doyenne.

by Anne Malcom

  She wanted to be half in the earth, half in the air. That’s what she said. Why we’d buried a coffin with another urn, with half of her inside. There were no instructions on where to scatter the ashes.

  “You’ll know.”

  It was a joke.

  I didn’t know.

  The person who was the other half of me, the person who I filled my heart with, who I thought I knew in life was a stranger in death. Maybe that’s what death did to people. Turned them into strangers. Because it was easier to bury a stranger.

  I didn’t want easier.

  I needed it to be hard every day.

  I need to know her again.

  The urn was open before I quite realized it. My hands scooping up the grit the color and consistency of grainy sand. The charcoaled remains of the other half of me. Someone so big, so vibrant and colorful was nothing but gray sand falling through my fingers.

  I shoved them into my mouth, bitter and stony.

  Swallowing her ashes, I found I didn’t feel as empty. Greed overpowered me to devour all of it, her to fill me up, to give me more of her. To know her better. I was closer to her. I remembered her now. Snatches of conversation I didn’t realize I’d forgotten.

  “Don’t you ever want to fall in love?” Molly asked, peeling strips off string cheese that wasn’t cheese.

  “No,” I replied without hesitating, not glancing up from my laptop.

  “Why?”

  I sighed and glanced up to my sister, leaning on my kitchen island, beautiful and naïve. “Because if I fall in love, I lose everything I’ve worked my life for. Everything that means something to me. All my power.”

  She smiled. “Love isn’t going to take that away from you. Not the right kind.”

  I didn’t smile back. “Right or wrong, love always takes power away from everyone. It’s one or the other, Mol, and I’m happy to be powerful without love than helpless and with it.”

  With shaking hands, I replaced the lid. I had to make her last. Keep her here.

  And she had wishes.

  Molly, of all people, who didn’t balance a checkbook, who never did taxes or had health insurance, had wishes in the event of her death.

  I glanced down at the pieces of paper that had been staring at me since the lawyer delivered them.

  I picked them up.

  Gray ash stained the white paper.

  Paper that Molly had touched, and now I was staining it with her charred remains.

  I bet this is a surprise to you, right, Char Bear? I wish I was alive just to see the unflappable Charlotte Crofton shocked by her decidedly flappy sister.

  Well, I just wish I was alive.

  I’m hoping this letter finds you when you’re old. Not gray or wrinkled because you’ll have six weekly salon appointments and six-monthly Botox injections. You’ll be flawless and beautiful like always.

  I’ll be wrinkled, gray, with frizzy hair, with a collection of tattoos, memories and not flawless.

  Well, in my head, I am.

  I’m not sure you’re reading this when you’re old.

  I know you balk at this kind of stuff, Char, but I’ve had this kind of...knowing I’d die young. We all die young, really, since I don’t know what old is, but I had a feeling I’d go before you. Before my older sister, who is likely blaming herself for whatever has befallen me. It’s not your fault. Unless you murdered me. Then it totally is your fault.

  If you haven’t murdered me, you’ll be heartbroken and shocked at this letter. You likely have all sorts of plans in place for your death. I’ll get everything I need, the company run by Abe and Vaughn and trusted advisors, appropriate charities donated to.

  I don’t have anything but this letter. Because I know you’ll take care of the other stuff, I know that you’ll need to take care of it. To keep you busy. Keep you on the run from those emotions you’re so afraid of. The knowledge that you’re human, and despite what you think, your heart isn’t blackened or damaged.

  I don’t have many requests. I want my art to be displayed somewhere where people can see it for free. I want all the proceeds from my estate to go to free art classes in my name for talented youths.

  I have another request. One you’d hate me for if I’d asked when I was alive. Or at least give me the ice queen glare and that would be that. But I’m dead now, so you have to listen to me. No one can say no to the dead.

  I want you to go and see Mom. Because you need to. Whether you admit it or not. And because with me gone, she’s the last piece of our memories, with pink wine and tiaras, that we have left.

  Once.

  That’s all I ask.

  My greatest wish, is that my sister, my soul, my better half, is not broken from this. I wish you to find love, happiness, a life that doesn’t exist in a corner office. I am so proud of you, of everything you’ve built, the empire. You are a force. But without it all, you’re still a force, you’re still someone. You’re still everything.

  I promise you, when you take it all away, stop focusing on the next goal, the next rung in the ladder, the next brick in your ivory tower, I promise you that you’re not going to fall apart.

  Or maybe you will.

  Humans tend to do that, Char. Falling apart doesn’t mean you can’t put yourself back together.

  You’re not her, Charlotte.

  That’s why I want you to visit her, to see that.

  I hate to think of you in pain, I feel it, even now. But I guess I have to feel it now, because I won’t feel it when I’m gone. I’m gone from this life, but not in another. I’m still here, with you, inside you.

  I love you. I believe in you.

  My tears mingled with the ashy stains on the letter.

  Then I ripped up the paper and ate that too.

  20

  Jacob

  She was falling apart. Jacob could see it. He was somewhat specialized in spotting the signs of a human detaching from themselves.

  Mostly because he’d been responsible for that happening. Many times, half a world away in a dark interrogation room, rank with mold, blood, and sweat.

  He’d watch the pieces fall from them like snow in January.

  Reveled in it.

  He did not revel in this. Seeing Charlotte go about the motions, her beautiful face nothing but ice and her soul nothing but gravel.

  But she was also excelling. Never had he seen a person fall apart while bringing something together at the same time.

  She was going to take Kershaw down. Something multiple governments hadn’t been able to do. Something some of the most powerful men in the world had died trying to do.

  But he watched her.

  And it was nothing short of magnificent.

  Charlotte had done it.

  Almost single-handedly. First, out of her need to win, for power. Even after the attacks on her, it wasn’t for revenge. She knew that those attacks were part of the game. She took the hits in order to gain the upper hand.

  But Molly.

  He shuddered thinking about it.

  Fucking shuddered.

  Him.

  The scene in the loft, her body, he’d actually been forced to swallow bile, that’s how close he’d been to losing his lunch. Never had he had a reaction to a body. Corpses were just empty flesh to him. There was nothing to fear from the dead.

  But he’d met Molly. She was part of Charlotte. And she was able to pierce through whatever he had left in him to warm with her smile, jokes, her light.

  “You love my sister. I know it. I’ve waited for you. You’re not perfect. You’re wrong in all the right ways. She’s good for you. I don’t think she’ll heal you, and you won’t heal her, but you’ll create new and beautiful wounds on each other,” she’d said the first night he’d met her.

  The first fucking night.

  He didn’t say anything.

  But she didn’t wait for him. Just winked and sashayed away.

  Seeing her body, it had fucked with him.

  More tha
n he cared to admit.

  Seeing Charlotte in so much pain that she actually shut down all her emotions and operated robotically, it scared the shit out of him. Because he wasn’t entirely sure she was going to come back. Be human anymore.

  He was terrified she was going to turn into an even bigger monster than him.

  Charlotte

  “I don’t like this,” Jacob bit out, hand tight on my hip.

  “I don’t care,” I replied, not looking at him.

  I couldn’t.

  It was imperative that I stayed even for this meeting. That I kept my mask on tightly and didn’t give away an inch of the sorrow that was carefully covered with makeup, clothes and the trademark Charlotte Crofton glare.

  “I don’t like it, but I know you have to do it,” he continued. There was a loaded pause as the numbers on the elevator climbed. “Proud of you, Boots.”

  The words hit me, because they were heavy, because they were from Jacob. But I didn’t react. “There’s nothing to be proud of,” I responded in the cold tone that was necessary for my survival.

  His hand clenched the back of my neck in a grip most would call an assault, but with Jacob, it was a caress. “I disagree.”

  The elevator doors opened, and I didn’t have time to argue. Or react. I exhaled in relief.

  I didn’t hesitate to step out, and Jacob didn’t stop me, though I knew he wanted to. He hadn’t tried to get me to stop and talk about my feelings, to slow down, like Vaughn and Abe had. He’d silently watched me as I worked myself to the bone, helping where he could. He’d taken me brutally whenever he could, every time being more violent than the last, as if he could sense how numb I was and he was trying to make me feel the only way he knew how. With pain.

  I liked it. I was becoming addicted to it.

  To him.

  And walking through these offices, to the conference room with the view above the clouds, I was making sure I’d have to go cold turkey.

  Because after this, the threat would be gone. Jacob wasn’t conquering it for me, fighting my battle. I was in this conference room to fight it myself.

  I knew I’d win.

  In one sense of the word.

  I’d lost in so many others.

  Kershaw rose as I entered the room, eyes flickering over me, face warm as if he were greeting an old friend and not the women he had beaten, attempted to have killed and murdered her sister.

  “Charlotte,” he said. “You look well.”

  I didn’t reply, just pulled out a chair and sat. Jacob stood behind me. I didn’t look at him.

  Ethan did, for a long moment before he sat.

  “First, I would like to offer my condolences for your loss,” he said. “Misfortune seems to follow you around.”

  I didn’t react. Though he didn’t likely expect me to. He was testing me. Prodding, softly at first, then he’d press harder until he drew blood. Little did he know, I’d already drained him dry without him knowing.

  “Misfortune follows everyone around,” I replied, voice flat. “Only the majority of people are too obtuse to notice it.”

  He nodded. “Everyone with a heartbeat, at least.”

  Another prod.

  I didn’t lower my gaze, or even flinch. Nor did I bleed. Whatever warm blood I had was spilled in a paint-spattered loft and was little more than a maroon stain behind police tape.

  Because the police were still investigating. Detective Maloney still clinging to his naïve view of justice and its reach. It was nothing but a spec from the conference room we sat in.

  “I’m not here to exchange more threats with you, idle or otherwise,” I said. “I’m here as a professional courtesy, and to educate you on how battles are won. Not with assassination attempts, beatings, or blood.” I glanced around. “But in boardrooms. I’ll admit the decorating leaves a lot to be desired, but my designers should be here before the afternoon is out. They’ll make sure to remove all of the toxic masculinity.”

  Something flickered in Kershaw’s face. “What are you talking about?”

  I leaned forward, reached for the water jug in front of me and slowly poured. It was a rather elementary power move, but I enjoyed it. I took a sip.

  “I mean, this conference room is mine now,” I said after I put the glass down. “Along with this building, and every single one of your companies, including RuberCorp.” My expression didn’t crack as I met Kershaw’s eyes. “You really think because I didn’t react to your violence that I’ve been idle? You underestimated me. Don’t worry, most men do.” I paused, thinking of the one man that didn’t, the one standing behind me, taut and wired, waiting for a chance to kill.

  I knew it’s what he wanted.

  To rip Kershaw apart. Feed his hunger for violence. Death. Feed his monster.

  But I was doing that in my own way.

  And I had my own monster to feed.

  “While you were plotting murders like some second-rate gangster, I was actually achieving something,” I continued. “I was acquiring controlling shares in your companies under various shell corporations, possible because you run your businesses poorly. Poorly compared to me, of course.” I took another sip.

  “You can’t do this,” he said, still smiling, thinking of the aces he didn’t realize I’d snatched from his sleeve. “I have half of Congress in my pocket. You try and take my company from me, you’ll be hauled in on the Patriot Act and never seen again.”

  The threat was real. I knew that he would’ve been capable of orchestrating such a thing. He had, with many of his adversaries, still rotting in prisons that didn’t officially exist.

  “You did have half of Congress in your pocket,” I corrected. “I’ll admit, seeing some of the things you were blackmailing with even shocked me, and I thought I was too jaded to be shocked. My hackers certainly were. But that’s because they’re not at all jaded by the outside world since they live in the virtual world.” I paused. “Well, they actually rule it. Since they were able to get past all of your firewalls, discover every alias, locate and destroy every piece of blackmail you’ve been using to control the Hill and our government,” I said. “I know that you’re not stupid enough not to have physical copies. But I found them too.” I glanced to my watch, the one with the scratch on the face I’d worn specifically for this day.

  “My security team should be at each of your residences and have obtained all physical copies, right about now,” I continued. I knew they were, since I’d gotten an alert on my phone as soon as I walked in. They were the top mercenaries in the world. Not conflicted by conscience or morals, the only people you could trust in such matters—the most trustworthy of them all.

  Kershaw’s grin froze on his face and his eyes flared with naked panic before he masked it.

  “You’re bluffing,” he said with a certainty characteristic of men who considered themselves untouchable.

  “You killed my sister,” I said, my voice flat and cold. “You did it because I’m guessing you caught wind of some of the things I was doing. Or maybe you just had her killed in order to distract me, to target my emotions. You expected me to react like a woman to that. But I don’t react like a woman. Or a man. I react like a winner. And I do not bluff.”

  He stared at me, gauging my words, my even tone and my likely empty expression. That’s what the victory felt like, even as realization dawned on his face and his phone began to buzz—it was all empty. I’d beaten the man who had tried to kill me, had me beaten to a pulp, had my sister murdered. It all meant nothing.

  I stood, mindful of Jacob’s proximity as he likely expected Kershaw to lash out, to go for the gun I knew was taped under the left-hand side of the head of the table.

  I knew better.

  “I’m now the majority shareholder at RuberCorp,” I informed him, glancing to his phone. “Your board, all of whom you’ve intimidated, paid or extorted into submission are happy about the change of leadership, to say the least. I’ve funneled every last cent in your personal accounts to
the charities trying to help your victims. Your car, home and jet are being impounded as we speak.” I paused, looking down at where he was still trying to process what had happened. “Everyone’s a victim, at some point, Ethan,” I repeated his last words from our first meeting. “Even the most powerful of men. Or women. There’s a point where power doesn’t save you.”

  And then I turned on my heel and walked out.

  Empty, hollowed out, and victorious.

  The ride back to my office was silent.

  As was the trip up the elevator.

  And the walk to Vaughn’s desk. Then I gave him the news. The bare bones, at least. There was a weariness about me that had me unable to go through the specifics. But the specifics didn’t matter anyway.

  Vaughn gaped at me, something moving behind his eyes that was more than shock. Betrayal, perhaps. He was likely hurt I hadn’t involved him in the process, as he considered us close, and me hiding such a pivotal move from him was almost unheard of.

  I didn’t explain myself. You didn’t get to the top by explaining yourself.

  Vaughn blinked rapidly and his eyes flickered back to normal. “Champagne,” he declared. “We need champagne to celebrate this moment. You’re now the top cybersecurity firm in the world, Char.”

  “Celebration follows a happy event,” I said. “This wasn’t an event, nor was it happy. It cost my sister her life. My acquisition of RuberCorp was nothing but necessary. Celebrate by getting me a press release drafted announcing that Charlotte Crofton is now the head of the top cybersecurity firm in the world. Up our rates by thirty percent and do background checks on all top-ranking employees with security clearance. If there’s a hint of anything suspicious, fire them,” I instructed.

  Vaughn blinked rapidly. More foreign emotions that I couldn’t quite pinpoint flickered behind his eyes.

  I didn’t have time for Vaughn and his emotions and I certainly didn’t have the capacity to deal with him if he decided to do something like bring up Molly.

  So I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned to walk into my office.

  I stared out the window as Jacob closed the door behind us.