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“Doesn't seem so. It's getting worse by the day.”
“Takes time.”
“Time that the company doesn't have. The shareholders are already complaining.”
“You would know, wouldn't you?” I asked, and his face flushed with guilt. So it was true, after all.
“Well, someone has to do something if you won't. If you weren't so proud, I have wonderful ideas I could share with you.”
“Is there one of them that doesn't involve losing the company or selling it off?” I smirked.
“I have very sound ideas that will change things if implemented.”
“Good for you,” I said. "Implement them when you’re CEO."
“Daniel, don't goad your brother,” our father said.
“I should expect that my adult brother is able to speak for himself, especially when he goes out of his way to pick a fight. Or is he not yet fully grown?”
The table went silent and, for the moment, everyone’s attention was glued to their plates. Until Anastasia spoke.
“What do you think, Damien? Do you have any suggestions?”
He looked up, seeming a little startled. He took a long swing from his water glass before speaking.
“It's best to not respond formally or even in any way for now. Ignore it, or it will become a bigger issue and the public sees it as trying to cover up.”
Dad nodded sagely as he spoke.
“Also, start new projects. Might be small things, but they have to come with a lot of noise. What the company needs now is to show confidence. That's what the shareholders need. Let them think they're missing out on something and everyone will be rushing to reinvest.” Damien shrugged.
Father's eyes lit up in a rare smile.
“Those are very good suggestions.”
“Yes.” I seconded. He nodded curtly at me.
“Keep an eye on him,” Florence whispered. “There's definitely something up his sleeve.”
Chapter 16
Amy
“Hello?”Isaid,slidingthe patio door open and stepping into the living room. Immediately, I felt shoved across time, like I had been transported into a nineties movie. Dull blue sofas and armchairs, laden with an excess of throw pillows, a wooden table bearing a basket of fake fruit and a vase of equally false flowers, and a blue and red rug that spanned the expanse of the room, worn by the years. The curtains were faded, yellow with blue spots, billowing over the windows. A mirror stood over the fireplace and next to it, in the corner, was a shelf bearing an ancient stereo and, surprisingly, a new flat screen TV, the only thing that seemed to have changed around here. The same family pictures hung from the walls and James' painting of the sunset. It had been my favorite as a child and still took its privileged position next to the mirror.
“Hello?” I said again, running a hand over the old surface that gleamed neatly. Everything in the room was worn, but still managed to shine. It seemed Susan took her cleaning seriously these days, at least now that she had nobody to do it for her.
“Amy!” James exclaimed, coming out from the hall. He wore faded blue jeans splotched with paint, and a worn, gray tank T-shirt. His arms were outstretched, and he enfolded me in a hug that I only returned halfheartedly. He drew back, noting my resistance. Nonetheless, his hazel eyes shone with delight and his wrinkles deepened into laugh lines as a smile lifted his lips.
“Come,” he said, taking my bag from me and setting it on the chair. He didn't take my hand, for which I was grateful. Instead, he gestured for me to follow into the hall.
“Where's Susan?” I finally asked. He winced slightly, but offered no objections. Like every parent, they wanted to be called Mom and Dad, but I had been quick to point out, not generously, that they hadn't earned that title.
“She's back in the garden. Tending to her precious flowers and vegetables.” He laughed but trailed off awkwardly when I didn't join in.
James was a slight man who seemed to have only just crawled out of adolescence except for the graying edges and speckles of gray hair in his sparse beard. Since we last saw each other, he had grown a mustache, perhaps to make a bolder statement of his adulthood. He was well into his fifties but carried himself with boyish agility and charm that detracted from his age.
We walked past the kitchen, with the ancient table and the same three places still set around it. Nothing seemed to have moved an inch, and in the dimness cast by the thick curtains, I could picture James half slumped over one of those chairs, legs dangling on the floor and a green liquor bottle in his hand. I blinked rapidly to put the disturbing memories to rest.
