Personal Demon (Otherworld 8)

AT SIX-THIRTY I walked into Cortez Cabal headquarters. There was no question that my father would still be there. For him, the day didn't end for another hour or so. That was a lesson he'd taught me--that if you expect your employees to work nine to five, and your executives eight to six, then, as CEO, you need to be there even longer. Whatever my father's faults, he treats everyone from the janitors to the board of directors with consideration and respect...at least when he doesn't need them tortured, maimed or executed.

I hadn't notified my father of my arrival...or that I was coming to Miami at all. I wanted to see his reaction without giving him time to prepare his defense. I do not enjoy the subterfuge. I can't say the same for him.

The lobby doors had barely shut behind me before a receptionist and a guard flanked me. Did I need a cab driver paid? A car taken to the executive lot? A coffee? A cold drink perhaps--it was quite warm today. Was I here to see my father? Was there anyone else they could call for me? Would I like a member of the clerical staff on hand for my visit?

Paige urges me to find the humor in this, and it is almost sublimely ridiculous. But I can't laugh it off--at the root of it is my father's biggest machination, his grandest scheme: naming me heir.

By naming as his successor the only son who does not want the job, he ensures peace among my three brothers, and safety for himself. The latter says something about his relationship with them--and the real possibility that they would commit patricide to hasten their inheritance. It is a truth my father recognizes. Name me heir, and my brothers must stay their hands and work hard, hoping to persuade the board of directors that they would run the company successfully, should the board wish to exercise its influence on my father and convince him to change his inheritance plans.

Where does that leave me? In the worst situation of all, made worse by my father's refusal to acknowledge that this is a ruse at all. I have asked--once even pleaded--for him to admit, just to me, that it's a political ploy. He will not.

The receptionist fell back to her station as the guard escorted me to the executive elevator. That was awkward for all. Considering my anti-Cabal efforts, my guide might look more like an armed escort, though he was only trying to accord me due respect.

The dilemma was resolved when the parking garage elevator opened and out stepped my half-brother, William. On seeing me, he hesitated, as if considering his chances of hastily retreating. Normally, I'd have let him go, but given the choice between discomfiting the guard or William, I decided my brother could handle it.

"William, how are you?" I walked forward, hand extended.

Every employee in the lobby had stopped to watch.

"Lucas."

He gave my hand a fleeting shake.

"I was just going upstairs to speak to Father. If you were headed that way, we can ride up together."

He couldn't escape gracefully, so he said, "Yes, of course."

The guard relinquished me to him.

Of my three half-brothers, I get along best with William, which is not to say he was going to invite Paige and me to Sunday dinner anytime soon, but he'd never tried to kill me--a sign of resignation, if not acceptance. On the elevator, I asked after his wife and infant son. Another nephew whom I suspected I'd never meet. Hector's two boys--now teenagers--didn't even know they had an Uncle Lucas. When they were younger, I'd send birthday and Christmas gifts, but after a few years of having them returned, I'd realized to continue would be mere stubbornness...and an expenditure I could ill afford.

Once off the elevator, aware that others could be watching, William struggled to show a polite return interest in my life by asking about Savannah's educational plans.

"Well, well, well," a voice sang out behind us. "If it isn't the geek crusader. What horrible crime have we committed this time?" Carlos slid past me, planted himself in my path and held out his wrist. "Here, baby brother, get it over with."

"Hello, Carlos."

He made a show of looking around. "Where's the little witch? Is it just my imagination, or do you lock her away whenever I'm around?"

"She's otherwise occupied this evening, but I'm sure you'll see her later."

He flashed his teeth. "Oh, I'll make sure of it."

I tensed, but tried not to show it. Let Carlos know he'd struck a nerve and he'd never let up. Paige always repelled his attentions, but with Carlos, rejection only served to whet his appetite.

"If you'll excuse me, William, Carlos--"

My father's office door opened and Hector came out.

When my eldest brother steps into a room, the hairs on my neck rise and icy dread settles into the pit of my stomach. William and Carlos dislike me, but Hector hates me--a hatred so pure it vibrates between us. Can I blame him? He's the oldest son. He's been a hardworking, vital part of the Cabal since before I was born. Yet he has to suffer the humiliation of my father pretending he'll hand the business to me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Hector advanced. He's at least four inches shorter than me, but it took all I had not to shrink back.

"Got your bags packed, Hector?" Carlos said. "Because I think you're about to be sent on a little trip."

"Lucas."