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“Good. Good. I’m glad the foundation could help. You take care and I’ll call again soon.”
Sharon’s shelter, the largest one west of the Mississippi, was the first place I contacted when branching out of New York. The team of the New Day Shelter works tirelessly to help abused persons not only get back on their feet, but help them come to terms with their abuse.
“Thanks again, Mr. Grayson.”
I click off and the smile brought on by my conversation with Sharon turns upside down as I turn my attention to Cousin Douche.
“What?” I bark.
Thomas steeples his hands. “Why does Gramps want to speak to you? It can’t be about your trip to Austin to sort out the company he’s bought. We worked out the details ages ago.”
Thomas, a year older than me, still thinks he can dig into my life like Gramps. They both strive to know everything about everyone, no matter how hard a person tries to hide their secrets.
I run a hand through my hair. It’s thick and dark and in desperate need of a trim. I’ll have to make time to go to my barber soon. “Not sure...” I hedge. “Why don’t you ask him?”
Thomas scoffs. “Like I would.”
Of course, he wouldn’t. Gramps hates to be questioned… about anything. And don’t go against him either. He is adept at ruining people who don’t bend to his will.
The Grayson Group specializes in everything from bodyguards to our unhackable computers and our client list stretches to Alaskan gaming facilities to a few dignitaries in Zimbabwe. They choose us over the competition as we not only guarantee quality, but absolute discretion and loyalty.
Like Gramps demands of those around him.
“Is it about him retiring?” Thomas asks, lifting an eyebrow. “Will he makeyouCEO over me?”
Thomas knows what buttons of mine to press, and right now, he has killed off my patience with him.
Like my speech therapist taught me, I let out a long breath and speak slower than I normally do, tempering the anger I feel. “For the last time, I don’t know. But I know what will happen to you if you come in here again without knocking. Now get out of my office.”
He knows I mean it. I’ve given him a few black eyes over the years. To be fair, he’s given me a bruised rib and a busted lip. That all happened when we were teenagers. He doesn’t dare try me now. We are similar in height, but I have at least fifty pounds of muscle on him.
Without another word, Thomas hops up, leaving so fast his shoes blur.
I lean back in my chair and steeple my hands much as Thomas did. Gramps has the same habit, so we must have learned it from him. I smile, thinking back to all the things he’s taught us.
Not all of them have been good.
And that brings me to this meeting. If we talk shop, Gramps comes to the Grayson building or we go out for a meal. With a summons to his home… well, I can guarantee I won’t like the outcome.
Talk of the Town
Royce
Grampswalkstotheantique walnut cabinet, opens a door and roots around inside. With a satisfied grunt, he retrieves a crystal decanter filled with brown liquid from its innards. He removes the stopper and pours a hefty amount of scotch into each tumbler.
A double. Good. I need it.
“Nice of you to give me time to mull over your…demandby fixing me a drink,“ I say, biting back the curse I want to let out.
Gramps, knowing me like he knows himself, acknowledges my discomfort by giving me a sly grin.
His Manhattan home office is bigger than most hotel suites. Not at this moment. The walls, full of Warhol artwork, close in on me. I pull at the knot in my tie.
Is he kidding or am I dreaming?
Gramps holds a glass within my reach.
My hand is steady as I take the glass. Outwardly, I’m the picture of calm. Inwardly, I’m a maelstrom of emotions. My life as I know it is about to end.
