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“If no one else has been able to find it after all these years, I doubt she will. She’s not the first reporter to want an exclusive about my personal life.”
“All I’m saying is be careful around her.”
Feeling left out, Roxie climbs onto my lap and barks at Donovan as if agreeing with him, crushing my computer and forcing me to set it aside to make room for her. For four months old, she already weighs a ton.
“I’ll find other ways to keep her occupied,” I say with a wink.
He laughs, settling into the cushions. “I’m sure you will.”
Chapter Seven
KENNEDY
On my way into New Jersey, my father calls me for our weekly chat about how I should get a real job, quit wasting money on Sports Buzz, and find myself a news anchor position. Because Lockwood’s are winners. And winners don’t waste their time on silly things like online newspapers that don’t even break even each month.
“Dad, I understand what you are saying, but this is my paper, and I will do what I want with it,” I say into the speakers of my car, a dark blue BMW coupe my father had bought me before the shit
hit the fan.
“You are spending a lot of money to travel and maintain the paper, sweetie. I am trying to look out for you and your best interests.”
“Thank you for your concern.” I check the GPS, making sure I am heading in the right direction as I cross the bridge. “I can handle myself. If it becomes too expensive, I promise you I will shut it down.”
Funny how he squandered his own money and allowed his corrupt business associates to talk him into deals that bled his companies dry, forcing him to sell them off to the highest bidder. That bidder was Rinaldi Holdings, a global company with their headquarters in downtown Philly. Savannah, my younger sister, had tried to weasel her way into getting information on the people who had bought the company. She had found out that the Philadelphia Mafia had their hand in the entire thing.
Since then, my sister and I have been playing it off as if we still have money, mostly because of our clothes and accessories. But that charade will soon die off, and people will realize whatever money my father had is almost gone once we’re forced to offer our Fendi and Chanel bags on consignment just to pay rent. Not that anyone would feel sorry for us.
My mother still hasn’t accepted that we are soon to be broke, drowning her sorrows in the bottom of a wine glass until the bank comes to throw them out of the house I grew up in off the Mainline, an area outside Philly where all the wealthy Philly suburbanites live.
I was hoping my father was one of those tycoons who was smart enough to hide money in offshore bank accounts. Nope, my grandfather was the real brains behind Sentry Publications, and after he had died, my father was in over his head and desperate for help. Too bad he sought the wrong help. His business partners somehow squeezed every penny from not only our accounts but also those left in a trust from my grandfather.
“Have you spoken to Savvy?” My father sounds more upset than normal. “She hasn’t been answering my calls. They go straight to voicemail.”
“She’s fine, Dad. Just give her some time. This transition is not easy on any of us. She will come around.”
“You were always the tough one,” he says with pride. “Your sister was too spoiled and wanted everything handed to her, but you…you were always a hard worker.”
Irritated, I spit back. “Then why don’t you believe I can turn this paper around and make it a success? A little more faith in me would go a long way. It’s bad enough Savvy and Mom think the paper is a joke, but you, of all people, should understand what it’s like to try to make something from nothing. You’re starting over at sixty years old.”
He sighs, his heavy breaths carrying through my car, the speakers creating an echo. “I named you after a great man, Kennedy. You have never disappointed me. I’m sorry if I have been too harsh on you. I don’t want to see you fail the way I did. I am trying to protect you.”
“The only way to succeed is to let me try, Dad. If I never try, then I won’t know if I can make it work.”
“You’re right, sweetie. Well, your mother is calling me for lunch. If you hear from your sister, please have her call me. I am worried about her. Ever since graduation, she has spent most of her time in Europe or in New York, charging up her credit cards, and I can’t afford to cover her expenses anymore.”
“I’ll let her know, Dad. Like I said, just give her time. At some point, she will come to terms with everything.”
Following the navigation prompts, I turn down an empty street that appears to be a dead end, assuming the car is wrong until I see the monstrosity of a house on the corner, situated next to an even bigger house. Can I even call it a house? These mansions make the one I grew up in seem small in comparison.
“Have a good night, Dad. I have to run. I’m meeting a hockey player for the paper. Tell mom I say hi.”
“Will do sweetie. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I say, before hitting the end call button on the steering wheel.
After I pull through the tall, wrought iron gates and drive up and around the spiral driveway, I have no idea where to park. Situated near the back of the house is a four-car garage, but without a single car on the property, I almost wonder if I am at the right house. It’s too desolate for anyone to live here.
The grounds are cared for, the lawn pristine, the hedges trimmed and sculpted, but it’s missing the personality that comes with the owner of a house. Every house has its own character. This one has…nothing. For someone full of life, Tyler sure lives in a sad house, despite its many architectural charms.
