Shattered Dynasty

The short, bald man I know to be my father’s attorney hands me an envelope. I have no desire to take it, but I do anyway. I won’t read it now. Nor will I probably ever read it. Nevertheless, I put it in the inside pocket of my suit jacket.

“Can we get this over with?” I scoff. On a list of things I want to be doing today, this rates right below getting a root canal.

“We need to wait for a few more people,” he says, and the urge to pace out my aggravation kicks at my legs.

Instead, I stride to the window and pretend to stare out, studying the two of them in the reflection without them knowing.

“What’s the point? He had nothing,” I mutter under my breath.

The man was broke.

“Trent, can you please just have a seat? As soon as your sister and mother get here, we can proceed.” Mr. Baker turns to the girl cowering in the chair in the corner. “Payton, is your sister coming?”

She nods.

“Who are you?” I ask her, knowing full well this girl is probably my illegitimate sister.

Fucking Dad.

Literally.

Of course, he knocked up some woman behind my mother’s back. Nothing this dead bastard did should surprise me anymore.

The fact that, only a few minutes ago, I was checking her out makes me want to vomit.

“I-I’m,” she stutters.

“My sister?” I lead, fixated on her reflection with an intensity that should worry me.

“No. Yes. Well—”

“It’s not a tough question. Either you are, or you’re not.” Her large blue eyes stare into my back, and I swear she looks like she’s going to cry. “It’s not hard.” When she still doesn’t speak, I poke a little harder. “Here’s how this works. You open your mouth . . . or even better, bob your head.”

“No,” she mutters back and looks down at the floor. As if she is praying it will swallow her up and save her from me.

Spoiler alert: It won’t.

“Now that you’ve proven you know how to have a conversation, tell me why you’re here.”

“Trent, there is no reason to be hostile to the poor girl. I’m sure Mr. Baker will inform us.”

I turn to the owner of the voice. My sister, Ivy, is the picture of serenity beside her husband, Cyrus. They entered silently, a telltale sign that his bad habits have rubbed off on her. My mother walks in behind them. Her stride is slow as if weighed down by a physical burden. Deep lines stretch across her forehead. In the past day, her eyes have grown due to the swelling from crying so much over the trash of a man she was married to for so long.

She’s been broken for so many years. Mom was finally starting to come out of her shell-shocked being.

And now she must face more lies from the bastard.

“We are only waiting for Erin now.” The damn lawyer needs to get this over with already.

And who the fuck is Erin?

“Who the fuck is Erin?”

As I echo my thoughts, the door opens, and as if she’s been summoned, a very attractive woman, who looks almost as old as Payton, walks in. The resemblance is uncanny, despite the fact that her face is obviously stretched tight from years of Botox and fillers.

I peg her as Payton’s older sister. Her head is held high as she strides into the room. As if her arrogance isn’t bad enough, as if her mere presence isn’t an insult, she’s also dripping head to toe in diamonds.

Diamonds, I don’t have to guess to know how my father funded.

The gambling problem.

He fucked away his empire to finance his affair with his side piece, giving up his own daughter in the process. Good fucking riddance. If someone hadn’t beaten me to the punch, I would’ve killed him myself right here for his bullshit.

“This must be Erin.” I scoff, not a question but a statement. Turning my back to her, I look back at the attorney. “Now that everyone is here tell me why I had to miss my meeting to deal with this shit.”

“Your father wanted to go over his assets.”

“My father had no assets.”

“Well, that actually isn’t the case.” The lawyer looks down, sheepish.

“I don’t understand,” Ivy whispers. “Dad had nothing.” Her voice cracks on the last word.

So much has gone down in the past few years. Even speaking about Dad makes my fists clench.

Everything, including his jail time, stemmed from his lack of funds and what he was willing to do to get some.

If he had money, what was it all for? And, better question, why didn’t we know?

Cyrus moves closer and places his arm around Ivy’s shoulder. He leans in and whispers in her ear. I can’t hear what he says, but it seems to calm her.

“Can everyone please sit?” The lawyer smiles uncomfortably. Uh-huh. What the fuck are we here for?