No More Masquerade

by Angel Payne

  One last shot of strength came from another glance at the landing I’d just come from. True to her word, Claire was there, even more breathtaking and beautiful from this distance. Stepping out to appear on either side of her were Willa and Lance, also smiling in support—and then one more figure appearing on the family support bench, face tucked beneath a navy blue fedora.

  For a moment, my chest throbbed in a weird mix of dread and joy. Even after everything, Trey had really shown up.

  No. Not Trey.

  The fedora was pulled off to reveal a mane of blonde hair pulled into a side braid.

  My sister was here.

  I kicked up one side of my mouth in a fast smile at Margaux. Then swung my head back into the glare of a hundred camera lights.

  “Good afternoon,” I began. “Thank you all for coming today. I’ll attempt to make my words brief in order to keep the session open for as many of your questions as possible. My name is Killian Stone. I am the Chief Executive Officer of the Stone Global Corporation, a multi-company entity based here in Chicago. I am joined today by two of SGC’s board members, Mr. Fletcher Ford and Mr. Drake Newland. They also happen to be close friends, and I am grateful for their support during this emotional week for our family.”

  I gave the presentation a pause, letting some of the print reporters catch up on their smart pads—and resettling my composure.

  “As many of you are aware, our family estate, Keystone Manor, suffered a near-catastrophic fire last Tuesday night. Though there is an ongoing investigation into the event, the fire authority is allowing me to relay that the cause was a boiler explosion based beneath the estate’s south wing. The blast immediately destroyed the kitchen and service staff quarters. Five of our loyal employees were injured at the time, but released after emergency care. Two remain in intensive care and are expected to fully recover. One staff member, Nolan Banyan—”

  In spite of all the times I’d rehearsed this part and made it through, my voice clutched into a long, hard pause. A thousand lights glared at me but my senses tumbled into a tunnel. Pulled by instinct, I looked up again at Claire.

  Who smiled and banished the tunnel.

  “Nolan Banyan Klarke,” I repeated, “our estate’s lead engineer and grounds man, perished as a result of the accident. Our family is grateful to Mr. Klarke, who served us for over thirty-five years.”

  I let another silence pass, this time because it was expected. The news everyone had truly come to receive was at hand. “As all of you know, there was one other casualty of the fire. My father, Josiah Benjamin Stone, died last Wednesday afternoon due to complications from smoke inhalation and cardiac stress. He passed peacefully, with the whole family by his side.” This time, my practices paid off. My determination to maintain eye contact with the crowd was a success. Nobody outside that hospital room could learn that Father had departed life due to the emotional debris from the mortar shell announcement he’d just made. To get technical, the term “family” was a loose connotation, too. “To all of you who sent condolences and flowers for the memorial service, your thoughtful gestures were appreciated. The Stones are also grateful that you’ve respected our privacy during this difficult time. We are now prepared to repay the favor and address any questions you have at this time—especially about the exciting plans for the Stone Global Companies as we move into the future.”

  A perfectly coifed blonde edged in front of everyone else. I recognized her from one of the television gossip shows. “The future,” she echoed. “That’s a great subject.”

  I sent a cordial smile. “Thank you, Merrilee. I happen to agree.”

  “And are you ready to give us a little insight about what that’s looking like for you, Killian? Perhaps something involving diamonds, white lace, and reservations for a large party at a destination hotel?”

  A buzz of chuckles danced over the crowd. Everyone’s eyes, including mine, rose to where Claire stood, blushing so bright even I could see the stain on her cheeks. We exchanged subtle smiles before I looked back to the blonde, shaking my head. “Cutting to the chase, hmmm, Merrilee? Wanting to get back to Beau?” I deliberately brought up the hot boy-toy model she’d been dating for a few months. “Maybe he’s waiting back at the Fairmont with that diamond you’re craving.”

  The reporter flashed her signature grin and good-naturedly endured the next round of laughter. “All right, all right,” she conceded. “Touché, Mr. Stone.”

  From the middle of the throng, a younger reporter raised his hand. The motion had aggression written all over it so I decided to save him for later, when there was a greater chance of him tiring of the need to be “probing” and “relevant.” But while I pointed to the seasoned business correspondent from CNN, the puppy shouted his question, anyway.

  “Mr. Stone! My sources tell me that your father’s passing wasn’t ‘peaceful’ at all. That there was tension so thick they needed a buzz saw to get through it, and—”

  “I’d be interested to know who those sources are.” The decree came from Drake, who stomped forward with such force, I wondered if he was wearing jarhead battle boots disguised as Ferragamo loafers. “Because you certainly didn’t ask me, and I was at the Loyola Burn Center that day. Let me tell you that after the ambulances started arriving from Keystone the entire place was ready for a few buzz saws on the air.” He took another step, angling one shoulder out in a pose of deliberate challenge. “I don’t have to be as nice about this as my buddy Killian, so let me be clear. We’re here to take questions about the future plans for Stone Global Corporation, not Mr. Stone’s personal life. He just buried his father. Show some respect, grasshopper.”

  I reined Drake back with a tug of his elbow—and a quick nod of thanks. With the pup finally silenced, the CNN reporter was able to ask his question.

  “So, can you give us an overview of how the leadership of the company will shake out from this point? We understand that some plans were afoot before the tragedy at Keystone…”

  I leveled a respectful stare toward the man. He had his shit together, saying enough without pushing too much, though deliberately leading everyone’s mind toward the obvious. Trey was already conspicuous in his absence. The truth behind it just needed to be corroborated.

  “Good question, Jim,” I replied. “And you can be reassured that upper level management will remain largely the same. We plan on a few shifts, of course, but the company has represented the blood, sweat, and tears of the Stone family for nearly fifty years—and will continue to do so.”

  “Bullshit.”

  The shout bounced off the walls like a crack of lighting and reverberated in the air like thunder. Heads turned and cameras followed suit, their bright lights colliding then ricocheting off the glass walls of the big space. The heckler caught everyone off guard, clearly his intention—

  Or so I hoped.

  A party crasher was easily handled—then controlled. It was likely just that. The occasion was ripe for some asshole to chug a shot of crazy and show up spouting shit like this. It was best to react exactly how I did, by leaning one elbow on the podium and trading a brief eye roll with Fletch. As building security scrambled toward the source of the bellow, I schooled my features into something between irritation and patience.

  I sincerely hoped to fuck this wasn’t Trey’s way of making a grand entrance.

  But hope wasn’t going to be my buddy today.

  I knew it by simply looking over at Claire, Lance, Mother, and Margaux. Their tense stares were fixed on the figure who moved through the crowd now, the cloth of humanity opening as he approached, then zippering behind him, everyone clamoring for better vantage points.

  Hell.

  Inside a couple of minutes, Trey Rainier Stone stood directly in front of me, smiling like the tom cat who’d just made the day of all the pussies in the neighborhood. He wore a bespoke black suit that fit him to the millimeter, and had indulged a shower, shave, and haircut straight from a damn fashion spread in Esquire.

 
; In short, I barely recognized my own brother.

  Who clearly wasn’t feeling the whole fraternal connection, either. His eyes were dark as jade, his mouth a straight line of flint, his posture as rigid as granite.

  “Well, hello there.” I leveled my voice to a plane of marble. Dark marble.

  “Good afternoon, Killian.” He did the exact same.

  “How kind of you to show up. And to be so punctual about it, as always.” The sheen of sarcasm lay perfectly atop my marble.

  “I’m pretty certain everyone will forgive me in a short time.”

  The annoying gossip blonde pushed forward once more. “Why do you say that, Trey?”

  “You called ‘bullshit’ when you first got here.” Somehow, eager puppy reporter had finagled his way to the front, as well. “Why the beat-down on your brother, man?”

  Trey whirled on the kid. “Don’t call him my brother.”

  I think the pup responded to that. I wasn’t certain because the blood thrummed too hard and loud in my ears. Thank fuck I still had an elbow braced on the podium, because I gripped the stand now in order to keep my spine straight. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He joined his pivot back to the stage with a leap up to it. “What I should have done a long time ago, Mr. Klarke.” Using measured steps, he approached the podium. From inside his jacket, he pulled out a small sheaf of papers, setting them down like a preacher about to deliver a sermon personally handed down to him by the Angel Gabriel. Only it wasn’t Sunday. And Trey clearly cared about only one kind of biblical value right now. Retribution. “I’m taking it all back.”

  “What on earth is going on?” Another reporter, the woman who covered exclusive pieces for the Wall Street Journal, threw her stare between Trey and me. “What did you just call him?” she pressed. “And what do you mean by ‘taking it all back’?”

  Trey turned a serene stare toward her. The woman actually flashed back with a smile. Had a three thousand dollar suit and a bleached grin made everyone forget that the man almost went to jail on drug possession charges ten days ago?

  “There are no hidden meanings here, Nancy. For the first time in a long time, the Stone family means exactly what it says.” His shoulders straightened. My throat constricted. “I called Killian ‘Mr. Klarke’ because that’s his real name. Though you all know him as our brother, raised with us as a Stone, he is, in truth, about as much a blood relative of mine as the Kardashians.” He brandished the sheaf in the air. “I have all the proof here, easily sent to any of you upon request. As for the rest of my assertion,”—he soared his gaze over the throng, confidence and authority now welded to his features—“that was also the truth. I promise all of you, as well as our valued stockholders, that my father’s legacy shall be honored in every way—including a true Stone family member at the helm of the company.”

  He didn’t have to say more than that. He didn’t have to. The implication was crystal clear.

  After the ten seconds it took for the point to sink in, the crowd exploded with questions.

  “Mr. St—errr, Mr. Klarke—were you aware this announcement would be made?”

  “Mr. Ford! Mr. Newland! Is the SGC board aware of all this?”

  “How and when is this going to happen?”

  “What about your personal legal troubles, Mr. Stone?”

  As the queries lobbed in like relentless mortar fire, I turned and locked glares with the man who’d just exposed me. Trey was on top of the world. His eyes glinted with triumph. He smirked like he’d just eaten out half a cheerleading team.

  “No need to stick around, Killian.” He threw in a gloating snort. “I can get it from here.”

  While my head pounded harder with every flashbulb in my face, I kept my features neutral—except for the rage searing through my eyes, churning from the pit of my gut. “Well, stepping into shit has always been a specialty of yours, Trey.”

  “And humiliating me has always been one of yours.” His features stepped on the edge of ugly with his own fury. “Did you really think I’d let them simply boot me off the board? Me, one of the rightful heirs to this empire?”

  “I’m surprised you noticed what was happening.” If he wanted a go at dueling smugness, I’d be happy to oblige. “The last time we spoke, you were ‘celebrating’ in a bath of tits, booze, and oblivion.”

  “Perfect timing for you to move in for the kill.”

  “Timing created by you, asshole.” I leaned close to him, near enough to smell the expensive cologne he’d sprung for along with the fancy sow’s ear of a suit. “The blood may truly run in your veins, Trey, but if you want to sit in the big boy chair, keep it pumping to your brain and not your cock.”

  Trey swung his eyes toward Claire and grunted. “Like you did?”

  I planted both my feet and cocked a brow. “Do you remember the name of the last woman you fucked, brother?”

  His face mottled. His shoulders shook. “I’m not your brother.”

  The gravel beneath my reply was unplanned—and definitely unwise. But there was nothing I could do to bottle it back up. “I think you’ve made the fucking point.”

  The smile he lifted at me was slow, savoring…and chilling. “Oh, Killian…I haven’t even gotten started.”

  *

  He wasn’t lying.

  Every day that passed over the next two months, I learned that the hard way.

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t envisioned this happening—at least a thousand times—before. But even the simpler events turned out to be shittier than I’d thought.

  I didn’t even try going into the office, knowing Trey would move into the CEO suite before Britta phoned with the news—through her tears. I was just dandy about letting him have the damn office, but I did care that he’d upset Britta by denying her request to leave early for her son’s soccer playoff game. I also let him have the SGC town car, VIP sports club membership, and preferred table reservations at most Michigan Avenue restaurants. All of that crap was simply window dressing, and it wasn’t like the douche could officially imprison me or bankrupt me. Until the SGC board met and voted on the issue, the company still needed my sign-off on the its high-level decisions. In every legal and financial sense, I was still Killian fucking Stone.

  But in every other sense of the word, I wasn’t so certain anymore.

  Like a brat peeling bark off a tree, Trey picked away at a handful of little things each day. Innocuous shit that ended up carrying deeper importance, despite my staunchest efforts at sloughing it off. He was the sole person on the planet who knew all my weakest spots and exactly how to exploit them if he so chose—and now, dammit, he chose. The way the polo team suddenly “forgot” to inform me about changes in the practice schedule, along with the obligatory bonding-over-beer afterward. A load of dry cleaning that was inexplicably lost, including the sweater Claire had custom-made in Ireland for me as a Christmas gift. Even Alfred seemed distracted and irritable, not that I blamed him. I couldn’t send the man to the market without knowing he’d have to stare at my face on the gossip magazines and overhear whispers about how he worked for “the enigma who’d fooled the world.”

  That was the kinder version of the story. Most resorted to simply labeling me a fraud and a liar who hadn’t possessed the balls to come forward with the truth before this. Not that it was my business to care about what the world thought anymore. The circus had a different ringmaster now, and God only knew what his show would look like. As long as Claire was willing to hang on with me in order to find out, I could face anything.

  Even having to watch my girlfriend pay cash for our Chinese takeout.

  Which at the moment, had me seeing ten different shades of red.

  On the grand scheme of challenges, my irritation was pathetic. This barely bumped the needle on the scale of first world problems. I’d have written off my ire as ridiculous—except for the fact that I’d been a loyal customer of the Happy Panda since moving here three years ago. I knew Ming and Shan personally, eve
n brought their kids red envelopes for Chinese New Year every February. They’d never had problems running my credit card for orders, except now they didn’t know if “Killian Stone’s” credit card would be good for the money—and they clearly assumed “Killian Klarke” would skip out on his bill.

  I didn’t realize I’d grumbled the sentiment aloud until Claire shot back a loud huff. “Stop it,” she added to it. “I kind of liked getting to buy you dinner for a change, okay?”

  I watched her load up my plate with noodles, broccoli, beef and tofu, tempted to tell her I was good for all of three bites of it. To say the least, my appetite was soured. Didn’t stop me from relishing the chance to smash open one of the fortune cookies with one pound of a fist then pulling the slip of paper from the wreckage and “reading” it. “Hmmm. Your panda will fall off his rainbow of bliss—and bust every bone in his happy little body. Sounds damn good to me.”

  Claire rolled her eyes and broke apart her chopsticks. “Grab the wine, Confucius. Let’s eat. I’m starving.” As she grabbed both our plates and headed for the living room, she called, “I’m even going to be a good girl panda and let you pick the movie tonight.”

  “No way. It’s your turn—and you bought fucking dinner.” I sounded moody as a fishwife—and was just as disgusted with myself, too. I watched Claire bite the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping at me, a little “thing” she did that normally tempted me to try and “soothe” her laceration with my tongue—which was normally an excuse to slide my tongue into other places on her body, as well. But common sense stepped in, warding me away from the move tonight. Or maybe it wasn’t common sense at all. Maybe I just hated the goddamn possibility of being shunned by her, as well.

  My mind force-fed me the logic behind all this. By indulging all these gothic thoughts, I was letting Trey win. And the shit-fest of a follow-up? I’d never wanted the fucking competition to begin with. The only thing I’d wanted for either of my brothers—who in the deepest truths of my soul would always be my brothers—was their happiness. The only thing I’d refused to sacrifice for that goal was the company Josiah Stone had put into my hands. There’d never been middle ground with either of them about that. While Lance respected the integrity and made his way off into the world to grab his own truth, Trey had let some strange chip on his shoulder, perhaps a compensation for the biological grandchildren he’d never give Father, grow into a blister on his spirit—feeling fine about making me the target when he poked the thing and let the poison seep out.