Currents of the heart, p.1
Currents of the Heart, page 1
Contents
Acknowledgments
~ Chapter One ~
~ Chapter Two ~
~ Chapter Three ~
~ Chapter Four ~
~ Chapter Five ~
~ Chapter Six ~
~ Chapter Seven ~
~ Chapter Eight ~
~ Chapter Nine ~
~ Chapter Ten ~
~ Chapter Eleven ~
~ Chapter Twelve ~
~ Chapter Thirteen ~
~ Chapter Fourteen ~
~ Chapter Fifteen ~
~ Chapter Sixteen ~
~ Chapter Seventeen ~
About the Author
Other Books in the Series
M.D. Neu
www.mdneu.com
Currents of the Heart
Copyright © 2025 by M.D. Neu
Cover Art by Samrat Acharjee
Formatting by Other Worlds Ink.
Editing by Rose Proofreading
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of M.D. Neu. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact M.D. Neu at the web addresses above or at info@mdneu.com
Printed in the USA
First Edition
October, 2025
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been possible without the support of the authors in the Haunted Heart: Season of the Witch collection, with a special shout-out to J.P. Jackson for organizing the series. A huge thank you to RoseProof (my editor), Samrat Acharjee for the wonderful cover art, and Other Worlds Ink (J. Scott Coatsworth) for the formatting and other advice. As always, I couldn’t do any of this without my wonderful husband, Eric.
~ Chapter One ~
Regan glanced up at the office building, a cool blast of air hitting his face from the car’s AC pulling his attention to his driving. As he passed the structure to make a U-turn on San Fernando, memories rushed to him. His last visit here he had to finalize the updated trust and sign the last of the documents regarding Max. Since that day, Regan avoided coming this way. Unfortunately, when the lawyer’s office called telling him he needed to meet with them, he pushed his sorrow aside, took Friday afternoon off, and drove downtown.
The polished tan and glass high rise in downtown San Jose wasn’t a bad looking building; in fact, the structure was one of the more attractive office buildings on Almaden. He appreciated the sleek stone and how the polished material complemented the glass window bands. Still, coming here brought up too many memories. He turned on Post Street and pulled into the building’s connected parking garage, leaving the gray cloudy day behind.
At least I don’t have to find parking.
Pushing the ignition button, he killed the engine and glanced into the rearview mirror. Running his fingers through his wavy hair, he saw more gray than he liked. He rubbed the black graphite hoop earrings that Max gave him on their first Christmas together. He hadn’t taken them off since. “That was a great day.”
He pushed the thoughts of Max aside and snatched up his cell and wallet before opening the door and stepping out onto the concrete. Scanning his surroundings, he stuffed his phone into his right front pocket with his keys and pushed his wallet into the opposite pocket. Regan popped open the passenger door and grabbed his jacket and pulled the lightweight covering on, to help fight off the damp and chill in the air. He sniffed at the cool oily musk surrounding him. His nose crinkled at the aroma. He tapped the door handle to lock the vehicle, and a spark shocked him.
“Dammit!” He shook his hand. With a sneer, he pulled his hand away and headed into the lobby.
The foul scent of the garage was replaced by the bleachy sweet scent of floor cleaner. Regan wasn’t sure which scent offended him more. At the elevator bank, he pushed the button… and nothing happened. He pressed the button a second time, again with no result. “What the hell?”
I don’t need this frustration. Not today.
“Oh, that happens.” A young woman in a fitted deep plum business suit pushed the call button, and the panel instantly lit up.
“I swear…” Regan huffed, avoiding eye contact with the woman. “I think electronics hate me.”
The woman glanced him up and down. “I doubt that’s the case—you’re probably having one of those days.” She beamed as they entered the lift together. “What floor?” she asked, pushing the button for the fourth floor as the elevator doors closed.
“Eleven, please.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets as his shoulders hunched.
“Oh…” She nodded as she pushed the button.
Quickly the elevator moved up the shaft and the door opened. “Good luck.” The woman nodded with a smile.
“Thank you.” Regan tried to push a smile through his tight lips, forcing himself to make eye contact however briefly.
Alone in the lift, he waited quietly the rest of the way to his destination, doing his best to avoid his reflection and failing. He needed a shave, but hadn’t been motivated. Who was he trying to impress? His appearance didn’t much matter for work, and unless he was going out, it was only him, so who really cared. With a ding, the door opened and he walked over to the receptionist.
A mix of muted warm colors complemented by a wood-toned reception desk greeted him. A 3D graphic sign announced the name of the law firm with stylized letters. Off to the sides were hallways and doors leading to different areas of the firm. By the windows with a view of the city, a couple of couches sat empty.
If I were to design this space, I wouldn’t have made these choices. Where’s the life? Where’s the personality? Where’s the color?
“Good afternoon,” the youngster in the light gray suit with white opened collar shirt at the receptionist desk greeted.
“Hi. I’m Regan Cruz; I have an appointment with Sandra Bishop.” He fidgeted with his hands as he spoke, trying not to frown.
“Right, Mr. Cruz. Have a seat and I’ll let Ms. Bishop’s assistant know you’re here.” The polite young man gestured to the sofas with too bright of a smile and too perky of a disposition.
“Thanks.” Regan tried to sound polite, but to his own ears he came off as rough and curt. Without another word, he moved over to the lounge and sat. He tapped his knees with his hands, unsure what to do with himself. He could pull out his phone and doom scroll, but he had enough of all the trauma and drama the world had on offer these days. Instead, he watched all the suits rushing about him, like trapped animals in a glass and concrete cage.
Why would anyone want to work like this?
Moments passed as a woman around Regan’s age appeared from a glass door. He knew the bright smile and tan-colored pantsuit with cream blouse at once. Helen was a bigger woman whose attire suited her as she understood how to dress her body and her shape. Regan noted how pretty she was. “Regan, it’s been a while,” Helen greeted.
He stood, forcing himself to extend a hand. “You know how much I love coming here.” He lifted his cheeks in what he hoped to be a pleasant expression, meeting her gaze momentarily before he peeked out the windows again.
“We were all sorry about Maxum.” Helen took his hand. “Much too young.”
He caught whiffs of her floral perfume. “I know it may sound harsh, but I’m glad the drunk driver died as well. I don’t know what I’d have done if she survived and Max...” He shifted his stance. “Anyway, two years is a long time.”
“It’s not harsh, it’s honest,” Helen assured him. “Shall we?” She gestured toward the inner office. “I like the scruff, by the way. It suits you.”
“Thanks.” Regan’s cheeks warmed as they walked.
She led them from the lobby.
“Why am I here?” he asked as they moved to the double glass doors, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “I thought we took care of everything with the trust and all that already?”
Helen lifted her ID for the door and instead of unlocking, the door buzzed. Helen pursed her lips and peeked over her shoulder to the youngster at the reception station.
With a beep, the door opened and the two walked through the double glass doors. “Gonna have to have facilities check my badge.” Helen smiled.
“Seems to be the theme of the day,” Regan commented as he stepped down the hall. “So, why am I here?”
“I can’t say.” Helen continued to guide them through the office.
“Can’t or won’t?” Regan grinned in her direction.
She smiled at him as she opened the conference room door. “Can I get you some water? Coffee?” She motioned to the credenza along the side wall of the conference room where several bottles of water sat, along with a basket of treats, cups, napkins, and three fancy silver thermoses that he assumed contained coffee, decaf, and hot water for tea.
“No thank you.” He walked over to the large window looking out at the city. Their home. His home. The place he made a life with Max. The view wasn’t great today, the hazy sky blocking the foothills, but he saw San Pedro Square.
When was the last time I was there?
A month after Max’s death, the police investigation finished and he stood in this same spot waiting to sign off on all the documents for their living trust. Since he and Max were only children and both their parents were gone, he needed to update the trust to ensure that all his wishes were reflected in the updated documentation. He didn’t want to leave anything to chance, or god forbid, the government.
So much paperwork. And for what? I’ll be dead… who cares.
He remembered all too well his mood that day. He tried not to take his anger and sadness out on Sandra, but Max was better at handling emotions than him. It didn’t help that his car battery was dead and for whatever reason the water heater decided to burst. It was a mess.
At least Sandra didn’t hold my shortness and frustration against me.
The door opened and pulled him from the images of the past, and he turned to greet Sandra, keeping the conference table and chairs as a barrier between them. “Hello, Sandra.” He again pushed what he hoped to be an amiable expression to his face.
“How are you, Regan?” she asked as she crossed over and greeted him with a hug. Sandra was a hugger, much like Maxum, and her gesture was now something Regan was grateful for despite making him uncomfortable. Given all she had done for them, and him, he returned the hug as sincerely as he could muster.
He stepped back. “I’ve been good, actually, better than the last time.”
She pointed. “Please sit down.” He noted the files stacked on the conference table.
“What’s all this?” He nodded toward the folders.
Sitting, she interlaced her fingers on top of the files, waiting for him to join her.
He found a chair across from Sandra and took his seat, his gaze not moving from the files. “Did we miss something?”
“Regan, as you know, I assisted you and Maxum with your living trust and estate planning.”
“Yeah, you worked with Max’s parents, they referred us to you. So?” His heart sank and his legs began to shake as he waited for the hammer to drop.
“And you know that I take client-attorney privilege seriously, as we all do.”
He licked his lips, unsure what to say as his hands began to silently drum on the table.
“To that effect”—she opened the folder in front of her—“Maxum had a personal estate and trust that you were not privy to—”
“What?” Regan’s voice rose as several of the water bottles on the credenza tipped over in their tray.
Both Sandra and Regan turned toward the noise, and saw several associates of Sandra’s rumble past the conference room.
Their lumbering must have caused the bottles to topple.
Sandra’s head shook back and forth slightly, her lips pulling tight, before she returned to Regan, ignoring the commotion. Nothing broke or spilled so Regan assumed it was fine, and if she couldn’t bother, neither would he.
He faced Sandra focusing on her lips as he spoke. “What’re you talking about?”
“Maxum had additional family assets that took us some time to sort out and investigate.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Regan snorted. “When his mother died in 2019, we settled all this. There was nothing else.” He spared a quick look meeting her gaze.
“That’s not quite accurate.” She pushed the documents toward Regan. “It’s all here.”
Regan snatched the files and started flipping through everything, shaking his head. A cabin in Boulder Creek, a house in Kings Beach, a house in Edmonton Canada, a condo in Puerto Vallarta Mexico, annuities and investment funds. “This… how?”
She started to open her mouth, but his gaze bore into her, cutting off any response. “But you never said—he never mentioned—” He pushed the documents back to her before standing and turning toward the window.
“Please, Regan.” She gestured to his chair.
“No. No… You’re telling me that the man I spent twenty-five years of my life with hid all this from me. He never mentioned any of this. I knew his family had some money, but… He…”
Sandra cleared her throat. “When Susan passed, their estate went to him and you. However, these assets stayed with Maxum and only Maxum. Once he passed, we were required to investigate if there were any other living relatives in the Jones family, and the investigation took time.” She adjusted her blouse.
“Well, give everything to them.” He waved a hand at the papers as if shooing them away. “I don’t...” Outside, rain pattered against the exterior window, heightening as Regan’s frustration increased.
“After our investigation, we found no additional relations, so per Maxum’s wishes, everything transferred to you. And…” She pulled out an envelope and pushed it over to him. “He left this for you. I don’t know what’s in the letter—I hope he’ll explain. But whether you want the property and money or not, legally everything belongs to you now.”
Regan raked a hand through his hair, peeking at the sealed envelope. He took as deep a breath as viable. How was any of this possible? Why didn’t Max say something? He found his seat again and picked up the envelope—he wanted answers. He ripped the seal open, then pulled out a hand-written note.
Don’t be mad, the note started.
Regan snorted. “Too late.” He glanced over at Sandra. “Sorry.” He continued reading.
Don’t be mad. I hope you never read this letter. However, if you are, then… surprise! You’re rich… well, comfortable. There’s so much I hope I explained to you, but I have a feeling if you’re reading this, then I didn’t have the time I thought I had and for that I’m sorry. As much as I trust our lawyer, most of this I can’t go into here. You need to go to the cabin in Boulder Creek. Sandra, or whoever is managing this, will have the keys. There is a purple book with gold writing on my desk that will explain everything. Also, when you meet Lutin, be nice. They can be a bit much, but I know you’ll get on… I hope.
I love you now and forever.
Max
Regan read the letter, turned the paper over, and read the document again before finally facing Sandra. “He said you’ll have keys for me.”
She pulled out a set of keys and pushed them over to him. “I hope the letter helped.”
He folded the letter and pushed it into his pocket. “What do I need to sign?” he asked numbly. The sooner he finished here, the faster he could get home, then to Boulder Creek and find out what the hell is actually going on. He glanced out the conference room window, as the rain stopped.
Well that’s something, I guess.
In a haze, Regan found himself back home in East San Jose, pacing the floors of his and Max’s home. Resting on the dining room table were the files from the lawyer and the keys to the mystery cabin in Boulder Creek.
“This is crazy.” He scanned the empty house. “I’m being stupid.” He crossed the living room to the coffee table and picked up his phone to type the address of the place in Boulder Creek. It’d take him about an hour to get there, if he left right now. But then what? All this got dropped on his lap and what was he supposed to do now? Go on some wild goose chase to a cabin he knew nothing about, find a book that would explain all this. And what was there to explain? And who the hell was Lutin, and what kind of name was that anyway?
And if it starts raining again, I’m fucked.
The way he figured, Valentine and Susan Jones were a lot more affluent than he knew, and Max never made a fuss about his family. They struck Regan as a typical upper middle-class family, nothing special, and now he knew otherwise.
I bet the money had been passed down. Same with the properties. Everything owned free and clear.
He glanced around his home. “We did alright…” He smiled. “We never wanted for anything. We paid our bills. We even traveled.” He rubbed his chin, the stubble scratching his hand. “But now…” He crossed over to the files on the table and picked them up. He flipped to the balance sheet, then took in the total value of everything. “What am I even going to do with this?” He snatched up his phone again and pulled up his text messages, staring at his boss’s number blankly.
Do I call out sick? Do I say there’s some kind of emergency? Do I quit? Thank god I have the weekend to figure this out.
He slipped the phone into his pocket, grabbed the house keys, and picked up the files. Then he marched to the front door, and out to the driveway and his Jeep.
He provided his navigational system with the address of the house and pulled up his music mix from his phone. Singing along to the music as he drove, the time in his car alone gave him the break he needed to think about a plan. He’d go to Boulder Creek today, check the cabin out. He hoped there’d be other keys for the other homes there. If so, he’d make plans to go up to Kings Beach in the morning. It was early spring so 80 wouldn’t be bad, assuming they didn’t get any late snow, and he could check out the house there. He could at least get familiar with the places here and he’d worry about the places in Canada and Mexico later. That would take planning.
