The Marked One (The Marked Series Book 1)

by Chevoque

  She was losing faith, but for now she got up and focussed on unpacking her kitchenware to make some dinner, which, at this rate, was going to be just another cheese toast. She was trying her best to save money to extend her stay. As “When the Stars Come Out” by The Hawk in Paris played on her small stereo, she hummed along, distracting herself enough to forget about the worries dominating her mind.

  ***

  Tristan

  Tristan fixed himself a Virgin Mary and a straight-up gin for his business partner. They’d closed a deal in Chicago, and to celebrate, they decided to head straight home on the company’s private jet. He had to make the drinks for them, as the air hostess couldn’t make the sudden flight and was left behind. Tristan wasn’t cruel, so he made sure she had a ticket back home for the following day.

  Handing Mr. Marx his drink, Tristan sat back down and looked at the setup laptop’s screen. The market shifts showed at the top and the news of Gerardo Corporation’s new acquisition was the top story on the business page. Most importantly, on the window next to it, he saw the money being transferred.

  “Mr. Gerardo, we are ready for liftoff. We can go whenever you are ready,” the captain said, his head popping through the separating door from the cockpit.

  Tristan checked the transfer. All looked well, but his father taught him to be cautious and always make sure. “Five minutes, David, then we can go.”

  “Very well, sir,” said the captain. He ducked back into the cockpit.

  “All going well I suppose then,” Kellen Marx said, polishing off his drink and standing up with a grunt to get another.

  “Yes, just waiting to make sure,” Tristan replied flatly with his eyes focussed on the screen.

  Mr. Marx had been there since Tristan’s father began Gerardo Corporations, and he was the CFO of the company. He was bright, late fifties, and carried a head of brown hair implants that looked almost natural. The most important thing about Mr. Marx was that he had mentored Tristan to take his father’s place when Arnoldo had decided to step down as CEO a few years earlier.

  Years after that tragic day, Tristan had pulled himself together and had finally done what his father always wanted him to do. He stopped partying, wasting money, being completely careless, and grew up. He learned the company from the bottom up, and as the current controlling CEO, he had all he needed and could ever want.

  “David!” he called the pilot and when the cockpit door opened, he continued, “We can go now. Thank you.” He saw the money in the company’s account, saw the company’s stocks immediately pick up, and knew the following day he’d take on the world with the news of the buyout of their rival company at a press conference his assistant confirmed would take place at 10:00.

  After liftoff, Mr. Marx was out for a quick nap, but Tristan only wanted to get back to Isabella, the only love of his life.

  Chapter Two

  Aaliyah

  Aaliyah stomped furiously out of the building and landed in a sea of people pushing and shoving past her. The hustle and bustle continued like time. The company where she had her interview had used her not being a US-born citizen as an excuse to not hire her, and while a reason like that would be a more legit one, she knew that was far from true. She looked at the building on the other side of the road. It marvelled anyone who walked beneath it. The architecture was far sleeker than the others, and the entire building looked as if it was designed to stay modern for years to come. A more organised crowd in front of the building was roaring.

  When she had arrived for her interview, she was so flustered she had barely noticed that her next interview was at the building across the street, as she was still trying to get acquainted with the Central Business District, or CBD. As she jaywalked to get to the other side, as she was running late for her next interview, a few passing cars honked their frustrations, but she wasn’t bothered by them. The building’s entrance was packed with people she rather wanted to avoid. She’d hadn’t had time to put on a layer of makeup in an attempt to hide her birthmark and become just another face in the crowd.

  With the press in front of the building, it was becoming abundantly clear that this was an important company. She checked the map she had gotten from Vera the day before, and it held details about the buildings in the city. This building’s details read that Gerardo Corporations had been established in the late ’90s by Arnoldo Vittorio Gerardo, who had won businessperson of the year three times in a row and made his life motto the company’s.

  Judge only one’s self.

  The motto made a smile shape her lips. She hoped that maybe if the company’s motto was followed, she would get a fair chance in getting a job at the one place she’d always used as motivation for why business wasn’t a bad choice when she began studying in the States. The truth was she never had any passion for business and marketing, but she was good at it. Best in her class type good. She knew how to do the job, but her heart was with what she had done as an Extra Academic Activity.

  During the week before visiting her father in South Africa, it was clear that being a lab tech in this city was just for those with doctorates. So she settled for what was, in her opinion, second best. In the past week though, she realised, even with that, she would still only get an entry-level job as an assistant or something. She was yet to discover as the lowest of low.

  She sucked in her pride, hid her stress, and looked up at the beautiful building. She pressed through the waiting crowd and made it to the doors. When she walked up to the security desk, the guard nearly looked startled as he handed her the sign-in sheet. Taking in her environment, she thought the building had to be one of the most beautiful places on Earth, because the design was still surprisingly relaxing, even with all the eyes pretending not to look at her.

  She gained a visitor’s pass in the form of a key card that could only take her to the fifth floor. As she walked toward the elevator, three women stepped out of another, and as she moved closer they hid their faces. They seemed to be mocking her. She tried her best to ignore it and entered the elevator, only to receive a once-over by a man who looked twice at her.

  Huddled into the corner, she watched the elevator ascend and once it hit the fifth floor, she darted out of the little carriage. Before the doors closed behind her, she heard the rest of the passengers chuckle and make remarks.

  She closed her eyes, hating that on this day she had not had the time to cover the mark the world thought was a joke. Taking a final deep breath, she opened her eyes and faced the frosted doors. It is just a receptionist job, nothing big. You need this…really need this, she thought as motivation, but it primarily had the opposite effect.

  When the doors opened, she saw that the modern sleek style of the entire building seemed to be repeated in the offices. It still wasn’t too fancy so she would feel intimidated and uncomfortable, but it was beautiful. She noted the few pot plants needed water as she passed them on her way to the reception desk, but the distractions were slowly minimizing. Her attention drew back to the company’s logo, as the words “Break Free Cosmetics” were on the back wall. Her hope came fluttering back, because they had seemed desperate in their job listing and since she had always believed in their products, she hoped that they would give her a shot.

  There was no one seated in the receptionist spot, and as she walked a little further into the office area, she saw nearly all the staff looking out the window at something happening below. They talked of Gerardo himself, and Aaliyah wasn’t sure why they were freaking out over an old man, but that was none of her concern.

  She stepped toward the glass wall and knocked on it, as it had separated the reception area with the actual offices. A woman looked in her direction and showed another to go to the door.

  The slim woman, probably the same age as Aaliyah, stepped up. Her hair was anything but natural blond, as the fluorescent light reflected a yellow shine. The door opened and as the woman stepped through, she immediately said, “What can I…Oh, Mi-laundry!”

  Aa
liyah fought the hurt and gained some confidence. “Hello, I’m Aaliyah Labuschagne. I have an interview at ten o’clock with a…” she took a quick gander at the notes she had, “…Ms. Johns.”

  “Oh, you are here for the receptionist job.” The woman looked like she was desperately fighting to hold back her laughter while her dark eyes were looking Aaliyah over with scepticism.

  “That was what they said, yes.” She could hear the tremble in her own voice. Her confidence began to crumble.

  “I’ll let Ms. Johns know you are here.” The woman left and walked up to the woman who had earlier sent her to the door. The glass wall allowed the sound to penetrate into the reception area, but their expressions alone gave it away. The woman Aaliyah assumed was Ms. Johns peeked down again at what was taking place below and walked to the only enclosed office at the back of the room.

  The woman, who had earlier greeted Aaliyah, came back to the door and opened it. Wordlessly, she led her toward the back office. Aaliyah noticed that this part of the office was designed to be schick, modern, and, most importantly, intimidating. The entire setting was edgy, like the women who worked there. High school memories overwhelmed Aaliyah, sure to crush her last strain of confidence.

  ***

  Aaliyah was only thirteen years old when she was quickly taught that the world and all its evils were far more horrid than she had anticipated. She was homeschooled by her mother through primary school, but after her mother had fallen ill, she had to start at a public high school. She had no friends. She had very little social experience. And she had no idea how cruel kids could be.

  Because she was different she became a target for taunting, and even some teachers would speak ill of her when they thought they went unheard. Once, as she had left the nurse’s office, she heard her registration teacher speak of her and telling another teacher how she couldn’t understand why Aaliyah’s parents didn’t just have her mark removed with laser therapy.

  Aaliyah went to her mother’s bedside that afternoon, in tears. “Mama, why do I have to be different? Why can’t I have the marks removed?”

  Her mother softly groaned as she tried sitting up, but the pain caused her to settle back instead. “Liyah, my beautiful baby, by removing the special marks, you’d remove who you are and that is an awful evil.” The Isixhosa accent of Aaliyah’s mother sounded of home. It resonated peace and it echoed enough unknowing fear for the future. Aaliyah’s tears came faster.

  “Mama, but what if—”

  “No more,” her mother sternly warned, her gravelly voice breaking away. “You are my perfect little Liyah.” Her mother’s grip was but a press around Aaliyah’s shaking hand.

  She looked at her mother’s frail, chemo-weakened body. “Will everything be okay?”

  Her mother lifted her head, to show her confidence. “You are a gift. The road will always have potholes, but I know you are strong enough to get through anything.”

  Aaliyah felt her lip tremble. “What about you?”

  “My road is more of a dirt one now, my baby, but I will always be with you.” Her mother patted her hand. “Now go make your mama some tea and wipe those tears. No one may ever make you sad about who you are.”

  A few words and it felt like the world was shifted back into place. Her special marks were seen only by her parents as beautiful, but she never fully believed them, until a boy told her the same thing a few years later.

  She was naive, but she just wanted to feel like she wasn’t different. That she was normal. That a boy could like a girl with a mark on her face, regardless of how ugly it might look to herself.

  She had never been more wrong. The girls mocked her, saying that she couldn’t possibly think that the mark on her face made her any more special than it had any of them. She was sixteen at the time. The boy was eighteen and on the first rugby team.

  She made the mistake of trusting him, believing him and giving in to him, because she wanted nothing more than just to be accepted. The girls mocked her for ever thinking she was special, because when he got what he wanted, he moved to the next girl, and forever after, she was known as the marked girl, and it was more than just physical.

  ***

  As Aaliyah sat down in Ms. Johns’ office, the woman looked at her résumé and without introductions, began, “Why didn’t you go for something in science instead?” The woman was as intimidating as powerful women could get. Her blunt cut, black, bob hairstyle, piercing dark eyes, and a manicure that could double as claws, made Aaliyah feel like she was stuck in a small cage with a predator.

  “The opportunities are quite scarce for those.” Aaliyah kept her face turned to the side, out of habit, to hide the exposed mark.

  The woman barely made eye contact, as she told her more about Break Free Cosmetics. “Our clientele looks for something unique, something different, but I’m afraid the look we are after isn’t what you have. The front desk receptionist should not only be presentable—”

  “I assure you that I am always presentable, I was only running late this morning and didn’t…” she swallowed, “…have time to cover up. I usually always do.” She searched the woman’s eyes, desperately hoping she could just give her a chance. “I’ve been using your product for years now. It is the only cosmetics on the market that properly covers the mark.”

  “And if you are late? If today’s scenario plays out? What then?” The woman looked at her for the first time, not in the eyes, but at the mark on the left side of her face.

  Aaliyah took a deep breath. “Then I’d make sure to fix myself up, here in the office, before any clients could see me. Please, I won’t slip.” She hated that this interview focussed on the fact that her face influenced the final decision, while proper interview procedure was completely being ignored.

  The woman took a moment, looking at Aaliyah’s résumé and clearly mulling something over. What seemed to formulate was an excuse, rather than something honest. “While it is clear that you are dressed accordingly, you also seem to have good posture and you have a well-articulated voice for working the phones, even with that accent.” The woman finally looked her in the eyes, and Aaliyah knew what came next. It had been the same thing over and over since she came back. The woman sighed. “You are overqualified, dear.”

  Aaliyah released the breath she had been holding in. “It is my face and nothing else, right?”

  The woman smiled, attempting to do so kindly but somehow missing the target. “I’m just giving you an honest opinion. Our clients don’t want to—”

  “But I use your product. It could actually benefit the clients to show how well it—”

  “People want perfect faces…” Aaliyah flinched, “…and the best way to sell that is to have women who have never even had a proper pimple mark their faces represent them to gain clients. It makes the product look even better. Do you understand?”

  Aaliyah looked at the wall behind Ms. Johns, where the last few years’ advertising campaigns decorated an otherwise empty space. She spotted the one where the woman had a scar on her cheek in the before photo and in the after, it was gone. It was that particular advertisement that made Aaliyah reach for this product every single day, but now she saw the truth.

  Even if the product worked, they all showed the norm. They showed markless, smooth, Photoshopped faces of what society wanted everyone to be.

  What she wasn’t.

  “Yes, I understand. I understand this interview was highly influenced by the way I look. And while the company is searching for a certain look, one that isn’t mine, it is clear that you aren’t the type of company I ever want to be associated with.” She found her feet, her handbag tucked under her arm and her notes in her hands. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Johns, but I never had pimples.” She nodded at the woman and headed out of the office.

  The main office area seemed calmer and the women were scattered about at their desks, but they all looked at her as she walked out. Being the receptionist and later maybe a distributing consultant fo
r this company had seemed appropriate, as she truly believed in the product. Selling what you believed in was always better than not. But she had been too hopeful and that was her greatest weakness.

  ***

  Tristan

  Tristan looked at the caller ID on his cell phone as he got into the town car. His assistant, Ivan, was still somewhere in the building grabbing contracts that needed to be signed, before they both headed to meet up with a business associate for brunch.

  “Hello, Father,” he chimed.

  “Well done, son, I’m impressed. How ever did you manage to buy out all of Feldman’s stocks from the Craigs Company?” His father’s tone held glee he obviously didn’t care to hide. He’d wanted those stocks for years now.

  “Persuasione. Motivazione.”

  “Resistenza,” his father completed their little rhyme in Italian, which translated to: Persuasion. Motivation. Endurance. Tristan looked at the building’s entrance to check if Ivan was nearby, only to spot a woman leaving the building looking truly furious. She was walking down the few steps at the entrance, her head held low. Her long dark brown hair made it impossible for Tristan to see her face, as it created a small protective curtain, but he didn’t like seeing anyone leave one of his buildings acting in such a manner. It gave the wrong impression.

  She stopped a few metres away from his car, shaking her head to herself as she looked at the ground. He got out of the car because he wanted to know why she was looking so furious. If it had been a client who had irritated her, she needed to know that was how the world worked in business. If her boss had treated her unfairly, it needed to be reported.

  Every company in the Gerardo Corporations building was owned by his family, and any company causing trouble made his family’s good name look bad.