I meet him at his chair and shake his hand. “I apologize that you had to wait.” The second I can, I drop his bitter touch, stretching out my fingers, pushing back the distaste. I stride behind my desk and take a seat, sipping my coffee before placing the mug down by the keyboard. “I take it you’re here because you want an answer to your proposal.”
He nods. “Time has run out.”
I lean back in my chair, thinking over all the documents I had read on the proposed investment, including the additional documentation that I asked my father to deliver to me. “I’m not opposed to this project, but I want to meet with the team at Hoyes Financial.”
“Why?” Frank asks, brows arching.
“I don’t trust you,” is all I say.
A tense moment passes between us.
My father finally breaks the thick silence. “You don’t take my word that the business proposal is legit?”
“No.”
My father snorts, leaning back in his chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. “So, this is what you’ve become? A ruthless businessman who trusts no one, not even his own father?”
“Does that not make you proud?” I retort, teeth clenching, my eyes never leaving his. He’ll never win a power struggle against me.
A slow smile curves my father’s mouth, his wicked eyes dance. “I suppose that, yes, I am quite proud of what you’ve become.”
This is not a conversation I want to have with him. “You can have your assistant get in contact with Charlotte about scheduling a meeting that suits your schedule.”
“But I also need an answer before I bring everyone together.”
“I already said that I’m interested.”
“But interested is not a verbal agreement.”
Done with this pissing contest, I lean forward across my desk and state very clearly, “You don’t come into my office and make demands. If you want my investment, then you will do as I’ve asked you to do. If you don’t, then this meeting is over and you can leave.”
I see the pride in his expression, and it sickens me to my stomach. He thinks I’m like him. I don’t want to be. I don’t even feel like I am. Though there’s something in the way he’s looking at me that’s so familiar. I’ve seen this cold and calculated expression before. I think back, recalling the moment, and my mind goes hazy.
I drop down onto my bed and pull the folded photograph out from the old cigar box I keep hidden in my closet. A photograph that I found in the attic a couple years ago. That I’m sure my father doesn’t know about. The only reason I know who the woman in the photograph is is because on the back it reads:
Mommy & Darius
Disney World 1984
I don’t know why I need to look at this picture today, or why she’s been on my mind lately. She left six years ago. She never came back. She never called to ask about me. But there’s something inside of me that can’t ignore my desire to know more about her.
She’s such a beautiful woman, with her bright blue eyes and long dark hair, but I don’t understand how anyone so beautiful can be so cold. The same question I’ve asked myself over and over again slides through my mind: Why did she leave me?
I keep thinking I should feel something when I look at her. Feel anything. But I’m so empty, so cold. I don’t remember the woman I see in the photograph. I can’t remember the little things about her that made her my mother.
“Darius, are you packed?” my father’s voice bellows from the hallway. “The driver has been waiting ten minutes for you.”
To get rid of you, is what he always leaves off. But I guess it doesn’t matter anyway, not anymore. I’ve grown to like my friends and teachers at school far more than I like the man entering my bedroom.
“What are you doing?” he barks.
I glance away from the photograph to stare into my father’s dark eyes. That’s when he notices the picture I’m holding, and hardness sweeps over his already cold face.
“Where did you get that?” he sneers.
“I found it in the attic.”
He holds out his hand. “Give it to me.”