Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
A lex
I sat in my office on the thirtieth floor of my high-rise building, staring out the window. The news of my mother’s death was delivered to me late last night by her attorney, Ralph Starling. While sitting there, thinking, my office door opened.
“Alex, I have the new proposal for the outdoor mall ready for you to review,” my friend and V.P. Owen said.
Turning my chair around, he handed me the file folder.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I got a call late last night from Ralph Starling. My mother passed away.”
“Shit, Alex. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. The funeral is in a few days.”
“Are you going?” he asked.
“I really don’t have a choice. Ralph needs to talk to me about the Harbor Estate.”
My phone rang. When I glanced at it, I saw Lucy’s school was calling.
“Shit.” I sighed. “Alex Harbor.”
“Mr. Harbor, this is Principal Carrington calling. I need you to come to the school for a meeting this afternoon regarding your daughter Lucy.”
“What has she done now?” I ran my hand down my face.
“We can discuss it at the meeting. Can you be here at two o’clock?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“No. You don’t. I’ll see you then.”
“Great.” I shook my head, throwing my phone on my desk. “I don’t need this shit right now.”
“What did she do?” Owen asked.
“Who the hell knows. I swear to God, that kid?—”
“Is your daughter, and she’s hurting. She’s trying to get your attention. She lost her mother, you’re never home, and she’s being raised by a nanny who, honestly, is really scary.”
“What are you talking about?” My brows furrowed. “Cora is a fine nanny.”
“Says you.” He pointed at me. “I told you when Lucy first came to live with you that you would have to step up and be her father.”
“I’ve always been a father to her,” I scowled.
“Well, seeing her twice a year and sending her a birthday and Christmas gift isn’t being a father. You’re all that little girl has left, and mark my words, my friend. If you don’t get her help now, you’re heading into a lot of trouble.”
“I’ve sent her to countless therapists, and she won’t talk to any of them. She sits there tight-lipped with her arms folded.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Again, I’m sorry about your mother. I have to head to a meeting. We’ll talk later.”
It was two o’clock when my driver pulled up to the school. Climbing out, I entered through the secured doors and headed to the office.
“Hello, Mr. Harbor.” The secretary behind the desk smiled. “I’ll let Principal Carrington know you’re here.”
“Thank you.” I tucked my hand into my pants pocket.
“She said to go into her office,” the secretary said.
Opening the door, I stepped inside.
“Mr. Harbor.” She nodded. “Please, have a seat.”
“What has Lucy done?” I asked, sitting down across from her desk.
“Where do I start?” She sighed, folding her hands on her desk. “In gym class today, she got into an argument with another student and forcefully pushed her down on the ground. Then, in the middle of class, when her teacher yelled at her to stop talking during a lesson, Lucy called her a psycho bitch and told her that she was fat and ugly, no man would ever want her, and she’ll be single the rest of her life.”
“Jesus Christ.” I shifted in my chair, running my hand down my face.
“We’ve overlooked a few incidences because we know Lucy is troubled, given her situation. But she’s had over a year to adjust to this school, and she hasn’t yet. Plus, her artwork is a little concerning. It’s dark and depressing. We’re not sure Hope Academy is the right fit for her.”
“Excuse me? Do you realize how much money I’ve donated to this school since she’s been enrolled here?”
“I do, and I thank you. But Lucy’s behavior is intolerable. Unfortunately, I’ve had no choice but to suspend her for a week. She needs to learn that her behavior has consequences.”
“You’re giving her what she wants, Principal Carrington.”
“Then perhaps homeschooling would be better for her, Mr. Harbor.”
I stood up from my chair and pointed at her. “You don’t get to tell me what’s best for my daughter.” I left her office and saw Lucy sitting in the chair with her backpack.
“You’re in big trouble. Let’s go,” I sternly spoke.
We climbed into the back of the car, and she stared out the window with a scowl.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” I asked. “You’ve been suspended for a week.”
“Good,” she said.
“No, Lucy!” I shouted. “It’s not good. You’re grounded until further notice.”
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes.
“Why the hell would you say what you did to your teacher?”
“Because it’s the truth, and she’s mean.” She looked at me with her blue eyes.
“And the student you pushed down in gym class?” I cocked my head.
“She told me to go back to where I came from because nobody likes me. She’s a bully, Dad. I’d had enough and was defending myself. I hate it here!”
My driver pulled up to my apartment building. Climbing out, I grabbed Lucy’s backpack and took the elevator to the penthouse.
“Go to your room right now!”
“Don’t worry. I am.” She stomped away.
“Mr. Harbor, what happened?” Cora asked.
“Lucy’s been suspended from school for a week.”
I walked over to the bar in the living room and poured a scotch.
“That child is a difficult one. She has many issues that you don’t seem to be addressing. I was going to wait until the end of the week to talk to you, but I guess now would be best.”
“Talk to me about what, Cora?” I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Dealing with Lucy has been challenging the past year. She’s rude, disrespectful, and sometimes I think she’s the daughter of Satan.”
“Excuse me?” I snapped. “You’re fired, Cora.”
“You can’t fire me, Mr. Harbor.” She pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to me. “I’ve already written my resignation letter. I’ll be out of here within the hour.” She began to walk away.
“You do that. In fact, make it thirty minutes.” I threw my drink down my throat.
Within forty-five minutes, Cora packed her bags and walked to the elevator.
“Good luck, Mr. Harbor. You’re going to need it.” She stepped inside.
“Bitch,” I mumbled.
Walking down to Lucy’s room, I opened the door and found her sitting on her bed, drawing on her sketchpad.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a snide tone.
“Cora quit. She left a few minutes ago.”
“Good. I hated her anyway.”
I stood there, shaking my head.
“I’ll order a pizza for dinner and let you know when it’s here.”
“I’m not hungry, and I’m not eating.”
“Then starve. I don’t really care.”
She said something as I walked out and began to shut the door.
“I know you don’t.”
I shut the door and stood there with my hand on the handle. After pouring another scotch, I took it to the terrace and stared at the city. What the hell was I going to do? Now that Cora was gone, I had nobody to care for Lucy while I went to Harbor Falls. I was planning on leaving tomorrow, and there wasn’t enough time to find someone.
The doorman alerted me that the pizza had arrived. After he brought it up, I thanked him and set the box on the kitchen island. Lucy walked in and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
“Sit your ass down at the table. You’re eating dinner,” I sternly spoke.
“I said I’m not hungry!” she shouted.
“I don’t care. If I have to shove it down your throat, I will. Now sit down!”
I grabbed two plates from the cabinet, put a couple of slices of pizza on each, and set Lucy’s plate in front of her.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” I said. “I’m not good at this father thing.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before getting Mom pregnant.”
“You watch your mouth, young lady.” I pointed at her.
“I don’t want to be here. I hate it here! I hate Chicago!”
“Too bad. You don’t have a choice. Life isn’t fair, and it sucks. Get used to it, kid. When you’re finished, I want you to go pack your suitcase.”
“What?” Her blue eyes widened. “Why?”
“We’re taking a little trip and leaving tomorrow.”
“Where are we going?”
“To my childhood home in Harbor Falls. Your grandmother passed away, and we need to attend the funeral. I have some business to take care of there.”
“Why do I have to go? I never even met my grandmother.”
“Because now that you’ve been suspended from school and Cora is gone, I have no one to take care of you. So, you’re coming with me.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“I don’t either, but I don’t have a choice, and neither do you. If I have to go, so do you.”
“You don’t want to go to your own mother’s funeral?” Her little eye narrowed. “What kind of son are you?”
“It’s complicated, kid. I haven’t seen my mother since I was sixteen years old and moved to Chicago.”
“Why?”
“A lot of reasons—reasons I’m not discussing with you.”