Page 4 of Vega

I worked at a medical device and surgical supply company in a corporate office attached to a distribution warehouse as a healthcare data analyst for a medical supply company, which was the simplest way to explain a job most people stopped understanding after the word “data”. My actual responsibility was to build predictive models that helped hospitals determine how many surgical devices and specialty supplies they would need months in advance.

I studied procedure schedules, purchasing trends, insurance approvals, patient demographics, shipping delays, and anything else that could affect inventory. Then I turned all that information into projections designed to keep hospitals from wasting money or running out of something important while a patient was already on an operating table.

It was nerdy as hell, but it was also the kind of work I was good at.

I’d entered college with enough credits from Advanced Placement and dual-enrollment classes to skip nearly two years. By twenty-three years old, I had finished undergrad and earned my master’s degree. People usually called me gifted when they heard that.

Gifted sounded prettier than a nerd. I didn’t like unanswered questions, inaccurate information, or problems that appeared too hard to solve. Numbers were easier than people. Data had patterns. Even when it appeared confusing, there was always a logical explanation hiding somewhere.

I saved my work, packed my laptop, and looked around the darkened office. I was the only person left in the building.

Usually, I took public transportation home. I owned a car, but with gas being so high and the price of parking, even as an employee, it made more financial sense. But, since it was so late, I ordered an Uber.

Being an orphan made independence less of a personality trait and more of a requirement.

I could have texted Dior, but he would fuss, ask why I was still at work, and probably stay awake until I got home. I didn’t want to worry him.

As I walked towards the entrance, the Uber app notified me that my driver was seventeen minutes away.

I huffed in frustration at the long wait. “Perfect.”

The front entrance locked at ten, so I took the elevator to the rear lobby and exited beside the private loading area. During the day, trucks delivered surgical equipment through the three metal bays. At night, the enclosed lot was deserted except for parked trailers, industrial dumpsters, and one flickering security light.

As I started toward the pedestrian gate, I suddenly heard shouting that made me pause.

“You refuse to let go!” The shouting had come from behind one of the trailers.

Peering in the darkness, I saw two men standing near the far loading bay. The younger one paced while the older man remained still.

“You built the organization for the family,” the younger man said. “That includes me.”

“You’re gawd damn right I built it,” the older man replied. “And you’re forgetting who still runs it.”

“I’m not forgetting anything. I’m trying to prove I can help carry it!”

“You’re trying to make moves behind my back!”

“I made decisions that needed to be made!”

“You made decisions that made people look to you instead of me!”

This was not my business. So, I lowered my head and backed up toward the building, hoping to reach the gate without being noticed.

But then the younger man spoke again, and his voice sounded too hurt for me to ignore. “You’re mad because they listened. You’re mad because I handled things, and nobody had to come running to you first.”

The older man stepped closer. “You don’t get to decide when you’re ready.”

“I’m not a child anymore!” the younger man roared. “You keep saying this is about family, but every time I try to stand on my own, you push me back down.”

“You were positioning yourself to take over before your time.”

“My time is coming whether you like it or not.”

The overhead canopy lights shined on their faces as the younger man stepped closer.

“You don’t want an heir,” the younger man said. “You want everybody under your thumb until you die.”

“Watch your mouth, Donovan.”