Chapter 15
ASHER
"Your father wants us in his office." The posh British accent that comes from my door belongs to Charles Devereux.
I lift my head to face my old friend. Charles and I met back in college at Columbia. Our friendship started with drinking at parties and evolved to working side by side. He's now Sanctum's chief counsel, and one of the few people at this company I actually trust.
"You know why?" I brush off my pants and shrug my suit jacket back on.
"You're going to want to hear it from him." His expression is sobered, and that concerns me. Charles deals with a lot of fucked-up stuff that happens in this company. Most of it doesn't bother him in the slightest. So anything that puts that serious look on his face is of immediate concern.
I follow him down the hall of executives toward the corner office, where my father waits.
"So I hear you’re engaged?" he asks as we walk.
I find myself smiling through my unease. "Her name’s Grace."
“Splendid. And when do I get to meet her? I’d quite like to get to know the young lady who’s finally taken you off the market.”
I laugh. "Yeah? Want to see what it's like to have a girlfriend, Charlie?"
He grins. "I'll have you know, the ladies quite like me."
"Then why have I never seen you with one?" I razz him. Charles laughs.
"Because for you to meet them, I'd have to introduce them to this shitshow of a family." He whispers the last part for only me to hear as we near my father’s office.
I chuckle. "Fair enough." If it wasn't for the stipulation of needing a wife to be named CEO, I wouldn’t introduce anyone to my family either.
My father's office sprawls across the entire northeast corner of the building, floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unobstructed view of the city.
The space is all cold minimalism, black lacquered furniture, and an oversized desk set in front of large bookcases.
Abstract art hangs on the walls, pieces he bought because some consultant told him they projected "visionary leadership. "
Everything in here is calculated. The temperature kept precisely at sixty-eight degrees.
The lighting engineered to make him look powerful while leaving visitors slightly off-balance.
Even the chairs across from his desk sit two inches lower than his own, a trick he picked up from some business guru back in the eighties.
A full bar occupies one wall, stocked with bottles that cost four figures.
Charles knocks once, a courtesy more than a request for permission, and pushes the door open.
Leonard sits behind his desk, hands steepled, that familiar expression of controlled displeasure on his face. The one that means someone fucked up royally, and he's about to make it their problem.
"Asher. Charles. Sit."
I don't.
"Father." I nod to him. Delmar Rhodes, the company's CFO and my father's longtime ally, sits on the couch that lines the far wall. And on the opposite side of my father’s desk sits my brother, Gabe.
What the hell is he doing here?
Gabe runs a hand through his beard; it's longer than it was the last time I saw him. Granted, it's been a while. He's been off living a life of charity and freedom, while I've been home, helping run the family business.
There are two seats left, one by Gabe and one by Delmar. Charles takes the spot on the couch next to Delmar, so I sit next to my brother. He returns my nod, and then all the attention goes to my father.
Leonard drums his fingers against his mahogany desk as his eyes scan each of us.
"As you all know, we're opening a charity foundation," he says. As long as I’ve been alive, my father has donated obscene sums of money to charity. And as long as I've been alive, he's hated doing it. The donations are purely for optics. "And Gabriel will be running it."
I'm surprised my father wants to start a charity. But I'm even more surprised he's putting Gabe in charge.
Six years ago, something happened between my father and brother, something neither of them have spoken of.
Whatever it was, Gabe left the company because of it.
The two have barely been amicable since then.
Gabe returns maybe once a year for something or other, and most of the time, he and my father avoid each other like the plague.
So yes, I'm surprised that the two now seem cozy enough for Gabe to be given a branch of this company.
It's on the tip of my tongue to ask Gabe what Dear Old Dad offered him, but I know better than to bring it up here. So instead, I nod and clap my brother on the shoulder.
"Welcome back," I say, letting my lips tilt into a small but fake smile. It seems I'm faking a lot lately.
"Happy to be back." He glances around the room of men. "I plan to do some good with this opportunity."
Father scoffs at his words and leans back in his leather chair. "Just enough to distract them. That's all."
My father has never been one to deal with problems head on, and I don’t think I’ve ever once heard an apology leave his lips. He’s always used what he calls distractions.
He’s not off in his strategy, as everything comes down to perception, and the news cycle focuses on whatever the biggest story is at the moment. You can hide whatever misdeeds you want, as long as there’s something better for people to focus on.
"Distract them from what?" I ask. My father, while he's always been a top-grade businessman, is also hot headed with a mean streak. He doesn't like being questioned.
As kids, we managed this by avoiding making him anything but happy. That meant being perfect. At least, for Dove, Gabe, and I. Wren thrived on the negative attention. He'd get a kick out of getting my father riled up right now.
Dad stands, swiping a pile of papers off his desk.
Charles flinches. He's been with us for a few years, but he still hasn't adjusted to my father's outbursts.
Gabe closes his eyes briefly and sucks in a deep breath.
Delmar looks completely unfazed, glancing down at his nails.
I mimic Gabe and breathe deeply as my father's shouting begins.
"The fucking allegations!" he bellows into the room. "Those fucking cocksuckers. Liars! All of them are fucking liars."
I glance over at Charles. "What allegations?"
My old friend scrubs a hand over his face, and I get the gut feeling that I'm not going to like whatever he's about to say.
"There are a few women speaking out—"
"Liars!" my father shouts angrily. "All of them are liars!"
"What are they saying?" I ask, eyes narrowed, directing my attention back to Charles.
"Some of them are minor, bad jokes in the breakrooms, inappropriate touching on retreats…" he trails off.
"And the others?" I prod, knowing there's more.
Charles pulls in a long breath. "Sexual assault. Rape."
My breath catches, and I hear Gabe’s do the same beside me. I wonder if he's regretting taking on a role in the company, especially one meant to cover up the misdeeds of our father. He scrubs a palm over his beard, scratching the chestnut-colored hair.
"Okay, so the foundation will take eyes off the allegations—"
Charles cuts me off. "That will work for some of them. But the ones against your father, those will be harder to cover up. The anti-billionaire movement is already gaining traction. This could only further their agenda."
"Dad…" I turn my gaze to him. His hands sit in two fists on his desk, and his cheeks are red.
"Liars," he seethes.
I close my eyes, hating the question I'm about to ask. "What are they saying?"
"There are three women at the helm," Charles breathes out. "All claiming your father raped them."
All the air rushes from my lungs.
I've always known my father wasn't a good man.
But this is worse than I could have ever imagined.
I never indulge in more than one drink, but today’s news has me itching to swallow the whole bottle. After I down one glass of whiskey, I pour myself another.
Grace's face flashes in my mind, and guilt rears its ugly head. By announcing her as my fiancée, I’ve embedded her into the Caine family shitshow. She's going to be wrapped up in all this scandal if it's released.
It could bring us all down.
But then I think about the women my father potentially hurt. I don't need to hear their stories to know they’re true. That's why my stomach burns and my chest aches.
He's a monster.
And I sat in a meeting where we discussed how to cover everything up.
So what does that make me?
Just like him.
The words bounce around in my skull, and I wince. I hate the thought. But nothing in me can dispute it. Am I like him? Do I use women to get what I want and then discard them when they no longer serve me?
I take another swallow of whiskey.
A knock sounds on my door, interrupting my mental spiral. "Not now," I spit out, assuming it's Mel trying to tell me something or other.
"Even for me?" It's the deep drawl of my older brother.
My hands freeze, leaning on the cabinet where I keep my whiskey. I inhale a deep breath and turn around to face him.
He's not supposed to be here. I have a plan. Marry Grace, inherit the company, fix all this mess. Gabe being here is something I didn't factor in, and not knowing what he wants is going to eat at me.
"Congratulations on your new position." I grab another glass off the shelf and pour him some whiskey. "President of Sanctum Cares. Has a nice ring to it."
Silently, Gabe takes the glass from me and swallows a long sip before setting it down on my desk. "Cut the shit, Ash."
I scoff. This family has never cut the shit. All we do is talk in back-handed compliments. It's our love language.
"What do you want me to say? That I'm surprised our father pulled you back into the fold? That I didn't see this coming? Just like those allegations." My words are harsh, the alcohol blurring my filter. This is why I don't have more than one drink.
"You think I wanted this?"
I finally look at him. Six years of fieldwork have changed him. He's more weathered, broader through the shoulders, with calloused hands that speak of actual labor instead of boardroom handshakes. "Did you?"
"Leonard made it clear this wasn't a request." Gabe's jaw tightens.
"Either I come back and run damage control through the foundation, or he finds other ways to make my work difficult.
Turns out, building wells in developing countries requires permits, funding, government cooperation.
All things our father has a remarkable influence over. "
The whiskey tastes more bitter now. "So he bought you." That's the thing about having money: it makes it possible to get whatever you want. My father wields his like a weapon. And if he can't buy you directly, he'll find a way to make your life miserable by buying others.
"He threatened everything I've built for the last six years." Gabe's voice drops. "Every project, every community that depends on clean water access. You think I had a choice?"
"There's always a choice."
Gabe scoffs and turns to me, frustration coating his features. "Tell me, Ash, when was the last time you made a decision that wasn't calculated to please Leonard or position yourself for succession?"
Heat flares in my chest despite the cold. "Careful."
"I heard about your engagement. Is that what your new fiancée is? Another strategic move?"
My grip tightens on the glass. "She's none of your business."
"I hear she's a little farm girl. Which makes me wonder what the hell she's doing with you."
"Maybe she sees something you don't."
Gabe studies me for a long moment. "Maybe she does." He polishes off his glass, setting it down on the bar top with too much force before standing. "I guess we'll be seeing more of each other, then."
My voice is caught in my throat. Everything feels wrong. I'm out here throwing myself a pity party and drinking too much, all because Daddy didn't live up to my expectations. Again.
I'm not like him. I decide. I'm better.
And what I need to do is sober up and continue with my plan. Because the best way to deal with the problem that is my father is to remove him from his CEO chair and replace him with someone better.
Me.