Chapter 15
Briggs
Parker almost got us into an accident driving me home tonight.
Scarlett kept sending him drunk texts, threatening to break up with him if he didn’t respond, so like an idiot, he did, and almost drove us off the damn road.
He can usually text and drive just fine, but not when he’s angry, and nobody gets him angrier than Scarlett.
When I finally got home, I snuck in the back door and went straight up to my room. My dad’s probably out drinking with his country club friends, but I didn’t want to risk running into him if he was home.
“What the hell do I do with this?” I ask myself, holding up the shirt I used to cover my hands when I dragged the guy off the road.
I notice blood on it and drop it, racing to my bathroom to see if I have any garbage bags.
I find some that the maid left under the sink, grab one, and hurry back to the spot where I left the shirt. I pick it up and drop it in the bag.
I don’t remember seeing blood on the guy, but it was dark, and I was trying really hard not to look at him.
But I did see his face. He looked older, maybe in his fifties, and his face was scruffy like he hadn’t shaved in a while.
If I had to guess, I’d say he was a homeless guy looking for a ride, although it doesn’t make sense he’d be that far out of town.
He’d have better luck getting a ride in the city, not on a deserted road.
Going over to my nightstand, I grab the TV remote and turn on the news. I doubt they’d do a story on some guy getting hit. People get hit by cars all the time, and it doesn’t make the news.
“Briggs!” my dad yells, followed by several loud knocks. “Are you in there?”
“Yeah, but I’m going to sleep!” I yell back, stuffing the garbage bag under the bed.
The door opens, reminding me I forgot to lock it.
My dad comes into my room wearing dress pants and a dress shirt, but no tie. “What are you doing home so early on a Saturday night?”
“I didn’t feel like being out so I came home.”
He walks over to me. “What about your girlfriend? She’s not upset you’re not taking her out?”
“We got in a fight. I don’t want to talk about it.”
He rubs his chin. “I’ve been thinking about you and her, and I think it’s time you find someone else.
Someone we can trust to behave appropriately at functions.
Aubrey is a beautiful girl, but she’s not the type of girl you bring to a work event.
We need to find you someone more refined. One of my clients has a daughter who—”
“I don’t need help finding dates, and I didn’t break up with Aubrey. We just had a fight.”
“Still, you need to think about ending things with her. You need to find someone who at least has a brain. Aubrey can’t even engage in intellectual conversation. It’s embarrassing, and looks bad to our clients.”
Now he’s telling me who to date? This is a first, but I’m not putting up with it. I let him control enough of my life, and only because I think it’ll get me what I want, but I’m not letting him tell me who I can date.
“I need to take a shower. Are we done here?”
“What’s on your shoe?” He points to it. “Is that blood?”
I look down and see dried blood on the front of my brown leather shoes. “It’s tomato sauce. We went out to eat and I must’ve spilled some.”
“On your shoe? Weren’t your feet under the table?”
“We got it to go. It probably dripped out of the container.”
Shit. I just changed the story. I’m going to have to tell Parker and Finn to add dinner, at a place that has tomato sauce, and that we took it to go.
It’s been less than an hour, and I’ve already screwed up the story. And if I screwed up, Finn and Parker will too, if they haven’t already. This is a fucking disaster. If the cops ever question us about this, we’re screwed.
“If we’re done here, I’m going to—”
“Wait.” He puts his hand up as his eyes go to the TV. “I want to hear this.”
I look at the TV and see the words suspected hit-and-run on the screen along with video of an ambulance on a dark road and two EMTs carrying a guy on a stretcher.
“The man was transported to the hospital,” the reporter says, “but as of yet, police haven’t identified him or discovered the reason why he was walking along the road at such a late hour.
The police are now investigating what they believe to be a hit-and-run, but as of now they have no suspects.
If you have any leads in this case, police are asking that you call their tip line. ”
Fuck! They’re looking for us! But there’s no way they’d find us. We were the only people out there.
“He’ll be dead by tomorrow,” my dad casually says as he turns back to me. “I had a roommate in college that got hit by a car. He died the next day.”
“Did they find out who did it?”
“No, and they never found the car. I always wondered if it were me, would I stop or keep going? I’d like to think I’d stop, but the truth is, I probably wouldn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” I ask, although I’m not surprised he’d take off. He doesn’t help people. He only cares about himself. But then what does that say about me? I took off. I left the guy there. He could’ve died, and I left him. Does that mean I’m just like my father?
“There’s too much at stake,” he says. “Turning myself in would end my career. Take away everything I’d work for. My reputation would be destroyed. There’d be no one to run the company. I wouldn’t risk all that just to put my conscious at ease.”
“What if the person died? Would you still not turn yourself in?”
“If he died, I’d definitely keep quiet. That could be considered manslaughter. They’d put me in prison.”
“For how long?”
He eyes me. “Why all the questions?”
I shrug. “I’m just curious. Were you friends with this guy? The one who got hit in college?”
“I wouldn’t call us friends. We’d only been roommates a few weeks and then he was gone.
He was hit while walking back from his girlfriend’s dorm.
The police looked for months for whoever hit him but didn’t have a single lead.
Whoever did it got away with it. Anyway, the reason I came in here was to remind you that tomorrow we’ll leave for the office at nine.
I want you dressed and ready to go. No excuses. ”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’m not going to the office.”
“You are, and you’ll be wearing a suit.”
“Why the hell would I wear a suit? Nobody will be there.”
“ I’ll be there, and I don’t want my employees looking like slobs.”
“I’m not your employee,” I say, my jaw tightening. “And I’m not going. I was just there. You said I only had to go there once a week. I didn’t agree to more than that.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion. And it’s not a choice.
” He steps up to me, pointing his finger at my face.
“You will get up tomorrow morning, put on your suit, and be grateful that you are being given the chance to learn from me. Do you know how many young men would like to be in your shoes? To train alongside one of the most successful investors in the country?”
“Then have them go with you tomorrow.” I go around him to my walk-in closet.
“Briggs, you will not disrespect me like this!” He storms into the closet and grabs one of the wooden hangers, pointing it at me.
“I have had enough of your defiance! Your grandfather would be ashamed of the way you’re acting.
One day you’ll be given that company and yet you’re acting like an ungrateful child! ”
“I’m not even out of high school, and then I have college. I have plenty of time to learn this shit. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow.”
He raises the wooden hanger and slams it across my face, so hard my head turns, and I stumble back.
“What the fuck ?” I hold my hand to my cheek, which is hot and burning and already swelling up.
“You want to disrespect me?” He points the hanger at me. “Disrespect the company your grandfather built? I won’t allow it, and if getting you in line means slapping some sense into you, I will do it.”
In my head, I’m imagining hitting him back, my fist slamming into his smug face and sending him falling to the ground. He’s never been this violent with me. He’s slapped me around before, but only with his hand and never that hard. And he only did it if I pushed him over the edge.
This time was different. I barely said anything. He doesn’t even seem that angry, and yet he still hit me. And it wasn’t just a slap of the hand. He used a weapon, and he used it with as much force as he could, knowing it would injure me.
“Did you hear me?” he yells.
“Yes.” I stare into his dark eyes, wondering why he did this. Is he just trying to remind me who’s in control, or is there something else going on?
“Tomorrow at nine.” He turns and walks to the door. “We’ll meet in the entry. Goodnight, Briggs.”
When he’s gone, I slam my door shut and lock it.
Fucking bastard. He didn’t even show any remorse.
It’s like he enjoyed hitting me. Part of me wants to call my mom and tell her what he did.
She’d be angry that he hurt me, but there’s nothing she could do.
I doubt she’d even come back here to check on me.
Maybe this is why she left. Maybe he hit her, too.
But if she knew he was abusive, why would she leave me with him?
* * *
The next morning, I go to the office with my father, wearing my suit like a good little boy. I sit across from him at the long, walnut table in the conference room, staring at charts and spreadsheets on the laptop he gave me. I couldn’t care less about any of it. It doesn’t even make sense.
I didn’t sleep last night, and I’m exhausted.
Even if I wasn’t, I still wouldn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about as he goes through the spreadsheets.
I think if I were interested, I’d understand it.
I’m not stupid, and I easily pick up on stuff, but it’s almost like my mind’s defying him, refusing to comprehend what he’s teaching me.
“Any questions?” he asks.
“No, I’ve got it.”
I don’t, but it’s almost noon, and I want to get the hell out of here.
I need to talk to Finn and Parker and see how much damage they’ve done.
I’m sure they’ve been texting me all morning, but I haven’t seen the texts because my father took my phone, saying he needed to eliminate all distractions.
I wanted to tell him that I’m distracted by the throbbing pain in my cheekbone from him hitting me last night, but I decided against that, noticing he’s still in a bad mood that seemed to get worse when we got to the office.
My father’s phone rings. It’s sitting right next to him, and he’s been checking it all morning because apparently the phone is only a distraction for me, not him.
He answers it, smiling. “Hello, Phil. How are you this Sunday afternoon?”
From his cheery tone, you’d never guess he was in a bad mood. He’s a master at being on when he needs to, then shutting it off just as fast.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he says, nodding.
“Perhaps now you’ll trust me with another hundred million.
” He laughs. “Sure. What time are you thinking?” He checks the clock on the wall.
“I could make that work. I’m at the office with my son.
I’ll run home and drop him off and meet you at the club. See you soon.”
“We’re leaving?” I ask as he gets up.
“Yes, and we need to hurry. Phil has a one-thirty tee time.”
I close the laptop and get up, secretly thanking whoever this Phil guy is for saving me from an afternoon of torture.
My father always accepts golf invites because it usually leads to getting more business.
Then, after golfing, my father will insist on taking the guy to dinner, which will be another chance to talk the guy into investing more of his money with us.
We get home, and my dad races in the house to change. This is awesome. He’ll be gone in a few minutes, and I won’t have to see him until tonight. Or maybe I can hide in my room and pretend to be asleep so I won’t have to see him at all.
This is why I hate weekends. It’s too much time at home, too much risk of running into my dad. During the week, I’m at school all day, then have rugby, followed by hours at the gym. I’m usually out until eight or nine, and when I get home, I tell my dad I have to study, so he leaves me alone.
When I’m back in my room, I take off my suit and put on jeans and a t-shirt. I felt like I couldn’t breathe in that suit. I couldn’t wait to take it off.
I look at my phone and see a string of texts from both Parker and Finn. I also see one from Ella. I look at that one first.
Working for my dad until noon, she texts. If we’re meeting I need a ride, and I have to be home by 4.
Why did she have to be involved in this?
I had her in the palm of my hand, ready to give up the valedictorian title, and then this happens.
I could still try to threaten her to do what I want, but I don’t know if she’ll go along with it now that we’re stuck sharing this secret.
She could threaten to tell, although I don’t think she would, knowing that turning us in could get her in trouble.
Going through Finn’s texts, not a single one makes sense. They’re all drunk texts, or maybe he was high. He handles stress by drinking or smoking weed.
As I’m looking through Parker’s texts, he calls.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“You still at the office?”
“No, I’m home. I was going through your texts.”
“Did you read the last one?”
“No. Why? What’s it say?”
“We need to meet, like, now.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Finn went to the party last night. Kiera picked him up. He got really drunk.”
“Yeah? What else is new?”
“He can’t remember what he said.”
“Yeah? And?”
“He thinks he might’ve told someone. About last night. About what happened.”