by A N Bond
“Why did you sell then?”
There’s a long pause, then his father speaks slowly, reluctantly. “Because Jack McNeil advised me to.”
“Oh God, Dad.”
“I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you, but….”
Ryan blinks, raises his hand to his eyes, and swipes his sleeve across his face. “You have to testify, you have to change your statement.”
“I can’t, Ryan, I can’t do that.”
“Yes you can. For me, Dad. Please.”
“No, listen, you don’t understand.”
“Then tell me! God, just tell me the goddamn truth! Why did you lie?”
He hears his father catch his breath on the other end of the line and he pictures his face, his so familiar dad-face. The face of the man who taught him to drive and to ride his bike, who helped him with his math homework and cried when he gave the valedictorian speech at his high-school graduation. His chest tightens and he feels a hot, scalding tear slip free and roll down his cheek. “Dad, please.”
“It was a long time ago,” he says finally. “I did him a favor once. It was… just a small thing… just an insurance claim he had with us. But I helped him get the payout he wanted.”
“Fraud,” Ryan murmurs. “Was it fraudulent? Did you help him falsify a claim? That’s illegal, Dad. That’s insurance fraud. You hate that—you used to say that was as bad as stealing.”
“God, don’t you think I know that?” his father interrupts. “Christ, son, I’ve been torturing myself about this for years. But it was Jack McNeil, and he needed my help, and we needed the money; our family needed the money.”
“McNeil paid you off?”
“No, yes! I guess… I guess you could see it like that. He gave me a percentage of the payout he received. But it was a long time ago and we needed it, Ryan. You and your sister were in college and Duane was in grad school and we had no money. Our investments weren’t doing so well and your mom was working all those long hours and she wasn’t well, she really wasn’t well. We were so stretched, and I had to do something. I was supposed to get this big commission payment that would’ve taken care of everything, but it didn’t come through, and I was desperate, son. You were all depending on me. You and Duane and Sierra and your poor mom. I couldn’t let you down. It was just one stupid bit of information, just one line changed and people do it all the damn time.”
Ryan leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. “So what happened in April ’08?” he says quietly, cutting into his dad’s words.
His father pauses and takes another breath. “He invited me in for a meeting to consult on the policies for his senior management team, just like I told you. Except, there was another meeting afterward at the golf club. He was there for an event, and I was there for an event. And he took me aside and told me to sell any McNeil stock I had. He said he was returning the favor. He hadn’t forgotten what I’d done for him.”
“So he told you to sell just as he was telling all his employees to buy? Classy, real classy, what a classy guy.”
“He did us a favor! I sold the next day, and a couple of months later, the company had sunk. We could’ve lost half our income if he hadn’t warned me.”
“Does Mom know?”
His father sighs, the breath whooshing down the phone line. “No, she doesn’t know about any of it, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her anything.”
“Don’t worry, Dad, I’m not gonna spill your dirty little secret to Mom.”
“Ryan.”
“What? What, Dad? I don’t get it, okay? You used to talk about people who commit insurance fraud as the worst kind of scum! I remember when Aunt Carol didn’t get that insurance payout ’cause she forgot to disclose about Grandma’s breast cancer—you said it was her fault—that she should’ve been more honest on the application! I remember you and Mom had a huge fight about it. And now… now you tell me you deliberately falsified a claim for fucking Jack McNeil and got paid for it!”
“Believe me, I’m not proud of it,” his father says quietly. “But at the time—”
“—we needed the money. Yeah, I know, I heard that.” He blows out a breath and swallows over the jagged lump at the back of his throat. “I’m sorry, okay. That things were that bad. But, God, Dad.”
“Ryan, if I change my statement, then McNeil will tell everybody about what I did. I’ll be no use to you as a witness. I’ll be completely discredited and… and everybody will know. Your mom would know.”
“Yeah, I realize that,” Ryan says bleakly. He blinks, feeling the sting of the tears against his cold face. “Look, it’s not all lost. I mean, it wasn’t just you. McNeil was to blame too. It was his policy. This will reflect just as badly on him.”
“But I went along with him. I said yes. And I knew it was illegal. I knew what we were doing was wrong.” His father’s voice is quiet, subdued in a way Ryan is not used to hearing from him.
He swallows and tries to think. The thing is, his father is right. Frank Carson would have a field day with his father’s testimony. Frank Carson is a sharp piece of work—there’s a reason McNeil pays him the big bucks. He would make damn sure that no judge or jury ever believed a word out of his father’s mouth. His father would be completely discredited, and worse than that, his professional pride, his own sense of self-worth, his belief in himself as an upstanding, law-abiding man would be shredded. He would climb off that stand a broken man.
“Listen, Dad, it’s okay. I’ll figure something out. I’ll be in touch, okay?”
He blows out a breath and finishes the call. He stares down at the phone, and watches the screen go into sleep mode before he slides it back into his pocket. His eyes are blurry, and he swears and swipes at them with his overcoat sleeve. His fingers have gone numb with cold. He fumbles with his leather gloves, flexing his fingers to warm them up as he tugs them on. He buttons up his coat, shoves his hands deep into his pockets, and walks back onto the street.
He walks to the office with his mind blank. Midtown is quiet, just the occasional dog walker or tourist, everyone bundled up in scarves and hats and long overcoats. He walks past the subway and refuses to look at it or to think of Fiona. He needs his mind clear, everything set out and organized and dispassionate in order to confront Joseph. He’s gotten the truth from his father; it’s Joseph’s turn now.
THE OFFICE is quiet. He can hear Joseph’s voice echoing eerily through the empty space as he hesitates outside his own office. He stands and stares at Joseph’s open office door. He can hear Joseph’s side of the conversation clearly and the muffled, slightly static responses of whoever’s on speaker phone. Joseph’s shadow is outlined in the opaque glass as he paces around the room, tossing his stress ball up and down.
Ryan sets his shoulders, takes a breath, and pauses in the doorway to Joseph’s office. Joseph is dressed in his usual casual weekend clothes: designer jeans and shoes, charcoal-gray cashmere sweater. His face is unshaven, hair a little spiky, not quite its usual executive slick. He looks like someone should be paying him to look that good. He looks like he just stepped off a GQ shoot. He pauses in his pacing when he notices Ryan and he cocks a smile, holds up two fingers, mouthing, “Two minutes.”
Ryan shakes his head, says, “No. Now.”
Joseph frowns but Ryan is already moving. He strides forward and leans over the desk to press the button to disconnect the call on Joseph’s Polycom phone.
“Ryan, what the fuck?”
“We need to talk,” he says. He reaches into his inside pocket, slides out the Polaroid Jack McNeil gave him, and tosses it to the desk in front of them. “About this. About you and McNeil.”
He watches Joseph’s face as his eyes flick down to take in the picture, then up once more to meet Ryan’s gaze. His expression hasn’t changed—still slightly pissed, that infuriating unreadable mask in place.
“I just had company during my Sunday morning coffee at De Angelo’s,” he spits. “You’d ne
ver guess who came and sat with me. He was a real chatty Cathy.”
“McNeil,” says Joseph, his tone as emotionless and unreadable as his expression.
“Yes, McNeil. Your ex.”
Joseph snorts, moving to sink into his desk chair. “Right.” He angles his head back to look up at Ryan. “So what did he have to say?”
“You mean, apart from the fact the two of you were fucking for God knows how many years?” He picks up the Polaroid again, throws it at Joseph so it hits his chest and flutters into his lap. Joseph picks it up without looking at it and drops it dismissively back onto his desk. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“It wasn’t relevant. Have I asked you about any of your exes?”
“That’s hardly the same thing! We’re fucking suing this guy, Joseph! A guy you used to be involved with! If anyone found out, our case would be over.”
“Which is precisely why I didn’t tell anybody.”
“But I’m not anybody! Am I?” he appeals. He swallows, feels those stupid twin pinpricks of pain behind his eyes and at the back of his throat.
Joseph’s mask seems to flicker for a moment; then he says, “No, you’re not.”
Ryan bows his head and lets out a shaky breath. He turns around and puts his back to Joseph, leaning against the edge of his desk. He curls his fingers around the wood edge and stares down at the carpet. He can remember the first time they fooled around in this room, just after they’d gotten back from Houston. He was hiding out in the office, unwilling to go home and confront Daisy and face up to everything he’d done. His body was still buzzing and tingling with the memory of how Joseph’s skin had felt against his own, so he’d come in here and let Joseph touch him and kiss him and jerk him off.
“If the clients found out, they would fire us! And if Frank Carson found out—”
“Frank Carson already knows,” Joseph says, and he sounds completely certain and unruffled. Ryan hears him scrape his chair back and get to his feet. He tenses as Joseph rounds the desk and sits next to him. “I was underage and McNeil was married when we met. Even a whiff of a rumor about a gay affair would ruin McNeil for good, never mind one with an underage kid. And they both know I have more than enough evidence to prove it. The stupid bastard still thinks he’s got a shot at the state governorship.”
“Underage? But he said you were eighteen. The age of consent in Texas is seventeen,” says Ryan.
“He lied. I was sixteen the first time he put his dick in me.”
Ryan jerks his head up, looks into Joseph’s face. He looks thoughtful, a small crease between his eyebrows, like he’s remembering something.
“Jesus, that sick bastard,” Ryan mutters.
Joseph shrugs. “Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, it’s all academic. At the time I wanted it as much as he did. I was hardly—” He pauses and licks his lips, the corner of his mouth twisting. “I wasn’t the innocent party, Ryan. I was never innocent. I saw him; I wanted him; I got him. I remember, it was at this employee picnic event, not long after McNeil Industries had bought out my father’s company. It was some big bullshit get-to-know-the-new-management thing, and Dad made me and my stepmother tag along with him. McNeil couldn’t take his eyes off me all that afternoon—it was so goddamn simple. My dad had no fucking clue what was going on.”
“Your dad. He told me that your dad wasn’t dead,” Ryan says, remembering.
Joseph hesitates at that, like he’s biding for time. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, he’s alive.”
“Jesus Christ, Joseph!” He pushes away from the desk, spins around to confront him. “You don’t lie about shit like that! What kind of sick fuck lies about their father being dead?”
Joseph blinks. “I’m sorry, Ryan. But you wanted a reason so much. You wanted me to be this guy that I just wasn’t. I had to give you something you would believe.”
“You wanted my dad,” says Ryan thickly. “That’s what this was all about! You wanted my dad to testify, to tell everybody that McNeil told him to sell before the crash. You needed… you still need his testimony to make your case. That was why you hired me, why you were so fucking nice to me! That was why you took me out to awards ceremonies and fancy steak restaurants and on trips to Houston. I thought it was because you thought I was good and then… after we, you know…. I thought it was because you wanted in my pants. But it wasn’t, all this time…. That was why you fucking slept with me, ’cause you wanted my dad! It wasn’t for me at all.”
“No!” says Joseph, and he’s standing up now, closing the distance between them. “No, that’s not true.” He grabs onto Ryan’s arms, peers up into his face, eyes wide and imploring. “No. I slept with you because I wanted you. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. I told you that.”
“You just couldn’t help yourself,” Ryan murmurs.
“Right, right.” Joseph lets out a shaky breath.
“Just like with McNeil. You saw me, you wanted me, you got me. Just like you did with McNeil. You always get what you want, don’t you, Joseph? You always fucking win, no matter who gets trampled on.” He pulls away, jerking his arms out of Joseph’s grasp. “God, I’ve been so fucking stupid! I can’t believe I left Daisy… for… for what? For this? For you!”
Joseph is staring back at him with wide eyes. “Ryan, don’t listen to anything he’s told you. He knows he’s screwed. He knows we’re going to win, so he’s just trying to fuck things up for me… for us.”
“He told me you destroyed his company ’cause he got a new boyfriend. He told me you deliberately misled him about the Penrose acquisition just ’cause he found some new boy toy!”
“What? That’s fucking preposterous!” Joseph lets out a jagged, disbelieving breath. “Please don’t tell me you believe any of that crap?”
Ryan shakes his head. “I don’t know what to believe. So far, everything McNeil’s told me has been true… my dad, your dad, the two of you—”
“No.” Joseph shakes his head and takes a step forward, tentative, his eyes so wide, so imploring, and so green. So pretty, Ryan thinks, so fucking beautiful. He’s rooted to the spot, watching Joseph’s face. Joseph’s tongue slicks nervously across his lips, the color high in his cheeks as he approaches. He looks so un-Joseph-like, unsure of himself in a way Ryan has never seen before.
“Ryan,” Joseph whispers, and Ryan leans in. He can’t help himself—he’s so damn weak, just like McNeil. He feels a brief flash of compassion for the poor sap. Who could’ve stood a chance against sixteen-year-old Joseph? He leans in and feels Joseph’s hands go up to cradle his face. He leans in, closes his eyes, feels their lips fuse together.
“Believe me, please,” Joseph whispers, his lips tracking across Ryan’s cheek. “Believe in this, Ryan.”
He gulps, blinks, feeling his resolve start to melt as he turns to chase Joseph’s lips. Joseph murmurs into his mouth, “He’s jealous; he still wants me. He wants me to be miserable. He’s lying; he wants to hurt us.”
He called him his boy, Ryan thinks, but he’s not, he’s mine. Joseph is mine.
They’re sinking to the floor, Joseph’s hands squirming under his shirt and sweater, pushing insistently at his overcoat—Get it off, get it off, Ryan—and his own hands are under Joseph’s waistband, against his skin, tracing his hipbones as he whispers his name. His overcoat comes off, as does Joseph’s sweater. Joseph’s hair is sticking up with static, so Ryan smoothes it down for him, kissing along his jawline and his collarbone, breathing him in. McNeil can keep his twinky, treacherous Joseph, because this Joseph is all his. Joseph pushes him down, bunches up his shirt, kissing and breathing him in as he layers his chest and belly with kisses, stubble scraping against Ryan’s abs, clever fingers flicking the buttons on his jeans.
“I don’t want to be like that loser in The Last Seduction,” Ryan mutters, and Joseph looks up, blinking and saying, “What? What?” He’s hazy-eyed and flushed and so desirable that it breaks Ryan’s heart.
“Please don’t make me li
ke that sad sack in The Last Seduction,” he begs. “Please, ’cause I can’t, Joseph, I can’t give this up now… it’s gone too far. I gave up Daisy for you… for this.”
Joseph chuckles, his mouth breaking into a warm, affectionate smile that makes Ryan’s chest hurt. He smiles and nuzzles into him, kisses him and whispers, “What? No, you’re not. You’re not a sad sack, you’re not a loser, and this is real, I promise you, this is real. Don’t be stupid, Ryan,” and his mouth is swallowing down Ryan’s cock and Ryan is arching up from the floor and curling his hands into Joseph’s short hair.
They lie on the floor afterward, tangled up, Joseph breathing into his mouth. His breath smells and tastes of Ryan. Joseph’s own come is smeared across Ryan’s belly, the two of them bathed in each other’s scents. This is real, Ryan tries to tell himself. This is what matters now.
He watches Joseph get up and walk over to the desk. Joseph turns around and Ryan notices that he’s holding something; it’s the Polaroid photograph.
“I remember this being taken,” Joseph says. “I was so much in love with him back then, on that night. Valentine’s Day, 2001, I remember it so clearly.”
“He said you made him go to a gay bar with him. He said he hated it and that’s why you made him do it.”
“Yeah, he would say that.” Joseph bows his head, looking down at the picture like he’s lost in the memory. “He never understood that I just wanted to be out with him, that I was fed up with hiding all the time, and I just wanted to spend fucking Valentine’s Day with the guy I loved. Our relationship was never really about love for him. Oh, he cared about me in his own fucked-up way, but it was an obsession. He was obsessed with me; he had to have me completely to himself. I was never allowed to see other guys, which was so fucking hypocritical of him because I always knew that I wasn’t the only one. Though I was the only one who got involved with his precious business, which was something, I guess.” He snorts contemptuously and drops the photo onto the desk.
