Seth's cool gaze is already on him, so flat and indifferent. Mikie reminds himself not to give away any emotion in his expression, regardless of the rage that's tempted by the visage of his nephew.
Seth is watching him from behind lightly-tinted shades that cast brown shadows on his cheeks. He wears a mocha-colored, short-sleeve, linen button-up over relaxed fit, gray jeans, and he looks like he belongs to some far away beach. He takes a slow drink from a highball glass bearing clear, fizzy liquid and fresh ice cubes. A cocktail for disaster, thinks Mikie.
Seth does not answer. No, he looks away, down the line of board members that follow Mikie. Then his vision trails to Vincent and down that side of the table, as well. He does not look to the empty chair. It is a small echo of the empty apartment that set this chain of events into action. The severe set on his face never cracks, and if any of them expected to catch a glimpse of the cocky Brat Prince, nobody expects to see such an appearance now. The man with the balls to destroy central command is still a ghost to them. The man who would make a scene like that, then show up now for business as usual—well, that man stands before them, yet he is so surreal that the board members can hardly believe that he walks among them. He cannot be the same Seth Morgan they have watched since childhood. All of them, save Emma, are older than he.
The tension is nearly visible in the artificial humidity as six people try to figure out in what direction to avert their eyes. Seth's gaze is fixed on Remi Oliver, and Remi's on Seth. They are locked in a deadpan glare. Seth's is one of open distaste, for he has made it well-known that he does not approve of Remi's addition to the Board.
It was an addition that was made while Seth was in Cuba, and one that required more shares to be created, even while the company's margin of growth, and philanthropy ventures, had gradually declined in the last two years. Remi's expression is one of calculation and anticipation. He cannot read Seth at all. His gaze is angry, and for a heartbeat, Nicolette’s absence weighs on him.
Seth looks to Emma, who is wearing a white sundress that must belong to some designer's unreleased summer line. It is made of linen and gives her the air of innocence—an air he is willing to take advantage of. She sips her own fizzy drink.
He glances and says, “Don't worry, this meeting will be short,” with an obviously fake and demure smile. “Only two issues to address.” He allows time for tempers to rise and brew, and manages to seem completely at ease while doing so. He adjusts his shades and says, “Would anyone like their drinks refreshed?”
Not a peep answers him, so he takes another drink. He knows their throats must be dry in this muggy, green garden. He makes the drink last lifetimes. Emma hides her smile at his antics, waiting. Finally, he says, “First order of business: I have, as of opening market today, liquidated and taken control of Caleb's portion of the stocks in our family's corporation. That, subsequently, makes me the majority owner, and your new President of the Board. My actions are completely legal and rightful by the codes laid down in our contracts, and by the guidelines stated in Caleb's last will and testament. Essentially, there is no defense you can take against me.” He smiles, coolly, staring.
Joint rage rises and refracts like sunlight through rain, ticking ever higher as each beat of silence marches after his words. Seth can feel it so easily, but most of the reactions don't matter to him. Most of the people present are family by blood and not by spirit. He knows this because he did not miss them in his absence. Only Emma matters, and he knows she stands with him.
For sheer amusement, he looks to Bethania. Her face has turned a precarious shade of red. Seth is surprised she hasn't screamed at him, because her heated, hateful expression proves that she wants to. He knows that she has always despised him, and her life, for she has always been confined to the bottom rungs of Morgan greatness. She had a golden chance at something of which to be proud. But Isaac was killed, and everything crashed down, and the same way of life that had lent her flight had taken it away.
Seth says, “Now,” in a tone that outsiders would deem a call of attention to the bright side. “That doesn't mean you guys will be losing money, because I know that must be a worry that's running through your minds. I won't cut off your connections. It just means that I've found your business practices during the past two years both dishonorable and irresponsible, and that if we are to continue to exist comfortably and untouched, shit needs to change.”
He smiles as if he has let them down easily, when he knows he has spoken a blunt and dangerous truth. He realizes now that even the most devout believers must have the strength of a leader. He was supposed to learn from his uncle, but he was sent away from his people and his strength, so he learned that which he needed from someone else. It is because of his education that he is not afraid to stand before them and speak suppositions that the others would not have the guts to support, even if they agreed.
He smiles like they are his loyal followers, when in fact he's certain they hate him at the moment. Then he checks his phone, purely for show, so that they must wonder if he's really doing it, or if it's just a figment of a Hollywood image. He lifts an eyebrow just a shade and looks to Mikie, as if he can feel his uncle's mounting rebuttal.
“Those are rather assuming words from someone who has been gone from such business practices, who may not know the context of said practices,” says Mikie, right on cue.
Under protocol, Seth is completely in line, and he aims to flaunt it. He says, “Actually, I think an outside opinion might do you well.” One could take his statement as ambiguous, yet they all know it is directed toward Mikie at this point. Always, Seth is barely safe. Nobody speaks on either's account. Seth pauses for only long enough to take a sip, then he says, “ I think the outside might be the best position from which to view this situation.”
Mikie's eyes narrow, but, just as quickly, he makes a small smile that tells of an on-coming realization. “I didn't say outside,” he says, “as if anyone could call you an outsider. A view like yours could be considered unfairly skewed and biased.”
Seth scoffs, has such nerve, and says, “That's any opinion. However, anyone who is not in this room could see that the recent decisions were done with selfish gain in mind. And since you were the one who put me out of the picture, the one who made no arrangements in the business plans for my return, I'd call my opinion perfectly legitimate.” He swirls the ice cubes in the glass. The sound of ice clinking is huge and resounding, amplified by Mikie's strained self-control. Seth says, “Ultimately, there are no other opinions that matter but mine, and in that vein, I'm not interested in hearing anyone's thoughts on the matter. I'm not asking any questions. I don't want arguments, or accusations, or excuses.”
Mikie visibly bristles. As if he would ever need to make excuses. He says, “And so you think you know what's best for this multi-million-dollar corporation? You, who postpones important meetings because he played too hard the night before? You, who can't stay sober long enough to hold your own head up? You will run this company back into the dregs from which it rose.”
Seth, too, stiffens. Most of them expect him to scream or throw something, because they all know he's not the kind to control his temper. But then, most of them cannot begin to fathom the forces behind his violence versus the source of his calm. He sets down his drink with an echoing thud, then pulls the sunglasses from his face. The emotion in his naked eyes is tightly controlled, almost glazed, but they give away that he is absolutely sober.
He looks exhausted, red-rimmed, and worn thin, but the determination that radiates from him obliterates any notion of incapability. He says, “There will never be a moment when I can't hold my own, even under the best-laid skepticism about me. It's funny that you would preemptively accuse me of destroying my own legacy when you have all nearly done that without me. All I've found from you are shady business decisions that hardly benefit the company, which might explain the addition of a board member who isn't even family.”
“Perhaps you all thought I would
leave Caleb's assets frozen forever. Or maybe you thought I would split them among us. Maybe everyone believed that I was some stupid, spoiled playboy who couldn't handle any type of responsibility, who would instead shrug it off. Well, whatever you thought, you obviously did not account for a change of power upon my return, which is my birthright. The truth is that my responsibility is and always has been greater than all of yours, save the leader.” He makes sure everyone has adequate chance to notice that his eyes are drilling into those of his uncle before he says, “As it turns out, he is the one who has been found unable to handle his post.”
Several board members gasp, Emma among them. Mikie's face has turned a shade of crimson that none of them have ever seen upon him. Silence skids down the table. None of them have seen anyone dare to speak to the king that way, and Mikie himself can't remember the last time anyone so much as raised a voice in his direction. The police commissioner, the mayor, and the governor are among the people who are afraid of his quiet wrath. The residing king stands surprisingly slowly, hands straight at his sides. “How dare you?”
The others are shifting uncomfortably, a captive audience in the stifling humidity. Even Emma, in her summer dress and chic up-do, is burning to the core.
“How dare I what?” asks Seth, lazily. “How dare I take the place that is rightfully mine? How could I present my case in the forum for which it was meant? Or how dare I speak the truth you've kept so well hidden?”
For what seems like an eternity, Mikie only stares, anger and—yes—cold hatred in his eyes. In this moment, Seth knows for certain that if they had this stand-off alone, his uncle would not hesitate to dispose of him the same exact way he did to Caleb. Seth has divulged just enough information to prove that he can back his words. He has given them enough to drive home the fact that they don't know exactly what he knows, and he has said only the right words to tell Mikie that the only remaining prince has garnered a dangerous arsenal of information.
Seth then surprises them by looking to Bethania. Her expression is one of horror and good, old-fashioned fear. It is all the affirmation he needs to know that she's in on the grand scheme of the king—her king, and brother. Then Mikie snatches up his portfolio from the table and says, “We're finished.”
He scoops his briefcase from the floor and turns to walk away. Seth allows him three steps before answering. “Actually,” he says with a near-untraceable smirk, “I do have one more thing to address.”
His voice drags Mikie's feet to an abrupt halt, like a giant, iron anchor. The king turns with murder in his furious glare. If he's still breathing, they can't tell, for he stands so still. Then Seth looks away, again, to give the rest of the Board a sweeping and serious look. As he does, he almost believes that Mikie will pull his gun despite the setting. If he did, Seth knows that Tinney is watching from a concealed post within the garden. Even if Mikie made a play for Seth's life, he would fail, and he has no idea.
Seth pauses to put his glasses back in place, and to take a refreshing sip of straight sprite, on the now-melted rocks. Finally, he says, “If any of you are experiencing a change-of-heart about your position within this Board, I won't take it personally. In fact, I extend this offer to you: I will buy your portions of Morgan Estates for double what they are worth, which for any of you would be more than plenty to live comfortably outside of this mean and unforgiving way of life, and I will do this without a single hard feeling for you.”
His offer bounces among them, rings louder than any funeral bell or gunshot could. Now, now, they know that Seth is a breed higher than they. Now they know that he owns the pomp he presents. And now they know that the changes he heralds are real. Everything is about to get crazy, and just when it had been calming from the raucousness caused by Caleb's death.
Mikie's trigger finger twitches, Seth can feel rather than see it. Anticipation swims around them like the current of a shark on the hunt, so thick that even Seth finds it difficult to draw an entire breath. His shaded eyes slide sidelong, like those of the waiting, hidden shark about to defend his territory from a foreign hunter. He walks around the table, and Emma slips from her seat. With one arm around her protectively, he heads for the door. Pauses only to murmur near Mikie’s ear, “Meeting adjourned.”
Tinney curses as a taxi cuts in front of the black Nissan Altima he is driving. The aggravation in his voice punctuates the loaded silence that precedes it. Seth sits behind him, Emma at the other backseat window. Both stare out the heavily tinted windows in varying states of introspection. The weight of the present situation, and the exchange that brought them here, is heavy on them all.
Seth's expression is painfully stoic, smooth, firm, unreadable. His hands are folded in his lap, his shoulders are pressed against the seat, and he hasn't moved since he settled against the leather. Beside him, Emma is a ball of frantic energy. Her foot taps against the floor to the beat of the road, and her hands slowly wring together. Her lovely summer dress is wrinkled, smudged from her constant fiddling with it. Her eyes are huge, and she has grown pale, more than usual.
Finally, she turns to him, her mouth tight and eyes hard. Her regard bears such a fierceness that Seth cannot help but answer her call for attention. She must have been practicing this technique, he thinks, and he readies himself for the response that he can see brewing in her eyes. She lets him sit there for a moment. Definitely practicing. Then, she softly, but harshly says, “What the fuck, Seth?”
He almost winces. He expected something along those lines, but he could not have anticipated the sting; she’s the one who had to suffer as a consequence of his agenda.
He had told her nothing, so he understands her fury. He has been her, been the one who was left ignorant for a reason. He has been the child. And despite all her pleas, and his promises, he still shields her. So he tries the most alternate route of his usual nature, and he says, “I'm sorry, Em.”
Although part of him expects his honesty to melt the rage in her glare, the other part of him is not surprised when her expression takes on an incredulous set. “You're sorry? You couldn't have warned me that you planned to set the whole goddamn world on fire?”
Now, he does wince. He turns his eyes back to the passing city, the details of which he doesn't see. Of all the forces in his world, he must shield himself from the intensity of her conviction. His grief rises to share his soul with his own rage at Mikie. Shards of the moments that have passed into the last several days assault his thoughts. He says, “There wasn't time.” She scoffs indignantly, but her anger falters as he turns back on her. She hasn't seen his eyes this bright in weeks. He says, “Don't you trust me?”
“I’m not the one who is short on trust, Seth.”
The edges of her expression soften as she is taken by some other emotion. He watches her demeanor change to the other reaction that he hates to see in her—hurt. Of course she trusts him, that's not the point, but how could he have relayed everything to her before the meeting? How can he expect her to understand what he doesn’t want to understand?
He wants to release a string of profanity, but he knows it would only come around to shoot him in the back, so he bites down. A dam is about to break within his darling and dangerously adept little cousin. She is about to shatter the shell of that little girl into oblivion, he can feel it.
“I have lain my entire future at your feet,” she continues, and her voice is as low and steady as the cock of a gun. “I have put every single strand of my faith in you. For if you fail, my fate is absolutely determined. There is no salvation but you, and still you refuse to trust me. How dare you say such a thing to me? How dare you shove me away from you and try to blame me? You brought me in to be your support, but you try to protect me from it. Which is it? Can I have the room to step up, or will you suffocate me forever?”
Seth lets every single word dig deep into his flesh, lets each one rip a tiny hole in his facade. He vows to feel the remorse that she wants him to feel. His tattered resolve waivers, but he knows this is a s
tep to the destruction of self that will finally lead to his rebirth as a true leader. He also knows he cannot dawdle on her fragility, or all the shitty things from which he would keep her, so he says, “Ok.”
Her head jerks up, and he says, “Fine. It's go time. I have protected you my whole life, just as Caleb protected me, but that instinct must die in me. Are you ready, Emma, really ready?”
She stares dumbly at him for a stretch, no doubt processing the immensity of his words. She spits, “I've always been ready! All I've ever needed was a little faith from you. Instead I was everyone's fucking little princess.”
He lets the silence make another play, all the while very aware that Tinney is a tentative third and silent party. Emma seems to have forgotten him, one of so many lessons that her fast education has not yet taught her. He lets the stare-down linger just a little longer so she can mull over her words, the claim she has made. Then he makes a cold, one-sided smirk—a whisper of a demon that he must conjure to keep himself from going easy on her.
He says, “During my absence, Caleb was working with your new boyfriend, with whom he was probably in love, on a plan that would incorporate the Thai's empire into the weave of ours. The entire idea was Caleb's inception, and our uncle fully backed it. All the while, the move to get me out of the city—hell—out of the country became an all too convenient chance for Mikie to do his own redecorating of the syndicate's goal structure.”
“I know that,” she says, frowning.
He takes a breath, and forces out the words. “The kicker of it all is that Caleb never betrayed anyone, and he died because of his insolence toward the interim king. Our uncle, your mother, they betrayed us, for the sake of money and power. My dad, and our grandfather, built our way of life so that we could take care of each other, and instead we've grown up as spoiled rich kids. This, Emma, has become a life or death stand for me. I would never make that decision for you. You're all I have left of the family that my dad held so dear.”
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