Chapter 4 #2
“We’re moving forward with expanding our empire into Europe.
As a result, there are certain agencies that we’re falling scrutiny to.
While we handle this, an opportunity has arisen that we can’t reject outright.
Our presence is required overseas in multiple areas to build relationships.
To put it bluntly, we’ll just be spread too thin to try to manage Savannah on top of everything else.
This is your chance to prove you have what it takes to earn your birthright.
Savannah is home. The crown jewel in the Titan empire. "
I keep my face still, but my heart hammers, and sweat prickles down my spine.
“That is part of it,” my father nods. “The bigger part is the reports I have gotten from your babysitter. You four clearly have too much time on your hands. You need something more productive to do. Before you destroy the legacy that we’ve created.”
He wants to split us up, and he’s using Phoenix as an excuse.
Or maybe she put something in her little report I didn’t sign off on. She'll pay for that later.
I lift one hand and pick up a pen sitting in front of me. I need something to hold on to, because any time Phoenix enters the conversation, I’m ready to fly off the handle.
Not to mention the fact that our entire lives, we’ve been groomed to believe that the four of us will be running our empire…together.
We’ve always been…us. Friends. Brothers.
And then there’s Phoenix. I’ve only just gotten her back. Under my thumb. I have no intentions of letting her go any time soon.
But then again, Storm doesn’t plan on letting her go at all.
If our parents manage to split us up, where would Phoenix go?
Who would she choose?
She should choose me.
She owes me that much.
They can’t just separate us, damn it.
Because the truth is, I know she won’t choose me.
She’ll leave. Again.
The pen snaps in half, ink spraying across the surface of the table. Phoenix lets out an inaudible gasp and half-rises, but Atticus shakes his head at her. Reminding her to stay offscreen.
"We're a year from graduating," Maverick mutters, not even flinching at the ink and mess on my hands.
"And you've had more hands-on experience than most of your professors," my father replies. “I don’t expect you to fail, even if you’re young and idiotic in your decisions outside of the business.”
Atticus speaks, voice calm. "What are the expectations?"
My father's gaze sharpens. "Profit. Control. Order."
Of course. It always comes back to control with him.
"You will increase net earnings by fifteen percent by the end of the quarter," he says. "Or you will all be cut off."
Atticus goes very still. Storm doesn't move.
I can't breathe. I knew the other shoe would drop; I didn't think he'd make the setup quite this blatant.
"And if we don't reach your…challenging benchmark?" I ask.
A slow smile creeps over his face. "Then you prove what we've feared these last few years—that you four are not built to take over our empires.
You will be cut off and forced to make your own way.
You will no longer be Titans, and we will wash our hands of you completely. It might do you a world of good."
My jaw is tight enough to crack. Fifteen percent in one quarter. No grace period, no support, no time to transition. No time to plan.
Just an impossible directive: prove you're worth the name—or starve.
Atticus leans forward, elbows on the table like he's about to dissect something.
"Why now? You could have handed us a project at any time over the last few years.
Why pick this place, right now? Why not give us time to run numbers and develop a plan?
Our competitors plan their promos years in advance.
Not only that, but Savannah of all the properties. "
"You should already know the numbers and the competition," his father says with a shrug. "If you got your intelligence from my side, you've already started forming a plan. If it's from your mother…well, nothing I can do about that now."
Carine shifts in the frame. “Oh, for the love—”
“Don’t start,” my father snaps, ending their argument before it begins.
They glare at each other. Even through a camera, the hatred is impossible to miss. I cut a glance at Atticus. His shoulders are rigid, posture knife-straight, fingers tapping on his tablet.
He's bracing for the wave from both parents later.
His life would be simpler if they'd just get a fucking divorce, but that would mean dividing assets neither is willing to surrender.
Every interaction between them that I can remember has been an exercise in hostile negotiation, a cold simmer of resentment and one-upmanship.
Atticus survived by making himself useful.
"You know what kind of mess this property is under the surface. You trained us to spot it. This place is profitable and matches market expectations, but it isn't primed for a jump that aggressive," Storm says, pulling me back to the task. “Especially since you all know the recent issues.
My father lifts a brow. "Then it sounds like you've identified the problem areas and should have no trouble addressing them."
Maverick slaps his palm on the table. "You could've given us a heads-up. Told us to prepare. You're setting us up to fail, and you fucking know it, old man."
None of them react.
They know exactly what they're doing.
This isn't a gift, or even a trial by fire. It's a trap that they’ve laid specifically to see what will happen.
The Titans are never given anything. They take by any means necessary. And if I know anything at all about our parents, that’s what this is all about.
"Do you want the chance to prove yourself or not?" my father asks, tone sharp.
There is no real choice here.
Fuck.
I meet his eyes through the screen. "We'll take it. But you’re going to have to pry it from my cold, lifeless fingers if you want it back."
"Good." He leans back. I move to disconnect. "Then let's be clear about expectations moving forward."
Of course he isn't finished. I draw my hand back and wait.
"You will produce the following by the end of the quarter: a fifteen-percent increase in total net profit, improved VIP retention metrics, and a transition report showing your individual and collective competencies in business operations."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Phoenix’s phone light up. She grabs it and frowns down at the screen. I tap my fingertips soundlessly against the tabletop. She is a distraction I’m not sure we can afford anymore.
"This isn't a job—it's a goddamn hostage situation," Maverick mutters.
I see Storm in the camera behind me. His posture reads relaxed, but his jaw flexes. He's already in strategy mode, running personnel changes and security upgrades. We all need sleep, food, coffee—and then we need to deal with the corpse that Maverick put God-knows-where.
Instead, Atticus types on his tablet without looking up, probably already projecting numbers.
And me? I should be thinking overall strategy. Instead, my gaze drifts to Phoenix.
She hasn't moved. Has barely blinked. But I can feel her mind turning over every word. She knows what this means. She knows the bullshit our parents pull. Where does this leave her?
"Don't make us regret this," Storm's mother says.
"We won't," Storm replies.
"Good. The lawyers already have the paperwork. Don’t fuck this up," my father says, just before they disconnect.
Just like that.
No goodbye, no praise, not even an acknowledgment of the clusterfuck they've left us in.
The screen goes black.
Atticus exhales. "They know. The gang, the girl… all of it."
Maverick scrubs a hand through his hair. "Of course they do. They know everything. They always have."
Storm looks at me. "That's why they're doing this. If it gets out, we're liable—not them. Especially if they’re under scrutiny from any type of law enforcement. In a fucked up way, they’re protecting us just as much as they’re protecting themselves."
"Exactly," I say, closing my eyes for a beat and feeling the extra weight balanced precariously on my shoulders. It settles between my shoulder blades, right where it will hurt most when it drops. “They’re giving us a chance to steal the crown jewel of their legacy, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.
We’re going to take it, make it ours, and make it impossible for them to steal it back. ”
"Next steps?" Maverick asks.
I don't answer immediately. Phoenix is still in the corner, staring down at her phone. She’s too quiet.
"Go," I tell them. "Get some sleep. Meet back here in a few hours. We'll only fuck up if we're running on fumes."
They don't argue.
Maverick tosses me a sarcastic salute and vanishes first. Storm follows, tension already knotted back into his spine. Atticus pauses long enough to squeeze Phoenix's shoulder on his way out.
Then it's just her and me in the room that still smells faintly of sex and death.
My past and present problems sharing the same air, and it's all her goddamned fault.