by Vesper Young
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. It was inadequate.
I gently extended my palm into his. Contact. He clutched my fingers tightly.
“You were right. This is unfair.” His voice was rough.
I thought back to that dinner at Le Cuocuo when he’d told me about his father. He’d told me the diagnosis in such a removed manner. That had been my first thought: how unfair.
“It is.”
We sat for a while like that. His chest heaved slightly, and I knew it wasn’t from the exertion. I rubbed my palm against his back, slow circles. It was a comforting gesture Kara usually made.
After a few moments, he pulled away and faced me.
“I lied to him.”
He looked at me. It was the same angry expression he’d had staring at the painting and office equipment.
“Weeks, I paraded you around him for weeks, making him think I was in fucking love with you.”
“I know, Deacon.” I reached out to touch him again, to say we’d done a bad thing but he’d done it for a good reason. He drew backward.
“Screw all that talk about trust and honesty. ‘You know.’ Yeah. You were there, weren’t you? Because I paid you. You saw my dad as some weak, helpless patient and put on a show. With your cards, like a real magician.”
That stung. “Deacon, you’re hurting—”
“You thought he was some old bat, didn’t you? Told you to call him Fred within a minute of seeing you. Because we loved each other. Could’ve been hours late and he wouldn’t care because you were there.”
I was struggling to keep up with the conversation. Too many memories were hitting him and everything we’d done, every ounce of guilt he’d ignored was surfacing.
“I didn’t think he was an old bat. He was happy he had his son for company in his last days.”
“So few days! That wasn’t him. Weak. He lived for decades like a king. An emperor. He was strict. He kept the company in line. It wasn’t some chummy family business, it was his legacy.”
“Yes, it was. But Deacon, he was also your father, not just the CEO.”
He continued like he hadn’t heard me. “He never would’ve fallen for this stupid charade before. He was smart. Sharp. You couldn’t bullshit Frederick Blake. Oh, no, no. You had to show up every day doing your damn best and hope that he might deign to see you were trying. He probably wouldn’t notice. If he was even around. He sure as hell won’t be anymore.”
“Maybe he didn’t know how to show it. Maybe he didn’t fully realize how important you were to him until recently. But, Deacon, he loved you. He honestly did.”
He laughed. “And you’d know so much about honest love, huh? Mindy Killip, twenty-six and so desperate for cash you’ll put up with me, your workaholic boss who you clearly hate.”
“I don’t hate you.” I hated the grief that made him hate everything around him, though.
He closed his eyes and hit the wall behind him.
I glanced at the plaque above us and stood. We couldn’t stay here. Clearly being this close to the corporation was aggravating his wound. Where could we go? Deacon was in no state to drive. Everything was closed. I didn’t want to contact anyone from Blake Enterprises Seeing the scion of the company like this, no matter how understandable, was the last thing he would want.
The only option was my place. It was private, if not glamorous. Getting there?
I’d had my wallet and phone in my pocket. I quietly called a cab company and hoped my emergency twenty would be enough to cover the fare home.
The yellow car pulled up a moment later and I tried to drag Deacon with me. In the time it took the car to come his fury had faded and he seemed to have crashed.
“Deacon, we should go.”
“Huh?”
“The cab is here. You can’t stay out here all night and you can’t drive.”
“Can’t abandon the company.”
I pulled his arm and he rose to his feet. He swayed slightly, catching himself against the wall.
“You’re not abandoning it. You’re going to take good care of it, I know you will. But let’s get in the car.”
Thank mercy, he acquiesced.
We got in the car and I gave my address. The cabby gave a dubious look at the two of us. I glared. I felt protective against him impression even though I’d never see the driver again. Yes, we were a mess. His hands were bloody and he looked like hell. I wasn’t much better. It was late and we weren’t headed to a good part of the city. But we weren’t meth addicts, we were miserable. There was a difference.
He drove away and dropped us off. I tugged Deacon with me up the stairs. The elevator hadn’t worked for months.
His weary eyes took in the chipped paint and old fixtures.“ This is where you live?”
“Yup.”
Sixth floor. Woo.
I opened the door to my apartment and turned the light on. At least my electric worked.
Deacon followed me into the apartment. It wasn’t big, but his presence made me acutely aware of how small the studio was. My twin bed in one corner, the kitchenette that consisted of a leaky sink, stove with one working burner, and minifridge, with the bathroom to the right rounding it off.
At least the tap water was drinkable. I poured two glasses. Crying was dehydrating.
When I turned back around, Deacon was collapsed in my bed. His feet reached almost to the end of the bedposts. It was absurd how small the bed was and I had to laugh despite the situation.
I slid down against the side of my bed.
“Why won’t you get in the bed with me?” he asked.
Compared to the angry tirades, I would take a random question that ignored the entirety of our situation.
“The bed’s too small.”
“There’s room,” he argued.
“Then because you’re my boss. I’m your secretary.”
He laughed. “Is that all you are?”
Was it? The past few weeks the lines had been blurred between the act and genuine friendship. But considering he seemed to associate me with lying to his father on his deathbed, I wasn’t holding my breath.
The traffic sounds of the street below filled the void between us. I was exhausted.
“Will you even have a job now?” he asked out of nowhere.
“Huh?”
“Won’t need you to act like my girlfriend.” True. “And there’s already a CEO secretary.”
Wait, what? I hadn’t given any thought to my position. I was Deacon’s secretary. And I needed the income that provided to survive.
I debated saying something, but he was miles away in his own world.
“Maybe I’ll take everything that was my father’s. His company. His secretary. His sins. Who knows. No Mom to break-up the career as ball-breaking boss,” he mused.
All I heard was the grief in his voice. Now, it was manifesting in almost a blase matter, but he was hurting and it was manifesting in a million ways.
Would I even have a job tomorrow? Would Deacon be here? Would he be okay?
I wished I’d known the answer to even one of those questions but I fell asleep without any.
***
The answers were yes, since no one said anything otherwise, no, he’d somehow left without me waking up, and contrary to acting otherwise, it didn’t seem like it.
The biggest shock had been the next morning. I’d gone into the office at eight like normal and he’d been there. Dressed perfectly, hair groomed. His eyes were the only giveaway that anything was amiss. They were red from his tears last night. But since he shut his door the moment I arrived, I didn’t see much of him.
He shouldn’t be here at all, I thought. Not today. Not after last night. Maybe not for a few weeks. Surely he could take time to process?
My inbox had had one email that had gone company-wide. On Friday, there would be a memorial service for the passing of the founder and CEO. No mention of the funeral, which I assumed would be limited to family and friends.
&nbs
p; When Friday came, the employees gathered in the large auditorium within the building. It wasn’t big enough for everyone so people spilled out into the hallway. Deacon stood on the stage. Normally at company events, I was with him, but today I had the same rank as every other employee.
He was utterly emotionless as he spoke. It wasn’t cold or cruel. But the eulogy he gave could’ve just as easily been about his second-cousin’s-great-uncle for all the emotion in it.
It didn’t surprise me. Deacon had isolated himself in his office since the news. After that one night, he was unreachable. I ached so badly to grab him and tell him it was okay to grieve and be sad and at the same time, I didn’t want him to go through that pain even though I knew it was necessary. I would’ve taken any ranting and raving over this zombified version of himself.
But maybe I was the only one who noticed how deadened his speech was because there was an enthusiastic round of applause after and several of the people around me had been brought to tears.
He took to the side of the stage as someone else from high up in the company spoke. I didn’t hear a word, just watched Deacon for any sign that he was still the person I’d gotten to know over the past month.
Deacon 13
If one more person sent a fruit basket to my office to express their condolences, I was going to lose it.
Thankfully, I didn’t handle the responses to deliveries, Mindy did. And she did so gracefully.
Mindy. I hadn’t said a word more than absolutely necessary since that night. What was there to say?
In my mind, she represented the lie I’d put on for the shell my dad had become. A happy little act. That was what I’d left my dad die with. A lie.
But it was impossible to reduce her place in my mind to simply a pawn. At least she’d been an accomplice, which may have been worse. And deep down she’d been more than that. Maybe she’d even liked my father. Or me.
It didn’t matter. I’d speak to the board soon discuss the direction for the company while I assumed the position of chief executive officer. And she’d be gone. Maybe moved to another department, maybe stay on with my successor. It didn’t matter. Just avoid her for a few more days and then I could clear her out of my life for good. Box up this chapter and sink it to the bottom of the Atlantic.
I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Half an hour until I had to leave. Today was the will reading.
I had no desire to go. I didn’t want to hear all the assets my father acquired throughout his life listed as a summation of his work. As his only child, I couldn’t skip it. Who else would be there? Donna, of course. She’d be taken care of. My mother was dead, as were all my grandparents. My father was an only child, but I knew I had a cousin, Madeline. I hadn’t seen her in years, but it was unlikely my father would forsake any of my mother’s blood.
The reading would be the last formality until I became CEO. I had some shares, though since my father held the majority and it was only natural I would inherit them, the rest of the pie was distributed among investors and, of course, the board, as a means to stabilize the company. Perhaps forty percent between those groups, fifty-one for my father, five for me, and last piece for people who dabbled at investing.
Once his shares officially went to me, I would have control of the company. CEO was a formality. The office, the title, the salary. Stage dressing. The shares were what mattered.
I heard the click of the intercom. With my door shut, this was how Mindy spoke to me.
“Deacon, the car is here to take you to the reading.”
I said nothing, just nodded to myself. It was time.
***
The room was everything you would expect to find in the quintessential estate attorney’s office. Exhaustingly thick books on law lined the numerous shelves. Red plush chairs next to an over-sized desk to give credibility, with a couch to the side with a faux fireplace to allow for a more relaxed setting. Extra seating had been brought in to accommodate us. I supposed there weren’t many of us, despite my father’s wealth.
I identified all the people in the room as they trickled in. Three different representatives from my father’s charities of choice. His philanthropic endeavors had been a sincere undertaking. My cousin, Madeline, who I briefly greeted. She was short, despite the tall heels I remembered she had a penchant for. When we hugged our hellos, she only came up to my shoulder.
Donna came in. I hadn’t seen her since the funeral. She had a sad look about her, though the fierce Italian dignity she radiated wouldn’t allow her to look defeated. She gave me a big kiss on my cheek as greeting.
I was surprised to see Harold, the typical board of directors representative come in, but perhaps there were some semantics that required him to be present.
The lawyer, Abbot was his name, stood behind his desk.
“I believe this is everyone. I will be reading the last will and testament of Frederick John Blake. A more formal distribution of assets will be processed in the coming weeks through my office as per our agreement with the deceased.”
And that began the tedious affair. Simpler items were cleared first. The philanthropic donations, each a few hundred thousand. Madeline received a similar endowment in a trust, as well as a property on the West Coast. A large quantity of money and property also went to Donna, partly in trusts for her own children and grandchildren. It took over two hours to explain this, for some obscene reason.
I rubbed my forehead. There was something deeply exhausting about hearing my father’s property being distributed. It was as if a corpse was being cut up and handed out like party favors. But I knew that this was his way, through money and property, of showing affection to those he cared for.
“To my son, Deacon Cameron Blake, I leave the rest of my property. I bequeath the fifty-one percent shares of Blake Enterprises, contingent on his marriage to an eligible party within the time between the reading of this document and one week. If he is not married at the time seven days from today, May 11th,” Abbot clarified, “my shares are to be evenly distributed amongst the board of directors of Blake Enterprises.”
I blinked. Once. Twice. I subtly shook my head as if that could clear out the cacophony of noise that had theoretically be words but couldn’t possibly be anything meaningful.
What did he just say?
I felt the rooms attention fall on me. I must’ve spoken out loud. Normally, I was comfortable being the center of attention. Normally I was in control.
“In layman’s terms, Mr. Blake, your father stipulated you must be married to receive the shares he left you. You must file a marriage certificate within the next week or they will be absorbed by the board.” Abbot looked at me with an almost pitying expression.
I stared, saying nothing.
“No wife, or, um, husband, no inheritance. From the company.”
Even when he laid out the condition in stupid-speak, I couldn’t process. What on earth had my father done? He’d been sick and in pain, but he’d been lucid!
Was it possible I’d sabotaged myself with the Mindy charade? My father’s shares—my shares—to be fed back into the company. I had money. I didn’t have “buy fifty-one shares from the board” money.
“With this, the reading of Frederick Blake is concluded. Please contact my office with any concerns.”
People filed out but Abbot signaled me over before I followed.
“As an estate attorney, I have some discretion in the presentation of the will. Since it pertains almost exclusively to you, I thought it might be best to read some of the fine print with you here,” he said.
He pointed to the document. First, I saw what he had explained. Already my mind was working through possibilities. Vegas, wait seven days, then Reno and I’d be single and the CEO.
Unfortunately, my father hadn’t been stupid on his worst days. What possessed him to do this, I wondered again.
“When was this drafted?” I asked.
“About three weeks ago.”
I thought back.
I’d been visiting with Mindy for less than a month. He’d done it almost immediately after meeting her.
I went back to the document. Under the foreboding paragraph was another paragraph, in smaller print to fit the utter bullshit.
It specified the minimum duration of the marriage to prevent the shares from being retroactively redistributed at six months. During that time, my future spouse would be present in my life. It defined this as living together, attending events in polite society, family gatherings, and business-oriented ones as a couple, and maintaining a sufficient “connection” to show how absolutely wonderful our marriage was. And the coupe de grace: the authenticity of said marriage would be monitored by the board and Donna.
I stared. Clearly, my father didn’t totally believe Mindy and I were in capital-L-Love if he set in the board and Donna as judges. It was a devious choice. Donna cared about me, hell, she’d raised me, but if she thought I disrespected the institution of marriage like this she’d bury my body where even my P.I. couldn’t find it. And the board?
Someone outside the business world might assume that the board would be on my side. We both worked with Blake Enterprises. We both benefited when it succeeded, and I’d damn well make the company successful. But no. They were sharks and if they saw weakness in my sham of a marriage, they’d snap up those shares in a heartbeat.
Abbot handed me a letter. “He also left you this.”
In my father’s precise, block letters was my name on an envelope. I stuffed it in my pocket, unwilling to see what other surprises he’d left me.
I dismissed Abbot’s goodbyes and headed out. This was a conundrum. And it was exacerbated by the fact one of the aforementioned sharks was waiting for me.
Harold.
Harold was reasonably tall at five-nine, five-ten in good shoes. His round glasses, freckles, and receding hairline made him look almost harmless.
But I knew he smelled blood in the water.
“Hello, Deacon.”
“Harold.”
“I’m truly sorry about your father.”
I nodded once in acknowledgment. At least his condolences didn’t come with a fruit basket.