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But now, it’s the last thing I want to do. President was JP’s job, not mine. It almost feels like I’m being forced to wipe his existence away completely.
This week has dragged, more so because Royal and Gemini ditched me. Neither they—nor her—have even left campus. I may be in another state, but I still have my contacts keeping an eye on her.
I’m not surprised she stayed. No doubt, she made plans to snoop through the house on her futile mission to prove her brother’s innocence.
Royal’s been playing basketball since freshman year, and he’s never stayed behind to train until now. Even now, there’s more than a handful of girls who’d be willing to spread their legs and let him fuck them, so he can’t say it’s because there’s a tight cunt that needs his attention this year either.
It’s her.
At least with Gemini, I know he’s just letting his twisted little fantasies run wild. With him, it’s just another cunt, not her cunt.
I shouldn’t have cancelled Moran for the week and made him go feed Basil. Royal’s at least dependable enough to make sure he’s seen to, but if Moran was in the house twice a day, he’d be able to keep an eye on things while he’s feeding my basilisk.
Raising my arm, I watch the second hand of my brother’s Rolex complete a 24-hour cycle, marking the end of Thanksgiving.
Thank fuck.
Tonight, after eating so much food, my father and his friends drank whiskey, smoked a cigar, and called it a night an hour ago instead of dragging the evening out. They may have gorged themselves on the spread our staff had prepared, but I’ve barely had an appetite since I got here. Considering how little sleep I’ve had too, an early night might be a blessing, but no.
I’m lying on my bed, wide awake.
This week would have been easier if I could have just pulled the covers over my head and stayed in bed.
If Gemini were here, he’d have some pharmaceuticals on hand. Sedatives might get me to sleep now. Of course, if Gemini was here, I probably wouldn’t need them then. He and Royal would be enough to keep me sane—ironic though, that is.
I’m still awake an hour later, and after looking through all the streaming services, I’ve found nothing to watch. With a sigh, I get up, put my slippers on, and grab my robe. Every night this week, I’ve gone to bed with a full stomach of whiskey. Maybe that’s what I need tonight too.
Calling this residence the Keyingham Lodge seems to undersell the size of the place. With sixteen bedrooms, this place could be a hotel.
It might as well be. This place, the summer house in Southampton, the ranch in Montana, and the penthouse in Manhattan—none of them feels like a place I want to stay in anymore. They’re either always empty, or full of pricks I want to punch in the face.
There are over twenty people staying here tonight, but the house is silent as I walk downstairs to the library. The bar in there is one of the smallest in the house, but it’s the only one with Yamazaki.
I push open the door and walk in, about to turn a light on, but the room is already lit. Sitting in front of the fireplace, the contents little more than glowing embers, sit my father, Magnus du Pont, and his son—also my brother’s best friend—Preston. The three of them fall silent the moment we make eye contact.
“I think that’s our cue. I’ll speak to you tomorrow, William,” Magnus says before I have the chance to apologize for disturbing them. He stands, nods at my father and then walks towards me, with Preston right behind him. “Synclair,” he mutters, before leaving the room.
Preston pauses, only long enough to narrow his eyes at me, before closing the door behind him.
My father and Magnus have known each other forever. They went to college together, and the year my father was President of the Elite, Magnus was his VP.
I can’t stand Magnus, and I don’t think my father can either. If anything, I’d say their friendship was more of a frenemies thing. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
Because my father’s grandfather may have founded the university they attended, the town it was built in, and established the Elite, but just like the government, it’s never the president holding all the power. Not behind the scenes.
The current government, and most of them for at least the last century, were bought and paid for by a small group of people. Fourteen families—fourteen men—pulling the strings, determining who will hold what seat, and which bills will be passed or even make it to the president’s desk. Fourteen men who had once been thirty-seven until someone realized the less people know, the more you can achieve.
My father might have been the President of the Elite, but the President of the XXXVII is Magnus. Ultimately, he’s the one who decided JP—and then me—were to be put on that presidential track.
So if he leaves the room so my father and I can talk, I doubt I’m going to enjoy the conversation. But it’s too late to leave now.
I walk over to the bar and pull out a bottle of whiskey—not the Yamazaki like I wanted, because a part of me needs to keep this last connection to my brother a secret from my father—and pour myself a glass. “Would you like one?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer, and as I turn, something flies towards my head.
My reflexes are quick, so I have to fight every instinct not to duck out of the way.
“Are you fucking insane?” My father yells as his glass explodes against my temple.
