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“If you had brought your ass over sooner, we could’ve started this years ago,” Kyle gripes from the screen.
“Shouldn’t you be enjoying your honeymoon?” He’s only in the first week of his three-week trip to Europe with his new wife and is already on a work call.
“I’m only giving him thirty more minutes, gentleman,” Riley says from somewhere offscreen.
Kyle’s lips twitch as he tries to withhold his smile.
“He’s right, though,” Uncle Aaron states, bringing my attention back to the head of the table. “If you had been with us years ago, we could’ve made much more headway in this arena.”
I blink and meet all my family members’ eyes in this meeting. Townsend Industries is a powerhouse of a company. They can hire the best and brightest. It never even occurred to me that my family was waiting for me to join the company to enter this subsect of the market.
My stomach twists from the guilt that I could’ve let them down. I can’t tell anyone I needed to wait until what felt like a black cloud lingering over my head was gone.
The death of Gabriel Garcia. My birth father.
“He’s right,” Uncle Joshua adds. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters. And this is a great proposal. The project you’re overseeing is a step in the right direction,” he continues.
I swallow the lump of guilt in my throat and, not for the first time, vow to do and be everything I was meant to be for my family and this job. My life finally feels like it’s starting to come together as it should.
The only last piece is the best piece of this puzzle.
Monique.
The night of Kyle’s wedding was just the beginning.
We spend the next twenty minutes strategizing. After that, I head to my office with the intention of replying to some emails and then looking over the designs I’ve been working on.
Unfortunately, my plans get interrupted.
“Diego, there’s an attorney from Wolcott & Sons on the line for you.”
I’ve heard of the law firm. They handle everything from estate planning to real estate and family law. But I don’t have any contacts with them, nor do any of my business dealings.
A second later, I tell my secretary to put the call through.
“I’m the estate attorney for your father,” Donovan Chalmers says, introducing himself.
My head juts back. “No, you’re not.” I know the attorney my father and all of my family members work with.
“Yes, Gabriel Garcia.”
“Fuck,” I curse. “That man isnotmy father. Was not,” I correct.
“I-I apologize,” he stutters out.
“What the hell do you want?”
He quickly jumps into something about Gabriel Garcia’s will.
“I don’t want any part of it.” I start to hang up the phone, but he begs me to hang on.
“Please, I’m not too far from Townsend Industries. Could you please meet with me for ten minutes?”
I know hanging up the phone won’t put an end to this shit as quickly as I would like. He or someone else will call again or stop by my office or home.
“Five minutes at the coffee shop across the street.”
I hang up before he can respond.
