Chapter 98

"Michael, you've got to help me out here." Robert Stone rubbed his hands together, his face etched with worry as he stood before his younger brother.

Michael paused mid-swing, lowering the axe and wiping sweat from his brow. "How many rooms are you planning to build, Robert?"

"Three brick-tile houses, but the kitchen will still be adobe." Robert's voice grew quieter. "How much... how much would that cost?"

Michael did a quick mental calculation. "Brick-tile houses aren't cheap. If you and William pool resources, you might get a better deal."

Robert's eyes lit up. "I'll go talk to William right away!"

Meanwhile, William Stone sat brooding on his doorstep. Since the family division, he hadn't had a single peaceful night's sleep. The adobe house leaked whenever it rained, and the walls were already peeling.

"Dear, do you think Michael will agree?" Patricia asked anxiously.

William gritted his teeth. "He has to! Who else can get us bricks and tiles?"

The next day, the two brothers approached Michael together.

"Michael, we've come to a decision," William said, taking the lead. "We'll buy the materials together. Just give us a firm price."

Michael nodded. "Fine. But you'll need to pay a deposit first."

William's expression darkened. "A deposit?" He shot Michael a suspicious glance, wondering if his younger brother was trying to skim off the top.

"Without a deposit, why would the brickyard reserve stock for you?" Michael replied coolly.

In the end, the brothers scraped together the deposit. Michael worked fast—within three days, he had delivered the bricks and tiles, even securing rare cement.

"Michael really knows his stuff!" the villagers marveled.

But Patricia pulled William aside, whispering, "You don’t think he’s pocketing some of our money, do you?"

"Shut your mouth!" William hissed. "I checked—his prices are twenty percent lower than market rate!"

Meanwhile, Emily Johnson was busy in the kitchen. Ever since Michael started helping his brothers build their houses, all the household chores had fallen on her shoulders.

"Mom, that smells amazing!" Tommy clung to the doorframe, eyes fixed on the golden meatballs sizzling in the pan.

Emily smiled and handed him one. "Careful, it's hot."

That night, Michael returned exhausted to find his two sons already asleep in their freshly made beds.

"Emily..." He hesitated.

She folded clothes without looking up. "What is it?"

"Well..." He scratched his head. "Tommy wet the bed again today."

Emily sighed. "He’s probably overtired."

Michael’s gaze flickered. "Maybe... I should take them back to sleep with me?"

She gave him a skeptical look. "Weren’t you the one who insisted they learn independence?"

Just then, Tommy’s cries echoed from the next room. "Mommy... I'm scared..."

A faint smirk tugged at Michael’s lips before he quickly suppressed it. "See? They still need us."

Emily shook her head in resignation, completely missing the triumphant glint in her husband’s eyes.