The Rivals

by Allen , Dylan

  “How is it an insult?”

  “They aren’t fit to be our neighbors. They’re commoners. That land was part of our dynasty,” he spits.

  Loathing floods me in a rush of heat, and I don’t hide it when I look at him.

  “We sold them that land. We took the money from it and made ourselves rich again. They even named it after us in a show of good faith. This one-sided feud is ridiculous. I’m not going to perpetuate it anymore.”

  “My father would shudder to see how you’ve degraded our dynasty,” he says.

  I’ve had enough of his shit. I step into his personal space and look him in the eye.

  “It’s a family, not a dynasty. We are commoners. Being richer than all of the monarchies combined doesn’t make you one by de facto. And thanks to your inability to delegate or manage the business yourself, we’re perilously close to being in debt. We’re just regular people. We’ll never reclaim any of the land we sold to the Wildes. If you’d had any real sense of what we needed, you would have embraced them.”

  His face mottles, and his already thin lips compress to leave what looks like a white gash where his mouth should be. He leans forward, as tall and straight at age eighty as he’d been at sixty.

  “We are kings in our own right.” His lips barely move. His eyes are hard and intense. “I will never embrace those bourgeoise hippies who don’t know the meaning of the word ‘empire’. The Riverses had assets on which the sun never set. The legacy you speak of is one that was built with my grandfather’s bare hands. And now you’re kicking me out so some royals can come and rent this house? Like it’s a fucking hotel?”

  “It’s certainly not a home. And I’m done wasting resources to try and make it feel like one just so you have a free place to live. I’ve offered you an option. If you’d rather use your fixed income to rent a place elsewhere, you’re welcome to do it. But, either way, you and Aunt Mai and Eliza will have to be out of here by the time the embassy tenants are moving in.”

  “I won’t go,” he says quietly.

  “Yes, you will,” I tell him.

  “No, I won’t. You’ll have to have me forcibly removed,” he says.

  “Fine, if that’s what you want,” I say with a shrug.

  “I’ll call the press,” he says, scrambling up to his feet when I start down the hall.

  “You do that. I’ll make sure to set my DVR to record your dramatic exit when Channel 11 airs the story.” I give him a two-finger salute and walk around to get back in my car.

  “You’ll ruin the family’s reputation,” he calls.

  I make my dispassion plain in my expression.

  “You’ve done a fine job of that yourself. Let me know what you’d like to do regarding leaving the house. I really have no problem being the bad guy. Everyone already thinks I’m a villain, why not get something in return for the headaches that come with that.”

  * * *

  I drive down the winding road and watch the estate whiz by. When I was a boy growing up here, I never imagined I would come to think of it as a burden. A reminder of those ugly days after my father’s death and the years I spent being a punching bag for self-important assholes and an ATM to any pretty girl who would give me the time of day.

  I approach the private entrance to Rivers Wilde and the tension I’m carrying starts to dissipate.

  The gate lifts and I drive into the enclave, established by the Wildes before I was even born. This community, developed on land that was in my family for nearly one hundred years, is one of the most sought after addresses in Houston.

  The huge golf course stretches for three miles on one side of Wildewood Parkway. The grand country club rises from behind its gates like a palace. I pause at the forked road and go right to the cluster of sky-scraping residential towers called the Ivy. The glass and brick structures loom over the copse of trees planted around them. As I approach the four-lane circle drive, the guard who sits in the middle of it waves in greeting and the wrought iron gate starts its slow ascent.

  “Evening, boss,” Sammy, our valet, greets as he pulls my door open. “Your dinner’s been delivered and is ready to bring up as soon as you call.”

  “Thank you.” I grasp his outstretched hand, and he smiles when he feels the money in my hand.

  “Will you be needing your car again, or should I park her for the night?”

  I glance at sky. It’s clear and blue, but the orange tint of the clouds signals that it’s dusk.

  “No, leave her out. I’m going out before dinner,” I tell him and head inside to change. On my way up, I call Remington Wilde. I haven’t spoken to him since that day sixteen years ago. But from what I’ve heard, even from people who don’t like him, he’s a straight shooter. An honest man and a legendary attorney already. He’s grown Wilde Law into one of the largest in the country and has made his name as Assistant Attorney General in the Civil Rights Division at the Department of Justice by the time he turned thirty. He’s back home after his grandfather’s death left him the head of the family. He’s built the Civil Rights Division of Wilde Law incredibly fast. And his firm is representing the class that’s suing us.

  “Mr. Wilde’s office,” a crisp, British accented female voice answers after the first ring.

  “Is Mr. Wilde there?”

  “He’s not available, may I take a message?” she asks immediately. Fucking gatekeepers.

  “It’s Hayes Rivers,” I say.

  There’s a beat of silence, and she says, “Mr. Rivers, please hold for Mr. Wilde,” and then there’s a beep and Remington comes on the line.

  “Who the fuck is this?” he says, just like he did that morning we met. I burst into unexpected laughter, and he joins me.

  “What’s up, kid?” he asks.

  “I’m going to give you that, because these days, I’m good with being younger than you, especially since we’re playing at the same level now,” I say.

  “You can’t even see my level.” He laughs. “You just got back into town, and you’re already talking shit,” he says.

  “Just telling you how it is,” I say.

  “You have no clue how it is. You need to come kiss the rings of the men who’ve been running Houston while you were eating pasta on a beach in Italy,” he quips. I laugh. I’d forgotten that he was a cocky asshole. I haven’t seen him again since that day we met in the clearing. But looks like not much has changed.

  “I got your letter,” I say and don’t take his bait.

  “No hard feelings, man,” he says unapologetically. “But you’ve got to know that what Kingdom is doing is very wrong.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir. I’m not calling to give you shit. I’m about to do you a huge favor,” I tell him.

  He whistles low and long. “Well, shit. Maybe I should sue you more often.” He laughs.

  “You in the office early tomorrow?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “I’ll come to you,” I say.

  “You better bring coffee,” he says, then hangs up.

  He’s an asshole. But I like him. And I think he’s going to be receptive to what I have to say tomorrow.

  This lawsuit, since it landed on my desk, has been nothing but a headache. But now it’s presenting me with a multitude of opportunities. I want to make Kingdom accountable, but I know the board and executive committee will never back me on it. So, I’ll find another way. This company is rotten from the inside out. If I’ve got to kill it to save the family name, I will. What’s left isn’t worth the paper its letterhead is printed on. And I want the family foundation that I control to be the source of the Rivers family influence.

  And, I know just the lawyer to do it.

  Confidence still isn’t talking to me. She left my house that day and spent a couple of days with Cass’s family in Rivers Wilde before she left for Arkansas. She refused to see me. I followed her home, and she made it very clear I wasn’t welcome.

  It’s been a month and she’s returned every email an
d text I’ve sent with the same message, “I will never forgive you.”

  I know she thinks she means it.

  I mean to make sure she has no choice. Because living without her isn’t an option for me and this distance has only made that more apparent. It’s time to take control of this situation.

  KINGS MEET

  HAYES

  “Can I have two coffees to go? One black. One with two creams and one sugar” I ask.

  “Ah, you made up with Ms. Confidence,” the man behind the counter says brightly as he rings up my order.

  I’m in the middle of reading my email from Amelia, my new lawyer, and almost drop my phone at his words.

  This is only my second time in here. I peer at his name tag that says “Lo”. “How do you know Confidence?” I ask quizzically.

  “Oh, that girl was in here making juju dolls out of stirring straws with her friend for a couple days after the storm. They were all named after you,” he says and then laughs at whatever he sees on my face.

  “What’s a juju doll?”

  “Ah, that’s what we call them in Nigeria. Maybe here you call them voodoo? Like the Creoles?” He laughs.

  “Oh. She made voodoo dolls and named them after me?” I ask and then glance behind me to see who was snickering.

  The group of teenage girls all look away when I scowl at them.

  “Yes, my man. My wife has been mad at me. But I’ve never had a doll made in my honor,” he says and hands me back my credit card. I’m so dazed I don’t even remember asking for it back.

  “Thank you,” I say absently and stick it back into my pocket.

  “And she took her coffee just like that, two creams, one sugar. So, I thought maybe one of those was for her.”

  “No. Unfortunately, it’s not.” And I realize that I’ve been drinking my coffee like this since I met her. All of these subtle ways I’ve started to compensate for her absence in my life. I yearn for her in a way that claws at my insides.

  “Well, we hope she forgives you soon and comes back. We liked having her around, and she loves my lattes,” he says boisterously.

  “Okay,” I say, weirded out that he even cares.

  I want to ask him to tell me more, but it’s too pathetic. So, I just smile. “Well, if she comes back, I’ll definitely make sure she has one every morning.”

  “Don’t worry, son. It’ll be okay,” he says. I raise my brows to show that I’m not as confident as he is.

  “Listen—in Rivers Wilde, we look out for each other. It’s that small-town nosiness imported to Houston. You’ll get used to it,” he says.

  “Lotanna, that line hasn’t moved since I went back to get more scones. Let the man get on with his day, cha’” a petite, dark haired, very pretty woman whose name tag says Sweet calls as she walks through the swinging doors off the side of the bakery’s main dining room.

  Her accent is identical to his, so I assume that she’s from Nigeria, too. “Sorry, Mr. Rivers. Lo loves gossip. He reads Ms. Regan’s column every morning and she wrote about you two a lot in the last month.”

  “Regan has a column?” Regan Wilde is Remi’s twin sister, and as far as I know is married with two kids and a journalist on a local channel.

  “Well, we suspect it’s her. We all just call it Regan’s column. It’s a sort of …”

  “Poison pen,” her husband provides the word she was searching for.

  “Nasty, if you ask me,” Sweet says.

  “No one asked you. It’s great,” Lo says enthusiastically. “Our very own town crier. Anyway, we’re all rooting for Ms. Confidence to forgive you, Mr. Rivers. Let us know,” he says and hands me my drink.

  I walk out of there and cross the small footbridge that leads to the office park of Rivers Wilde.

  I thought moving to a big city would rid me of the curse of nosy Italian mamas that plagued the small village I had lived in with Gigi. But instead, I’d moved into what was essentially a small town and everyone is invested in what’s happening with Confidence and me. I’m just glad my office is downtown, twenty minutes away, tucked safely in the old Chevron Tower. And far away from the constant questions that only remind me that my girl isn’t talking to me and that I have no way of making her. Well, until yesterday.

  “You’re late,” Remington Wilde says as soon as I step through the sliding glass doors of his office.

  “This is all very man in the high castle like, Wilde. Most executives work from home these days,” I tease.

  “Good for those motherfuckers. The can-be executives. I’ll be a leader and show up to the office every fucking day.”

  “You take everything as a challenge,” I scoff.

  “Yes. Because I’m addicted to winning. And you’re late,” he says.

  “No, I’m just not early.” I stick my hand out to shake his and we share a good-natured grin.

  “So, you’re finally back and in charge?” he asks, his dark eyes narrowed in naked skepticism.

  “I’m back,” I say before I unbutton my suit jacket and sit down across from him.

  “I know you’re not living in that old castle up there, are you?”

  “No, I bought a place in Rivers Wilde. It’s almost ready. Until then, I’m living in the Ivy,” I tell him.

  “How do you like it?” he asks.

  “I like it fine,” I say noncommittally.

  “If by ’fine’ you mean you like the good people, excellent food, world-class amenities, and being in the most convenient part of Houston, then I’m glad to hear it. Rivers Wilde is a tastemaker and so many have tried to replicate what we did. But there’s not another community like it in Houston,” he says.

  “Cut the sales talk. I’ve already been brought down by one of your sales ninjas. And, I’m here to sell you something,” I tell him.

  He chuckles and quirks his lips proudly. “Our sales team is the best in the country. We still use my dad’s training manual for our sales force. Almost thirty years later it’s still turning out fucking soldiers on our sales team,” he says and nods.

  “You hungry?” he asks and nods at the menu.

  “Nope, and I’ve got a chimichurri steak frites being delivered from Moxie’s at 12:30. I’m saving myself for that baby,” I joke.

  “From what I heard, that’s the only thing you’re calling baby these days,” he says and takes a sip of his drink. He grins at me mischievously from behind the lip of his cup. Confidence’s hasty departure from my house and her decampment to Rivers Wilde for the remainder of her stay was clearly the subject of rampant gossip.

  “I can’t believe you have time to listen to gossip.”

  “Oh, I don’t. But my twin, Regan, she lives for it and you two were the talk of the town after she was seen fleeing your house in the middle of a fucking hurricane. That sounded like some drama. And your stepmother sounds like a nut job,” he says.

  “Fuck off,” I gripe.

  He bursts out laughing. I watch him with a bored expression.

  He wipes his eyes. “I’m done,” he says.

  “Good. Because it’s actually a perfect segue about why I’m here. Your lawsuit, the flood victims? You need to hire them the best lawyer you can. Kingdom is pulling out all the stops because they don’t want their other tenants to get any ideas.” I get straight to the point.

  “What? Are you turning traitor on your own company?” he asks and laughs.

  “It’s not my company. But the foundation has exposure. I’m trying to limit it,” I say shortly.

  “You live here. So, you know what my uncle has done. And I’m trying to find a way to work around his stooges on the executive committee. I think they’d be willing to settle. I want to make sure that my first act as chairman is to settle this case,” I level with him.

  He assesses me for a few seconds. “So, you’re telling me you’re not going to be Mr. Same Shit Different Day?”

  “I’m telling you that there is shit I’m not willing to attach my name to,” I say honestly.


  “I’m listening,” he says and leans back, confident that whatever I’m about to tell him, he’s already got a stronger hand than I.

  But he can’t. Not when he doesn’t know all of the cards in play.

  “You need a fucking good lawyer. I saw that Jimenez asshole listed as attorney of record. He’s going to fuck it up for your clients,” I say.

  “He’s one of the best litigators in the country.” He swats away my comments with the shrug of one shoulder.

  “Are you personally overseeing this matter?”

  “No, but I am watching closely. I’m the one they came to. I just can’t take it on right now,” he says.

  “Well, let me tell you that Jimenez doesn’t give a shit about them. That’s going to matter because he’ll give them terrible advice and tell them to take whatever Kingdom’s offering.”

  “Okay, I don’t have time to launch a search right now, Rivers. But thanks for the advice.” He rolls his eyes.

  “I’m not here to give you advice. I said I have a favor,” I reiterate slowly. “I know a lawyer. The one who won that huge insurance settlement for those people in the delta.”

  “Ohh yeah, I’ve heard of her. Some weird-as-fuck first name, like Contracts or something, right?” he says.

  “Her name is Confidence Ryan, asshole,” I say.

  “You know her?” he asks with an impressed, suggestive smile.

  “Yeah, I know her. She’s my girlfriend. The one you were teasing me about.” I say it and ignore the flashback of her telling me she’d never forgive me.

  “Oh, shit. Regan never said her name. I had no idea. You want me to hire your girlfriend to be the lawyer for a class action lawsuit against your company?”

  “It’s not my company. And I’m trying to save the small piece of it that is mine. So, yeah. I want you to hire her. She’s the best,” I say honestly.

  “You know she’s not just well known because of that case. Her old firm put the word out about her, man. I heard she tried to fucking gank her last boss,” he says with a laugh.

  “You’re wasting my time,” I say dismissively.

  “You’re wasting your own time. I don’t want a PR nightmare on my hands by hiring some chick with a short fuse just cause you’re pussy whipped,” he says.