The Two Paths Of Jude And Dave

Chapter One: Shadows of the Same BloodThe sound of breaking glass echoed through the narrow living room, followed by the slurred curse of their father. Jude and Dave froze at the kitchen door, their small hands clutching the frame as they watched the man they both feared and loved in equal measure sway near the table. A half-empty bottle of gin trembled in his hand.“Can’t a man have peace in his own house?” he barked, eyes bloodshot, voice heavy with frustration that smelled like cheap alcohol.Their mother, Clara, stood by the stove, her face calm but weary. She didn’t flinch anymore; she had seen this scene play out too many times. Her long black hair hung loosely, streaked with strands of gray far too early for her age. “Please, Michael,” she said softly, “the boys are watching.”“Then they should learn what life really looks like!” he shouted, slamming his bottle on the table.Jude, the older twin by seven minutes, felt his jaw tighten. Dave’s fingers gripped his arm, as if begg

Chapter Three: Turning PointThe house felt heavier after the funeral. Every sound—every creak, every sigh of wind—seemed to echo through the walls like a memory that refused to fade.The twins’ father, Michael, had been laid to rest under an old oak tree on the edge of town. Only a handful of people attended: Clara, Jude, Dave, and a few neighbors who remembered the man before he lost himself.Jude stood by the grave long after everyone had left. The dirt beneath his boots was still fresh, dark, and damp. He stared at the wooden cross, its shadow stretching across the ground like an unspoken reminder of everything he’d tried to forget.“You still hate him?”Jude turned to see Dave approaching. His brother’s face was calm, but his eyes carried the exhaustion of someone who had cried in silence.“I don’t know,” Jude said, voice low. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. What difference does it make now?”Dave folded his arms. “It makes every difference. You’ve carried that hate for years. Now he

Chapter five: The Weight of Inheritance The rain had not yet started, but the clouds over the Walker estate seemed ready to burst. Jude stood by the window of his study, the glass fogging slightly with his breath. Down the hill, a small crowd gathered under umbrellas beside a single open grave. Their father’s. It was strange, Jude thought, how even after all these years, the man still had the power to bring a heaviness to the air. The memory of his father’s voice, that mix of charm and destruction, still echoed somewhere inside him. He had worked all his life to be different—to build something honest, stable, lasting—but the shadow remained. Behind him, the door opened quietly. Dave stepped in, dressed in black, tie perfectly straight. His brother always had a way of holding himself together, even in moments like this. “They’re ready,” Dave said softly. “Pastor’s waiting.” Jude nodded but didn’t move right away. “You think he ever regretted what he became?” Dave’s eyes so

Chapter Eight: Shattered Reflections The boardroom of Twins Pure Beverages had never felt colder. The walls, once alive with the hum of new ideas and laughter, now echoed with whispers and the sound of tension thick enough to choke on. Jude sat at the long table, head bowed, hands clasped, staring at a printed document that shouldn’t have existed — the official notice of investigation. His daughter’s name was there, clear as daylight: Mia Walker. Possession. Distribution. Cocaine. The company’s PR department had tried to keep it quiet, but secrets had a way of finding the light — especially when reporters smelled blood. Dave stood by the window, staring out at the skyline, his reflection sharp and rigid. “We can fix this,” he said softly, but his voice didn’t sound convinced. Jude didn’t look up. “No, Dave. This isn’t about fixing. This is about facing it.” “She’s your daughter, Jude. You don’t just throw that away.” “And you think I want to?” Jude’s voice cracked like

Chapter Ten: Whispers in the Boardroom The morning air was brittle, sharp with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt. Police sirens sliced through the city’s gray haze as if trying to puncture the uneasy calm that had settled over the headquarters of Devlin & Co., the multi-million-dollar bottling empire that Jude and Dave had inherited. The glass-and-steel monolith of a building reflected the rising sun in fractured shards, but inside, everything was fractured in ways no reflection could capture. Detective Lawson crouched near the body, his face pale, fingers tapping against the polished conference table. The CEO lay slumped forward, head tilted unnaturally, a half-empty glass of water rolling to the floor beside him. No obvious signs of struggle. No weapon in sight. Just the sterile quiet of corporate betrayal frozen mid-moment. Jude’s sedan hissed to a stop at the curb. He stepped out, briefcase in hand, perfectly tailored suit now slightly wrinkled from the tension in his shoulder