Chapter Thirty-Two
Victor Corrigan’s rich mahogany shelves were filled with neatly arranged books of every kind, many of them well worn.
He sat introspectively in his high-backed leather chair as she set down her bag and equipment and made no pretenses about looking around his room.
She remembered herself, pausing momentarily.
“Do you mind?” She glanced over at him, asking sincerely.
He steepled his hands under his chin and nodded that it was okay, his eyes kind before he returned his attention to the several wall-mounted TV screens around the room, each on a national news channel, Bloomberg displaying the fluctuating Nasdaq stock prices.
He watched them like they were football games, commenting when it seemed a particular stock was going to go down or maybe up by the end of the day.
He instructed Dixon to check in with Myles in Special Projects and Research, see if it was a good company to buy into, or entirely.
Meanwhile, Isla finished taking in his study.
She was surprised to find classics mixed in with his mounds of books about business and large binders labeled with the names of the various branches under the Corrigan Group, the departments and subsidiaries beneath.
Similar to the family tree Isla had hidden in the motel closet, but where branches of family members would be, businesses were instead.
The entire map of the Corrigan empire in its full glory.
Isla couldn’t hide how impressed she was at what this family had amassed and all it was into.
She crossed the Persian rug on the gleaming wood floor, took in the scent of leather from his furniture and the reek of stale cigar smoke. A sleek liquor cabinet stood in the corner with several decanters of various brown- and amber-colored liquids in them, untouched.
What stuck out to Isla, like a beacon of light shining brightly against all the other books lining the wall, was the Shakespearean play Hamlet.
Isla paused in front of it, reaching out as if to touch it but stopping short, memory coming upon her.
Eden’s favorite. She’d mentioned a time when she used to be in theater in high school and found it the best thing about high school, if there was such a thing as the best part of high school.
What is it about Hamlet? Isla had asked. Everyone dies.
It’s about revenge and redemption, Eden had said solemnly with awe mixed in. It’s about revealing everyone’s dirty secrets and their betrayals by holding a mirror in front of them and cutting out the rot that was the ruin of that family.
Isla had shivered listening to her. Like I said, depressing and everyone dies.
Yet here it was. Eden’s favorite play. She pulled out the well-worn book and showed it to Victor.
His eyes squinted as he read the title, a wry smile spreading on his lips.
“It was the favorite play of someone special to me. She loved Shakespeare and the British classics. But this one really spoke to her. I brought it here because it was something she loved. Makes me feel close to her, wherever she is. Careful—that particular edition was extremely expensive to obtain.” Isla put it back.
Victor offered, “Sit.” He gestured to the chair in front of his massive desk, the imposing piece of dark wood polished to a mirrorlike sheen.
Isla sat in the chair he’d indicated, trying not to fidget under Victor’s steady gaze.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers again steepled under his chin as he studied her, his expression unreadable.
Isla sat up straight, determined not to falter in front of him or make him feel she was being anything but authentic and innocent of any ulterior motives.
“You’ll forgive me,” he finally said, low and measured. “I’m not accustomed to being interviewed by my employees. I’m usually the one doing the asking.”
“Thanks again for letting me do this. I know it’s not your norm. Everyone practically fights gladiator-style to work for you.”
“Yet you got in so easily and quickly,” he said, narrowing his eyes, still looking at her intently. “That’s not our normal protocol, and believe me, I’ve heard about it from my wife, sons, Dixon, security. Why do you think that is, Isla?”
Isla smiled brightly, though her heart was pounding. She shrugged. “My winning smile?”
He huffed out a laugh. It rang through his office and likely could be heard outside. Dixon popped his head in inquisitively, but Victor waved him out.
Isla let herself relax a little. So far, so good. She had to tread carefully. This was the start of her investigation into Eden’s disappearance, and she couldn’t afford any mistakes. Not with a man like him.
“I’m glad you find me amusing. I think there are still some of the family who haven’t taken to me quite yet.”
He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “You must be referring to my wife.” A statement rather than a question.
“I heard she has you in staff housing rather than a guesthouse. I can get it changed if it’s a problem for you.
I’ve already heard about it from Holland.
Her mother can be a bit . . .” He looked to the ceiling for the right words.
“Petty?” Isla muttered. Rey and Nat would get a kick out of this. Charli would ask who this alien being was.
Victor controlled himself. “Yes,” he breathed out truthfully. “Don’t let her get under your skin, okay? She can be overly protective of—” He broke off.
Isla kept a straight face. “Her territory?”
Victor frowned, but it wasn’t serious. “Isla, that’s my wife. My family.” Like he felt the need to offer a flimsy attempt at showing respect for his wife. “That’s a less than diplomatic way of putting it. My wife, in particular, has a talent for making her opinions known.”
Isla nodded sagely. “Yes. Yes she does.” But she offered no apologies, and he didn’t push for one. “The staff housing is better than some of the places I’ve lived. And the scenery is to die for. I don’t need much. I’m adaptable.” That was the truth.
He looked as if she were feeding him a load of bull. “Are you now.” A statement, not a question.
But she knew it was really a test. Everything with Victor would be a test to see what kind of person he was dealing with and what it was they wanted from him, how far they’d go to get it. Isla would try her hardest not to fall into that trap.
“Really. I’m just appreciative and honored you gave me this shot, since you don’t know me so well.”
“Speaking of.” Victor opened up a manila folder in front of him and read through its contents.
“Isla Thorne, graduate of UCLA, major in journalism, double minor in film and TV and business, as you already told us. You live near Venice Beach and work as one of the caregivers at a retirement facility, Brighton Springs Retirement. You’ve been working there for eight years.
Before then, McDonald’s.” He considered her. “Why McDonald’s?”
“I liked the Big Macs,” she quipped.
She prayed Rey’s technical genius held. She’d kept a pretty low profile anyway since moving to LA, but she hoped there wasn’t anything left to link her to Daytona and Eden.
It was odd having parts of her life read back to her—the scrubbed and sanitized parts, thanks to Rey and even Charli, who’d come through long ago with a fake ID that put her at two years older than she was.
There would be no information about Daytona and her being a ward of the state.
Victor chuckled. “They have great fries.”
Isla snorted. As if any of these people would ever step foot in a McDonald’s. She doubted fast food was in their vocabulary.
He was amused. “You think McDonald’s is beneath me?”
“Mr. Corrigan, you’re one of the richest men in the US alone,” Isla said. “You have five-star chefs at your beck and call. You’re not going through the drive-through ordering a number one with a chocolate milkshake.”
“I prefer the Hi-C Orange, young lady.”
Isla gave him side-eye because he kept playing with her. “You don’t even know what a number one is.”
“Who doesn’t like a Big Mac, Isla?”
And here she’d thought Victor was only eating Wagyu steak and freshly caught New England lobster.
He settled comfortably in his chair and looked at her expectantly after glancing at his watch. She was unsure of what he was waiting for her to do.
“Seriously, Mr. Corrigan, I honestly didn’t expect you to know anything about McDonald’s, let alone have a favorite meal there.”
He almost looked insulted. “My father may have started our business, but he taught me hard work.”
“You worked at one of his textile mills from the bottom up to prove you’d be able to run it when he stepped down.
You grew your empire from the trucking and textile companies your father started into a global conglomerate with your first wife, Gayle Corrigan, rest in peace”—Victor raised an eyebrow—“and now you have interests in nearly every facet of business, technology, and industry. People say you take over failing businesses and restructure them, either selling them off at a huge financial profit or folding them under one of the Corrigan Group’s many branches.
You have several foundations, the largest being B Isla wasn’t sure if the message was a warning about something she’d done or advice on how to proceed with him.
She said, “You probably know everything there is to know about me.” Everything Rey had made sure was available, minus their investigative side hustle work. “I’m sure Dixon even gave you my credit score and student loan amounts.”
Victor didn’t deny it. He didn’t agree either. He just gave a wry expression that said they were laying their cards out. It was better to come at him straightforwardly, no chaser. That was the interaction he valued over flattery and putting up pretenses.
He said, “I did build on what my father started. I was always underestimated until they couldn’t afford to underestimate me anymore.
You know being Black in business—in any field, to be honest—means always having to be better than the basic of white people or anyone else.
It’s a privilege we don’t have, mediocrity—which is unfair.
We have to work harder. Be spectacular. Be innovative all the time.
We have to constantly wow everyone to make them take us seriously.
It’s exhausting, don’t you think? White people don’t have that baggage.
This makes us have to be more callous and vicious than we’d prefer because they’ll never make it easy for us.
And then when we do all of that, are callous and vicious because they made us that way, they call us angry, aggressive, say they don’t feel safe around us.
I’m how I am, my work ethic is how it is, because I never again want to feel like I have to dance a jig to be accepted. I’m the one who accepts, or rejects.”
His words hung heavily, ringing true. Their connectedness caused her to temporarily forget her reason for being there—that she was there not to understand Victor but to uncover what they had done to Eden. “Can I quote you on that?” she asked when she remembered her purpose.
He smirked. “Has the interview begun?”
She blessed him with a winning smile. “The moment I pulled up with my bags.”
Myles entered with the leatherbound portfolio that Isla had decided was a part of his uniform, along with the dark suit slacks, matching vest, and crisp button-down shirt.
“Dad, we really need to discuss the LA issue—” He broke off, noticing Isla and Dixon hanging in the background.
The comfortable atmosphere between his father and this new addition took a moment for him to rationalize.
Isla waved him in as if the office were hers, not Victor’s.
She offered a disarming smile, even threw in a little flirtatious look to make it seem like he’d momentarily distracted her.
Myles cleared his throat, looking unsure of what he was walking into.
She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but he sat down next to Dixon anyway.
She swallowed her small win. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, she intrigued Myles Corrigan.
She could practically see the block of ice melting.
Victor noticed her fluster at his son, and Myles’s feigned uninterest, with keen eyes, not missing a beat.
Isla had committed the narrative Nat had taught her to memory and was ready to sell it to the man who’d mastered the art of a deal. The hard part was already done. She was in. Now, she just needed to stay in.