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“I’ll be at the next meeting, Dad. Problem solved. I get the message.”
“I don’t think you have, but it’s a testament that you haven’t changed one bit. You’re just older and willing to screw with things more than you did before.”
“I have changed, and I don’t know what the hell it’s going to take for you to see that.”
“You know what? Drop it. It doesn’t matter. Thanks for signing off the paperwork.”
Before I can say another word, he turns on his heel and marches out of my office as if I’m a petulant child he’s just issued punishment to.
The door slams, and in a fury, I knock a stack of documents off my desk.
I can’t do this.
I actually can’t fucking do it.
I’m not going to last here, and it’s not because I’m weak. I’m anything other. My problem is my father.
I live by a certain standard of professionalism, and he doesn’t. He’s always in asshole mode, which is amplified because I happen to be his son.
That’s not how I want to spend the rest of my fucking days. It’s alright when you’re in your teens or early twenties, and you’re just starting out, but not at my age.
Sorry, Grandfather.
I know what he was trying to do. It wasn’t just about the money or the legacy. It was also about fixing the broken relationship I have with my father. My grandfather was the only person who continued to talk to me throughout the years, and it was more like he was the parent who was trying his best to fix things.
It was always fucking like that. He was the one who went to every single football game and the guy who was there for me when I needed him the most. He had to fucking push my father to support me, and he’s doing it now from beyond the grave.
There’s only so much a person can do, however. So I’m saying right now that I’m giving myself a year here.
That would have meant I tried. Money is not a problem for me. I have more than enough. My time at Giordanos Inc. was invaluable. I was paid in abundance for my talents and appreciated.
I can work anywhere or start my own company.
With that reasoning to balance my sanity, I return to my computer screen. I have an hour before I have to go.
I’m meeting Georgiou early at the hotel the auction will be held at so we can get an early view of the girls who will be taking part.
They walk behind a two-way mirrored wall so we can see them, but they can’t see us. It adds to the mystery and fantasy.
I click on the next employee on the list and smile when I see it’s Peter.
Let me see how much of a brown-nosing asshole this guy is. I’m expecting everything to be squeaky clean even when I hack his personal files. That motherfucker would probably try to kill me if he ever knew what I was doing.
The thought brings a bigger smile to my face. He could try but never succeed.
I’m not from the mafia, but that doesn’t mean my fucking eyes were closed all these years of working with them.
I find porn in his personal stash and gloss over it. I’m not interested in what gets him off.
I bring up all his transactions and activities in regard to the resort over the last five years—everything.
My system is set up to put it all together so I can do a quick scan and rule a person out.
The first thing that pops to me on his file is a list of transactions to an account that looks like a personal one, but there’s no name attached to it. That’s weird by itself.
The other glaringly obvious thing that’s weird is he made these transactions using Donny’s password, so he logged in with his details.
Would Donny have authorized that?
