staring at the items listed, felt a sudden, overwhelming wave of realization.

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He hadn't known his father had been this… sentimental.

The sheer volume and personal nature of the items suggested a depth of wealth and emotion far beyond what he'd ever imagined.

The lawyer's surprise, and even his own, spoke volumes about just how much their father had truly loved their mother.

As the lawyer shuffled through the remaining pages of the will, he allowed himself a moment of levity, attempting to mask his earlier unprofessional behavior.

"Looks like you've all hit the jackpot!" he quipped, a smile tugging at his lips.

Then, in a blatant attempt to cover his discomfort and inappropriate earlier behavior, he made a remark regarding their mother that was both inappropriate and suggestive, his words dripping with unprofessional innuendo.

Instantly, the atmosphere shifted.

The brothers stood up simultaneously, a wave of protective outrage emanating from them, their earlier amusement completely gone.

Their mother, with the baby still cradled on her hip, rose calmly but firmly, addressing the lawyer with cool courtesy.

"Okay, Mr. Patrick, thank you so much for everything.

Have a good day."

She extended her hand to maintain decorum, but as Mr. Patrick reached out, Miguel abruptly interjected.

Suddenly, Miguel's hand began to glow with a fiery orange hue.

He clutched the lawyer's outstretched hand with an iron grip, a silent warning against any further inappropriate behavior.

Mr. Patrick's eyes widened in shock as Miguel's burning hot palm made contact with his skin.

A searing pain shot through his hand, and he instinctively tried to pull away, but Miguel's grip was unyielding.

"We appreciate your assistance," Miguel said coolly, his words carrying an edge that contrasted with his polite tone.

The lawyer winced in agony as Miguel's fiery power scorched his flesh, leaving a angry red mark on his palm.

Mr. Patrick quickly yanked his hand back, shaking it frantically in a futile attempt to douse the searing pain.

Wisps of smoke curled up from his blistered skin, and he fought to contain his anguished cries, not wanting to draw further attention to the situation.

Malachi and his mother watched, stunned by Miguel's sudden display of supernatural strength and control over fire.

With Miguel and their mother already leaving the room, Malachi's glare, cold and heavy, lingered on the Lawyer.

It was a look that could freeze blood, a death stare that spoke of simmering rage.

Inside, Malachi was a storm brewing, his fists clenched, every muscle coiled tight, yearning to unleash the fury building within.

He imagined the lawyer cowering beneath his blows, a pathetic rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf.

The lawyer, sensing the predator's gaze, remained frozen in place, a single bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

Then, from the doorway, his mother's voice called out, "Malachi," snapping his attention back to her with an urgent head jerk.

Her eyes said it all: let it go.

Malachi glared back at the lawyer one last time, thinking venomously, " You lucky."

Malachi bit his lip hard and stormed out, rage bubbling beneath the surface.

Outside the courthouse, the family regrouped.

The baby stirred, letting out a tiny wail that their mother quickly soothed with gentle rocking.

Miguel turned to her, hesitating for just a moment.

"Ma?" he began.

"Yeah?" she replied, focused on the baby.

"Gramps wants us to attend this dance party on his behalf."

A soft smile played across her lips. "Aw, he loves you guys."

Meanwhile, Malachi, crouched beside his sister, was busy pulling faces that sent her into fits of laughter, momentarily forgetting the world around them.

"So, when is it?" their mother asked.

Malachi checked the time, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Not too far from now," he said. Just then, his phone buzzed.

"Here he is now," he murmured, bringing his wrist to his ear as Miguel leaned in.

The vibrant voice of their grandfather burst through the speaker.

"Hey, what's up, man? Hope you guys haven't forgotten about me."

"Nah, nah, just taking care of something with Mom," Malachi assured.

"Oh yeah? Let me talk to her."

Their mother took the call, her voice softening. "Hey, Mr. Shaka."

"Hey, Maria, how's it going?"

"I'm good.

How about you?"

"I'm not a hundred percent, but I'm holding on."

"That's good to hear."

"Hey, I'm going to steal your boys for a night, all right?"

She chuckled. "That's fine. Do me a favor and keep them!"

The brothers exchanged mock-indignant looks, which only added to the laughter.

"How's my little princess?" Gramps inquired.

"She's all right, acting like she's all grown up already."

"Heh heh, they don't stay small for long."

"You're not wrong," she said softly. "All right, I'm going to let you go."

"Take care."

As the call ended, their mother kissed their foreheads, whispering, "Take care, love you."

She walked toward her car, Malachi waving enthusiastically to his sister. "Bye, Malia!"

Miguel, grinning, jested, "You're actually a nice guy, you know."

Malachi shot him a mock glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Miguel chuckled, "You don't like anybody. Glad you like your sister."

"Negro ain't she your sister too".

They exchanged playful shoves just as a BMW pulled up beside them.

Bianca leaned out, disappointment clear as boys mother's jeep passed by, honking a farewell.

"Oh man, I missed her." She sighed.

The brothers hopped into the car, exchanging fist bumps with Bianca.

"So, how'd it go?" she asked.

Miguel in the back seat stretched his arm along the chair, a contented smile stretching across his face.

"Let's just say we're rich."

"Weren't you guys already filthy-rich?" Bianca teased.

Miguel laughed, nodding.

"Yeah, but now we're even richer."

Malachi chimed in, "Alright, how do you feel about going to a dance party?" Before he said anything, he was wondering how to ask her.

He wanted to sound cool, but his nerves were getting to him.

He fumbled with his words, "So, uh, I was thinking… maybe… you know, we could…"

He stopped himself, realizing how ridiculous he sounded.

Taking a deep breath, he tried again.

"Would you, like, be interested in going to a dance party…?"

Bianca raised an eyebrow, mischief in her eyes.

"Dance party? With you?"

"Yeah, with us," Malachi confirmed.

Bianca considered the invitation, her eyebrows rising slightly with amusement.

"Hmmmm, okay," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes.

A silent exchange passed between the brothers, a shared look of relief and satisfaction.

Miguel broke the moment with a grin, leaning back into his seat as he remarked, "Well, that went well."

Bianca leaned back against the headrest, a tired smile hinting at the corners of her mouth.

"I just got back from school and honestly, I need a break," she confessed.

"Plus, spending time with the best people in my life? Yeah, I definitely need that."

As she spoke, Malachi pretended to brush invisible dust from his pants, trying to play it cool.

From the back seat, Miguel watched his brother's antics with a smirk and chimed in, "Well, for one, I'm grateful we've got a ride to go.

Beats having security stalking us any day."

Bianca chuckled, shifting the car into drive.

"We just need Dante to come back, and then the gang will be complete," she said, a twinkle in her eye as the car smoothly pulled away, carrying them toward their next adventure.

To be continued…