In My Arms You Shall Hide

Chapter 6

Dorian

I stand in the elevator of the downtown New Birch Haverson building where Tacron Global has stationed its headquarters. A medical device manufacturing firm of my father’s creation, I am brought here not out of passion, but obligation.

Today, I expect to shuffle through another day. I mentally prepare myself to key into a character fractionally more personable than me, a task that’s gotten harder over the years.

However, any intentions of the day being run-of-the-mill vanish when I’m greeted at the elevator by an anxious-looking James Patrick.

“Good morning, James,” I say, forcing the politeness into my tone. I step past him and walk through the rows upon rows of cubicles cluttering the center of the large office space. “What can I do for you?”

James sneers as he keeps pace with me. He doesn’t like me, but he’s the best salesman on Tacron’s payroll, so I keep the peace.

“Anything you want to tell me?” he prompts in a pitchy voice.

I don’t slow. Something’s possessed James to be coy and indirect, and I hate his passive aggression. I assume he means something about the time I took off with little to no warning, citing a family emergency in my last email.

I hadn’t planned to come back and quantify what that meant, but here I am, enduring what the past version of myself had no plans of handling.

“Can’t say I do.”

James huffs as we continue to walk. I might be going too fast for him; the sixty-something man is a lifelong smoker. Strands of his dark gray hair fall in his face, and he quickly tries to smooth it back into place and steady his breathing.

“Paul and I were discussing the latest proposal you approved.”

Annoyance skitters across the foggy foreground of my thoughts at the mention of my uncle. “Not sure that’s in your jurisdiction. Approvals are a managerial-level concern.”

By that point, we reach the office in the western corner of the floor, and I open the door, letting James inside the dark room before me.

The automatic lights flicker on as he steps through the threshold. The ceiling-to-floor windows behind the desk are slightly tinted to mute the brightness from outside. Most of the windows on this floor have tempered glass to dampen the glare, but I paid out of pocket for the tint.

James throws his hands up in frustration, yet his voice is far less animated than his body. “Must you be so cavalier about this? Your father would disapprove.”

I stroll over to my desk and set my bag on top. The oak piece is nearly barren, with only a single glass award—a business acknowledgment from the city—and a picture frame. The photograph is of my parents and me at my thirteenth birthday party, the last I have of my mother.

“My father is dead . Need I remind you?”

“And don’t we all know it?”

A familiar voice draws my attention. James turns to face Paul Ward, who is standing in the doorway. He’s a man in his fifties with a seemingly permanent scowl over his red-toned face. A tuff of purposely messy hair detracts from his actual age, while the frown lines give the years back.

Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear.

I try not to let the appearance of Tacron’s financial advisor get under my skin. I sigh and pull my laptop out of my bag, resting it on the desk. “We were just talking about you, Paul.”

“All good things, I hope,” he responds stiffly.

“Not by a longshot.”

Unfazed, his eyes drop to James. “I suppose you’ve already talked to him about the latest proposal.”

James tugs at the knot of his tie.

A beat of silence passes between the three of us, and eventually, when I toss my bag onto the ground and pull my seat out, I lift my eyes to find them watching me expectantly.

When I offer nothing else, Paul folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes. “Maybe you and I need to discuss staying in our lanes.”

Annoyed, I manage to crack a smile. “Oh, this should be good.”

James squirms, caught in the crossfire. “Now, gent—”

“How about you give us a second, Jim?” Paul asks with no trace of politeness, referring to James as his least favorite iteration of his name. “We need to have a family discussion.”

James’s eyes ping-pong between us for a second before he reluctantly exits the room and shuts the door.

Paul continues not a full second after the click of the door, “Your father’s rolling in his grave over what you’re doing to this company—the thing he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into. You’re pissing all over it.”

If only this instance was the only one where my uncle tried to take me down a peg.

I lean back in my chair with a creek and lift my hands in an exaggerated shrug.

The bridge of Paul’s nose wrinkles. “I always questioned Duncan’s judgment, and when he gave you majority shares in this company and appointed you CEO—”

“Let’s not forget I didn’t take that position, Paul,” I interrupt, folding my hands. “I won’t be accused of complete nepotism.”

Fury rolls over his features. He advances forward one step and slams his palm against the desk. The impact causes the award to tremble against the wood. “That’s the problem. Your father didn’t see how much of a miserable little shit you are. I’ve outlined everything about this company for you for years, and you’ve sought to undermine me at every turn. You’re fucking with people’s livelihoods.”

“No, I’m fucking with your bonus,” I say, keeping a low, civil tone. “I didn’t pull the numbers out of thin air. I have no interest in the rat race of gouging medical equipment prices. But if you’re so worried I’ll sink this ship, quit.”

Paul’s voice finally notches up to shouting, his face flushed. “I never questioned it when Duncan handed everything to you on a silver platter, but I’m not going to stand idly by while you burn this place to the ground. While you burn everything my brother built.”

What he means to say is money. The Ward trust, the estate, every one of the bonds, and every scrap of jewelry and heirloom collecting dust in a house too large and empty to feel like a home. I want to tell him I would have forfeited all of it—every dime of generational wealth accumulated since the 1800s—if not for Katherine intervening.

“Paul, I don’t give a shit about our family tree, and neither do our shareholders.”

“You’ve been undermining him your entire miserable life,” he spits. “You’ll do anything to destroy his legacy.”

I kick back with a sigh. “Like kill him, right?”

All the air leaves the room. I wonder, amid the stilted silence, if I’ve taken it too far. Paul regards me with widened eyes and flared nostrils.

Say it, you spineless prick.

I might have checked out at the front door, but that doesn’t make me oblivious to the rumors, the glances, the nervousness. The bastard might have been put in the ground almost twelve years ago, but time hasn’t washed away persistent opinions about my relationship with my father. Most sensible people take his death at face value, but those who know my family’s history have other ideas.

Paul’s eyes beneath the bend in his brow tell me all I need to know. Dangling the rumor in front of his face might have shut down any other coworker, but I can almost hear him screaming his thoughts.

You fucking killed him , it says.

Instead, my uncle advances. “You know, there’s still the matter of that girl.”

The change of direction has me coming up short. I frown. “What are you talking about?”

“You know who I’m talking about,” he replies, a shit-eating grin stretches over his features. “I seem to recall an article about a girl saving a man from a near-fatal vehicle accident.”

I blink, trying to figure out what his angle is.

“Someone like that…in a position of power over a man with wealth…where have I heard that story before?” he says slowly, and I begin to see red. “Your father had the same problem. He married without a prenup, and that woman almost took him down for everything he was worth. Almost sank the entire Ward family with only a handful of testimonies. It’s a shame what ended up happening to her.”

Crimson splashes my vision, and I white-knuckle the edge of my desk. I tell myself it’s all a game of chicken, and he’s just waiting for me to back down, to blink.

“It might be tempting to pay out a woman in that position, maybe accept fault in an accident. But those on the outside will always try to climb in. You give them an inch…they’ll blackmail you for a mile. Something to think about.”

Even daring to elude to my mother, Paul kicks up the embers of my rage. Were we in a different place entirely, I’d be strangling him.

But the threat to Katherine cools my blood and forms a ringing in my ears. I can only stare at him, processing if there’s a warning in there or if he has intentions to correct a problem.

I can’t very well shove him through the tempered glass and watch him plummet twenty stories to the street below, but I know doing it would solve all my problems.

It would keep Katherine safe, who, only a month prior, had been perfectly untouched and healthy.

Safe from this family and its need to preserve legacy and wealth.

I don’t drop my eyes from his until he finally pivots on his heels and storms out. I watch him go, noticing a few heads peeking over their cubicle walls. They quickly duck back into hiding.

James, who lingered outside in the hall, hesitantly creeps back into my office, watching Paul go.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat, “I guess you can’t choose your family.”