by Nikki Chase
“It’s very possible that your relationship with Emily Webb will be exposed,” he says, shrugging with infuriating calm. “And then people will find out about how I protected you from the potential legal ramifications and media blow-up. How do you think that’s going to hurt the family’s reputation? How do you think that’s going to affect the relationship we’ve built over many years — no, decades — with the media and the police?”
“People don’t care about you as much as you think they do.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, boy. Reputation is everything. If you ever manage to get into a position again where you run a business, you’ll quickly learn that lesson. I see now that I’ve been making you weak by trying to protect you,” he says.
I clench my fist. My muscles are tense as adrenaline surges through my veins. My limbs are shaking in a fight-or-flight response. I stay quiet, afraid of what I’d say if I open my mouth.
“You knew this was going to happen, boy,” he says. “I never make empty threats. You know that. I’ve always taught you since you were a baby, if I let something slide once, soon everybody’s going to start thinking they can get away with anything. It gives me no joy to do this.”
Then wipe that fucking smirk off your mug, asshole.
I grit my teeth, stopping the flurry of curses from escaping my mouth. Seeing me get even more riled up is only going to make him happier.
The wooden drawer scrapes noisily when he pulls it open. A sick feeling builds up in my stomach when I hear the rattle of random items inside as my father reaches inside. He takes out a thick stack of papers and drops it on top of the desk between us.
“Sign now and walk away,” he says as he places his favorite fountain pen on top of the stack and slides everything across the desk to me.
The chair creaks as I lean forward to take the pen in my hand and review the document. We’ve both read it before, back when I was just starting out. I never thought I’d actually sign away my claim over the business I’ve built from scratch.
Foster Hotels is my baby. As much as I don’t want my father to know just how much this hurts, I can’t help the way my breathing becomes labored as my heartbeat picks up and my lungs deflate.
“Come on, boy. Let’s not drag this out any longer than we have to. You already know what the document says. Believe me, you want to sign it,” he says with the kindest old-man smile on his wrinkly face. “Otherwise I can’t guarantee the safety of your little girlfriend.”
Leaning back in his big chair, he continues, “Or don’t. It’s up to you. Don’t say I never give you any options. We can always do this another way. My lawyer will find a way to get this done even if you don’t sign.”
“I’m signing,” I say curtly.
“Not so chatty now, are you?” He chuckles with satisfaction. I swear it makes me want to bash his bleached-white teeth in.
I quietly pick up the pen. It takes everything I’ve got to keep my hand steady as I sign and initial on the appropriate lines. I hope the company fucking burns down into ashes without me. God knows I’ve worked harder than anyone else on the board of directors. Nobody else knows the ins and outs of the business better than I do.
I stand up when I’m done and walk across the room toward the door, ignoring my father’s taunts as I put one foot in front of the other, the sound of my shoes muffled by the elaborate Persian rug.
If I hear him call my “boy” just one more time, I don’t know what I’d do with him. My fists are more than ready to meet his face. I’m going to make it look so bad none of his whores will want to fuck him anymore.
Just as I get into my car and turn on the ignition, I hear knocking on the passenger side window. Great. It’s fucking Caine. I didn’t even know he’s in town. What is this, family reunion day?
“Hey,” he says when I press the button to lower the window. He rests his forearm on the top of my car and leans down to peer inside the car. “I’m sorry about what happened.”
I just shrug in response and blankly stare at him. It’s great that you’re sorry, bro. Really warms my heart. What do you want?
“I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t budge. You know how he is.” If anybody can persuade my father, it’s Caine. He’s the golden son who can do no wrong in his eyes.
“Thanks, man.” I take a deep breath and try to relax. It’s not Caine’s fault this happened. I’m the one who’s been too reckless. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” A pair of sunglasses perches on top of his head, keeping his windblown blond hair out of his face. He may be more similar to my father in terms of personality, but they look nothing like each other. “Look, don’t take it too personally. You know that’s just how he treats everybody.”
“Yep, that’s him. No fucking special treatment even if you’re his spawn.” My jaws clench and I grip the steering wheel harder, turning my knuckles white.
“He’s just doing what he thinks is best for the family,” Caine says, spouting off the propaganda we’ve both been fed with since we were born. I wonder what went wrong with my upbringing that I no longer buy that bullshit. Caine seems perfectly at ease having my father’s hands controlling the strings, manipulating him like a puppet.
“How do you do it?” I blurt out. “How do you stand his bullshit day in and day out?”
“Guess I have more patience than you do.” He shrugs, smiling. “You know, he’s not so bad. Not if you know how to deal with him.”
“Fuck, Caine. I want to just pummel him sometimes, wipe that smug look off his face.” I make a fist with my right hand and pull it back like I’m about to punch something.
“Sure you do. Hell, sometimes I want to kick his saggy ass.” He pauses and looks straight into my eyes. “What are you going to do now?”
“I have a plan.” Clearly, it’s not going as well as I’d hoped because Emily’s not by my side, but I can still stick with my plan on my own.
I flip open my suit jacket to show the fountain pen I just stole from my father’s home office and watch Caine grin. I know it’s petty, but whatever. If my father gets upset about me stealing his favorite pen, he’s going to combust when he finds out what else I’ve done today.
Emily
Two Months Later
I’m a lucky girl.
It sure didn’t seem that way two months ago when I found out Cole had been lying to me the entire time, ever since before we had even officially met each other.
But now, as I take my second flight in as many months, it strikes me how lucky I am. Sure, I’m just flying coach this time, but the view from my window seat is just as beautiful.
It’s not like I need extra leg room anyway. See — there’s a bright side to everything, even to being average height. Alice would probably have to contort her body in various unnatural ways just to fit her tall frame into one of these seats.
Alice cried when we hugged each other at the airport, before I joined the line for the security checkpoint. I told her I’m going to visit as often as I can, but we both know it won’t be the same.
She’s happy for me, though. She’s always so supportive. God, I’m going to miss her stupid messages asking me what time I was coming home from work or what I wanted to eat for dinner. But we both know this is just something I need to do to move forward.
Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be alone in Seattle. Marco has generously offered to let me stay with him and his girlfriend at their downtown apartment for as long as I need while I get myself settled.
When Marco sent me that first email a couple of days after I quit from Foster Hotels, it was just a nice distraction. He told me InstaRoomies, the company he works for that helps owners and renters of private vacation rentals meet one another, is expanding into the luxury market.
Since I made a very convincing case for a new strategy in targeting the luxury traveler during my presentation at the conference, he wanted to ask me a few quick questions.
I didn’t mind answering his que
stions. In fact, they made me start to feel useful again. Honestly, the way everything went down with Cole and my job at Foster Hotels made me feel like a failure.
Well, a few quick questions turned into more and more questions. Marco’s boss, Harry, eventually got wind of where Marco’s ideas came from. When Marco told him about me and how I was between jobs at the time, Harry called me on the phone and offered me a job at the new luxury branch of InstaRoomies to help with the expansion.
I was apprehensive about leaving the city I’d lived in my whole life, but Harry made me a really good offer. I’m going to earn more than I did at Foster Hotels, I’m going to have a more senior position, and Harry’s even giving me some extra cash upfront to cover my moving costs.
He sounds like a great boss. Marco has been telling me how much I’m going to love working there.
I look out the window at the fluffy clouds hanging in the blue sky. There’s no denying it. My life is pretty awesome right now.
I’m so lucky I didn’t need to apply for jobs to get one. I never even used the recommendation letter that Lily sent me.
Later in the same week after my heated argument with Cole at the cemetery, Lily emailed me to ask for my address. She said she wanted to send me something. I thought she meant the stuff that I’d left at the office. It turned out the thing she wanted to send was a recommendation letter that had been personally signed by Cole.
When I called Lily to ask about the letter, she said, “I don’t know what to tell you, Emily. It’s all super weird and I have no idea what’s happening either. It’s like Twilight Zone over here.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. She wasn’t making any sense to me.
“Cole left and nobody knows where he is. One day, out of the blue, he called to ask me to meet him in front of the office building and he gave me this letter. He asked me to mail it to you and then left without an explanation,” she said.
“What do you mean he left? He’s not working there anymore? But he still owns the company, doesn’t he?”
“Exactly. Those are the exact same questions that I have,” Lily said. “But he hasn’t come into the office all week and nobody knows why. Mary from accounting told me he moved a large sum of money out of the company bank account and into his personal account. It really seems like he’s left. But there’s no official word yet from any of the higher-ups.”
“Yeah. You’d be the first to know if there’s any reasonable explanation,” I said. “You didn’t ask Cole?”
“No, it just seems too personal, you know?” She paused before she hesitantly continued, “To be honest, I was hoping you’d have the answers. People have been speculating because you and Cole disappeared at about the same time. Neither one of you gave notice and neither one of you even cleared your desk. I really thought you’d know what’s happening.”
“It’s just a coincidence,” I said. I really didn’t want the entire office finding out about the whole sordid affair between me and Cole. After some obligatory small talk, I hung up the phone.
I’ve been wondering about Cole, especially after that phone call. But I haven’t talked to him. Haven’t even tried. I don’t know how I’m going to face him.
It took me a while, but I’ve forgiven him now. Like Alice said, it wasn’t his fault the accident happened. Cole meant well, although it did feel like a huge betrayal when I found out what he’d been hiding from me.
And Alice was right. The job he gave me did lead to new opportunities, even if he kept me in the dark with regards to his motives. With my lack of formal education, I never would’ve gotten this new job in Seattle if it weren’t for my stint at Foster Hotels.
“What would you like to drink, Miss?” The pretty flight attendant says as she stops the drinks cart by my row.
“Diet Coke, please.”
She asks the same question to the middle-aged woman sitting beside me, then pours our drinks into little plastic cups. She hands me the cup with the black fizzy drink and smiles, moving on to the next row.
I’m going to be on my own in Seattle. That makes me nervous, but I’m also excited.
For the longest time, I’ve relied on people around me. Alice, in particular, has been my biggest supporter. When Scott was still around, I depended on him, too.
One of the things that tortured me after his death was how helpless I’d been, how dependent on the people around me. It became painfully clear when I almost got evicted and had to move to Alice’s apartment. I felt like a parasite, like I had to use other people to survive.
When I started working at Foster Hotels, I thought I was finally standing on my own two feet. I was making money and I was well on my way to be independent. And then I found out it was all an illusion created by Cole. He turned out to be just another person I had to depend on.
So I’ve made a decision. I’m going to build a life for myself in Seattle and I’m going to stop depending on other people so much. After I move out of Marco’s place, I’ll be a completely independent woman. I’ll work hard and I’ll build up my savings. I’ll even stop shopping so much now that I already have a solid wardrobe for work.
That way, if anything should turn my life upside down again, I won’t have to rely on Alice to get me back on my feet. She has done enough for me, my poor sister. She deserves to have her apartment back, not to mention the use of all the money she’s worked so hard for.
Maybe someday I’ll be able to provide the same kind of support for Alice, although I hope she won’t ever need it. But just like she’s all I have, I’m also all she has. I need to be stronger if I want to take care of Alice the way she has always taken such good care of me.
And everything’s going to fall into place when this plane lands in Seattle. I can’t wait.
Cole
I check the invitation card again.
Dress code: smart casual.
Fucking tech companies, lowering standards for everybody in the industry.
I don’t mind the more relaxed attire, but I liked it better back when going to an industry function at night always meant wearing a tuxedo. It was predictable.
Now I have to read every invitation or risk being the guy who shows up to a black-tie function in a chicken suit.
I put on a clean black button-down shirt and a pair of jeans, then add a tailored blazer on top.
I’m not wearing enough layers to be taking a walk downtown in the middle of winter, but it’s an indoor event so I should be safe, even if I’m still getting used to the weather here.
During the short walk from the entrance of my apartment building to my car, which is parked right by the sidewalk, I notice the heavy clouds hanging low in the gray sky. I don’t think I’ve seen the sun come out for a whole day the entire time I’ve been here.
As soon as I get inside the car and start the ignition, I turn on the heater and the GPS. Holding the invitation card in my hand, I enter the address into the GPS. I hate having to rely on this thing to get around.
At least I don’t have to deal with my father here, or the rest of the family. I haven’t even told them where I am. I smile to myself and inhale the sweet, cool scent of freedom.
Luckily, James came through for me with the money transfer on the same day I signed away my claim over Foster Hotels. Along with the money I’ve saved over the years from not taking the private jet and forgoing other little luxuries, I’m in a pretty good place, financially.
I’m not proud of this, but — wait, what the hell, I am proud of this. I pulled a big one over on my father for the first time in my life and I’m fucking proud of it. That’s a real fucking achievement.
That’s also why I haven’t told anyone where I am. He’s probably still seething.
My father thinks he’s the smart guy who controls every single thing and has a plan for every single scenario that can go wrong. It turns out I have learned a thing or two from him because the trick that I pulled was taken straight out of his book.
My father’s lawyer may have prepar
ed all documents the way he ordered, but that guy also outsourced a lot of his work. And one of his underlings happened to be a college buddy of mine. So, along with James, whom I also met in college, we put in one little, barely noticeable clause that allowed me a little freedom in withdrawing company money.
Luckily, as thorough as he is with my reports, my father doesn’t pay as much attention to the work of his trusted advisors. Why would he? They’re not inexperienced kids like I am.
Maybe it’s bad to steal money from your parent, but who cares? It’s my money, too. Do I feel bad about it? I fucking don’t. I built Foster Hotels with my own blood, sweat, and tears.
My father may have provided the initial funding, but he’s now left with more money than he invested originally. Everything considered, he still won the overall battle. But I bet he’s huffing and puffing over my latest act of “betrayal against the family,” as the man himself would put it.
I’d been complacent. I depended on my father for far too long. I used to think striking out on my own would be too hard, but I see now that it’s way riskier to put my trust in someone like him.
I’m still putting my feelers out, trying to get to know this new city before I do anything. But I fully intend on building another hotel brand from the ground up here. One thing I’m sure of, there won’t be any trace of the Foster family name in my new venture.
The work I put into Foster Hotels didn’t go to waste either. I’ve made a name for myself as a smart, capable hotelier who can build a strong brand in a short time.
Just based on that alone, I’ve had many job offers, some of them from really big brands that are doing some really exciting stuff.
It would be a great experience to work in a big corporation with hundreds and thousands of properties all over the world. I’d be paid more money than I’d know what to do with — the headhunters have shown me some really tantalizing figures.
