12. KAISEN LANDRY
KAISEN LANDRY
Iknew something was wrong the moment I pulled up to my father’s house.
Winston didn’t summon people unless he wanted something. And when he wanted something from me specifically, it was never good.
The Lakeview estate sat behind iron gates and manicured hedges like a monument to everything the Landry name represented. Old money. Power. Control.
I’d grown up in this house.
I’d never felt at home here.
I parked in the circular driveway and sat for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady myself.
Whatever this is, just get through it.
I climbed out of the car and walked to the front door. It opened before I could knock.
Dad stood in the doorway wearing slacks and a pressed shirt, his expression unreadable.
“Kaisen,” he said. “Come in.”
Not son.
Never son unless he wanted something.
I followed him through the foyer and into his study—a room that smelled like leather and bourbon and decades of decisions made behind closed doors.
He gestured to one of the chairs across from his desk.
“Sit.”
I sat.
He moved to the bar cart and poured himself two fingers of bourbon. Didn’t offer me any.
He took a slow sip, then turned to face me.
“Dr. Beaumont called me this morning,” he said.
I frowned. “Who?”
“The fertility specialist handling your brother’s surrogacy arrangement.”
My stomach tightened.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “And?”
“The surrogate’s eggs will be fertilized in five days.”
I stared at him.
“Is she supposed to be telling you that?” I asked. “That sounds like private medical information.”
“The Landrys own that clinic,” he interrupted. “All of our sperm is housed there. Every sample. Every record. So yes, she should be telling me.”
The way he said our sperm made my skin crawl.
“Okay,” I said again. “So why are you telling me?”
He took another sip of bourbon.
Set the glass on his desk.
Looked me dead in the eye.
“Because both samples will be used,” he said. “Yours and Amai’s.”
The words didn’t land at first.
I heard them. Processed them. But they didn’t make sense.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Exactly what I said.” His voice was calm. Clinical. Like he was discussing a business transaction. “Dr. Beaumont will fertilize the eggs with sperm from both of you.”
“Why?” The word came out sharp. Angry. “Amai doesn’t know about this, does he?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why?”
“Because your brother’s sperm isn’t going to work,” Winston said flatly. “The possibility is slim to none. You know that. I know that. Dr. Beaumont knows that. We need an heir, Kaisen. And if Amai can’t produce one, then you will.”
I stood up so fast the chair scraped against the floor.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Sit down.”
“No.” I was shaking now. Fury rising hot and fast in my chest. “You can’t just—this is insane. Amai will lose his shit if he finds out!”
“He won’t find out.”
“And what happens when the kid is born and looks nothing like him?” I shot back. “What then?”
Winston shrugged. “You’re brothers. Close enough.”
“Close enough?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Dad, this is?—”
“This is necessary,” Winston interrupted. “The Landry name doesn’t die because your brother’s condition makes him sterile. We adapt. We survive. That’s what this family does.”
“Then let me keep the name going,” I said. “I’ll have kids. I’ll?—”
“No.”
The word was final.
Absolute.
I stared at him.
“What do you mean, no?”
He picked up his bourbon again. Swirled it in the glass.
“No disrespect, Kaisen,” he said, his tone suggesting he was about to disrespect the hell out of me, “but I’m not confident in anything you produce. And I sure as hell don’t trust you as father material.”
The words hit like a fist to the gut.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Completely.”
“I’ve been clean for years,” I said, my voice rising. “I’ve done everything you asked. I’ve stayed out of trouble. I’ve worked my ass off to prove I’m not that person anymore?—”
“And yet no one trusts you,” he said. “Not me. Not your brother. Not your mother. You want to know why?”
I didn’t answer.
“Because you earned that distrust,” he continued. “You got drunk and missed a pickup, and your brothers died because of it. You caused the injury that made Amai infertile. You’ve spent the last decade trying to clean up a mess you created, and you’re still not done paying for it.”
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
“So, that’s it?” I said quietly. “I’m just—what? A backup plan? A fucking sperm donor for my brother’s kid?”
“You’re a Landry,” he said. “And you’ll do what’s necessary for this family. Just like the rest of us.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do this?” I demanded. “How am I supposed to father a child and then just—what? Watch Amai raise it? Pretend it’s not mine?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“That’s your answer? Figure it out?”
“Yes.” His expression didn’t change. “Because it’s happening, Kaisen. Whether you like it or not.”
I wanted to flip his desk.
Wanted to punch him in his smug, calculating face.
Wanted to walk out and never come back.
But I didn’t.
Because he was right about one thing.
I was a Landry.
And Landrys didn’t walk away.
“Amai’s going to kill us both when he finds out,” I said finally.
Winston smiled.
It was the coldest thing I’d ever seen.
“Good thing he won’t ever find out.”
I stood there for a moment, letting that sink in. The finality of it. The absolute certainty that this was happening whether I agreed or not.
Then, something shifted in my chest. A realization that hit harder than any punch.
“Wait,” I said slowly. “So the child will still have my DNA. My blood. That means…” I paused, working through the logic even though I already knew where it led, “that means someone I produce can’t be that fucked up. Right? If the kid’s got my genetics, then?—”
“With Amai as the father,” Winston interrupted, his voice cutting through my argument like a blade, “the child will be a worthy Landry heir.”
The words landed exactly where he intended them to.
I understood what he was saying without him having to spell it out. But he was going to anyway. He always did.
“So, basically,” I said, my voice hollow, “any kids I have—my own children—you’re gonna look at them like they ain’t shit. Like they’re not good enough. Like they’re just… less.”
Winston didn’t hesitate.
“Basically.”
One word.
That’s all it took.
The realization crashed through me—not new but confirmed.
Solidified. Made permanent in a way I couldn’t argue with or negotiate around.
My father had just told me, without any pretense or softening, that he would never see my children as worthy.
That they would always be second. That I would always be second.
That I had always been second.
The anger came fast and hot, burning through the shock. But underneath it was something worse—a bone-deep devastation that made it hard to breathe.
I stood up.
“Go to hell,” I said quietly.
Winston didn’t react. Didn’t try to stop me. Just sat there with his bourbon, watching me with the same cold calculation he’d used to dismantle my entire future.
I turned and walked out of the study.
My hands were shaking as I grabbed my keys from the foyer table. I didn’t look back. Didn’t say goodbye to my mother or acknowledge the staff who watched me leave with barely concealed curiosity.
I just walked out into the New Orleans heat and got in my car.
And drove.
I sat in my car for twenty minutes before I called him.
Not because I was planning what to say—I’d already done that. I was planning how to say it. How to sound casual. How to sound like I wasn’t fishing for information that wasn’t mine to have.
The thing about Amai was that he could hear a lie in your breathing. He could clock deception in the space between words. So, I had to be careful. Had to sound like I actually gave a fuck about his day instead of whether he was home.
I dialed.
He picked up on the third ring.
“Yo,” he said. His voice was different—lighter, the way it got when he was at the jewelry shop. The version of Amai that the world got to see. Not the version that stabbed hands to tables and spilled blood without thinking twice.
“Aye, what’s good?” I kept my tone easy. Brotherly. “You busy?”
“At the shop. Why?”
“Nah, just checking on you. Haven’t heard from you in a minute.”
Silence. The kind that meant he was already suspicious.
“Kaisen.”
“What?”
“What do you want?”
I forced a laugh. “Man, I can’t just call my brother?”
“You can. But you’re not. So, what is it?”
I gripped the steering wheel. This was the problem with Amai—he didn’t do small talk. Didn’t do the social dance that normal people did. He cut straight through to the truth, and if you weren’t ready with one, he knew it.
“I’m just saying, we should grab dinner or something. It’s been a minute.”
“Mm-hmm.” He wasn’t buying it. “I got plans tonight.”
“With who?”
“That’s not your business.”
The line went dead in my ear. Not hung up—just dead. Like he’d put the phone down and walked away while I was still talking.
I sat there for a moment, listening to the dial tone, then tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
Amai was out. That was all I needed to know.
I headed toward the Garden District.
Syx answered the door in a tank top and basketball shorts, controller in one hand, a blunt behind his ear. He barely glanced at me before turning back to the TV.
“Yo, what’s good?” he said, but he wasn’t really asking. His eyes were already back on the screen, fingers moving rapid-fire across the controller. “Amai’s not here.”
“I know. I’m looking for you, actually.”
That was a lie. But Syx was too locked in on his game to care.
“Aight, well, I’m in the middle of something,” he said, his voice tight with concentration. “Yo, fuck you, nigga! That was bullshit! That was straight bullshit!”
He was talking to the TV now, not to me. Some dude on the other end of his headset had apparently just done something that violated the laws of the game.