Chapter 1 #2
Granny had warned me to stay far away from temptation.
Which meant, stay the hell away from Bishop Edward Garland’s daughter.
The megachurch pastor had a very public platform where he preached “family values” to his many followers.
He was very protective of his baby girl and was known for his fiery sermons from the pulpit about the seven deadly sins.
His daughter, Candice, had supposedly followed in his footsteps, building her individual brand as a “tradwife” influencer.
She espoused traditional gender roles, wore a purity ring, encouraged women to prioritize being wives, and talked about motherhood being the ultimate goal.
Except … she didn’t practice what she preached. Behind closed doors and against her father’s wishes, she had a very robust sex life. She’d made that very clear when she squeezed my dick under the conference table during our first business meeting.
Any perceived impropriety would not only jeopardize the deal we’d been working on for two months, but my own job.
Because the blame would undoubtedly fall on me, the wicked son of a criminal as opposed to the preacher’s innocent angel.
After all, I’d willingly committed the deadly sin of lust on a regular basis.
And the sun had indeed set on my wrath every night.
Then, the other sins … Shit. There was only one course of action—keep Granny from seeing the latest post from her favorite influencer, Ms. Tea Spills It.
The twenty-minute drive to the Batchelor Corporation offices in Downtown Detroit was uneventful.
No traffic, no road rage incidents, no flooding in the streets, and no tires ruined due to potholes.
Confident that I could mitigate the damage when I entered the building, I greeted the lobby receptionist and grabbed a coffee.
Unfortunately, my morning turned even more sour when I entered my tenth-floor office and found my uncle lounging in my chair as if he owned it. Frowning, I asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”
It was no secret that I couldn’t stand my father’s brother, John.
The older man had taken pleasure from making my life a living hell.
The vendetta between the Batchelor sons had been well-known in the family’s circle.
They’d barely tolerated each other. And my father’s death had done nothing to dampen the ire that had been evident since they were little boys.
My uncle crossed a leg over his knee. “Running late this morning?”
“What the hell are you doing in my office, John?” I repeated.
I learned a long time ago that nothing was guaranteed.
Time. Money. Status. Trust. Family loyalty.
Everything was subject to approval by the person giving it.
Anyone expecting to receive those things was often left empty, lacking.
John was a bottom-feeder, an opportunist, the worst kind of man.
He had no problem trouncing over his competitors to turn a profit or gain an advantage.
No one had to tell me that he was full of shit.
My instincts had warned me early on, maybe when I was around twelve.
I refused to call him “uncle” because the man had never acted like anyone other than an adversary.
“It’s the anniversary of my brother’s death.”
“I know what day it is,” I growled. “I’m surprised you care, considering you probably danced on his grave after his funeral.”
It was no secret that I had struggled with my father’s life and legacy.
I’d spent years running from the past, from my family, from my mistakes.
The rage dwelling deep inside made me want to destroy everything around me, especially myself.
My sole identity was wrapped up in my father’s failures.
No direction. No job. Just liquor, women, and mayhem.
Until Granny offered me a second chance and ordered me to get my shit together.
John shrugged. “Call me curious, I thought I’d stop by to make sure you were managing better than in years past.”
I snorted. “You’d like that, huh? To finally be rid of the daily reminder that my mom chose him over you?”
The bitter sibling rivalry was amplified when my father stole John’s girlfriend and married her. The fact that I was a product of that union rankled my uncle in ways that had affected me negatively throughout my life.
John let out a humorless, sinister chuckle. “Actually, no. Watching you fuck up your life has been pure joy, proof that Harriett picked the wrong Batchelor.”
“All that bitterness,” I mused. “I would think being a father of three and preparing for your third divorce would give you more to worry about than which Batchelor my mother chose over thirty years ago. Maybe it’s time you move on? She has, and so has everyone else.”
“It’s only a matter of time before my mother realizes that you’re full of shit just like Cedric was,” John continued. “When she does, I’ll make it my mission to destroy you.”
I clenched my fists, took several slow breaths.
Three. Two. One. The urge to pummel him wasn’t a new emotion for me.
I’d followed through once, too, which landed me in the county jail.
Since then, I vowed to never lose my composure again.
Instead, I forced a smile. “Have a good day.” Opening a file my assistant had left on my desk, I scanned the front document and waited for John to leave.
When the older man made no move to get up, I met his waiting gaze. “What?”
John finally stood. “My mother made a mistake when she brought you into this company, mentoring you, handing you Garland on a silver platter.”
“Too bad I don’t care what you think.”
“Maybe you should,” John sneered. “The only person standing between you and me is her, and when she dies, I’ll make sure your unworthy ass has nothing.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “I hope that day doesn’t come anytime soon because I actually love her, and not her money.
I’ll play along for your sake, though. On that unfortunate day, John, you’ll realize that I don’t give a shit about you or your kids.
I have never needed you before and I will not need you then.
Fuck you. Get the hell out of my office. ”
We stood there for several seconds, eyes locked. The dare was there. Do something. John should’ve been thankful Granny was still alive because she was the only person stopping me from beating his old ass.
John turned away and took a deep breath before he walked out without another word. It took a few minutes, but I managed to regain my focus on the matter at hand. I called Granny’s office.
Granny’s assistant answered the phone. “Hey, you. You saved me a call.”
I massaged my temples and prayed I wasn’t too late. “You’re looking for me?” I asked.
“Yes, your grandmother would like to see you.”
I swallowed hard. “When?”
“Now,” she chirped. “The others have already been notified.”
The others? “What is this, Jeanette?”
“I wish I could tell you,” she said, “but she told me to keep my mouth shut.”
Letting out a heavy sigh, I told Jeanette I’d be there right away. After I hung up, I texted Hendrix: What the hell is this meeting about?
Hendrix: Hell if I know. Could be anything.
I stared at the wall, my mind racing with wild scenarios.
It wasn’t uncommon for my grandmother to summon us to her office on a whim, but I’d learned the hard way that Granny never wasted time on meaningless things.
She definitely had a plan of action, she never held her tongue, and she always got her way.
Five minutes later, I entered the conference room.
I half expected to find my uncle sitting next to Granny, vying for attention, but John wasn’t in the room.
Only me, my sister, and all the cousins minus one.
I took the empty seat next to Erica on the other end of the room, far away from my grandmother.
“What’s up,” I grumbled.
Erica leaned in. “You fucked up, brother,” she tossed back with a wicked gleam in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. “I caught that Ms. Tea post this morning.”
“Shut up,” I murmured through clenched teeth. “Any idea what we’re doing here?”
Hendrix walked into the room and sat next to me. “Interesting,” he whispered. “No Uncle Fathead, no mom? It might be a trap.”
Erica snickered. “Maybe she found out about your affair with Jeanette?” she mused quietly. I choked on the water I’d just gulped down, and Erica patted my back. “You okay, Wes?”
Wiping my tie with a napkin, I assured her, “I’m good.”
Hendrix glared at her. “What part of mind your own damn business don’t you understand?”
Erica shrugged. “I might need to call in a favor later. So I pay attention.”
“Who are you? The bone collector?” Hen argued.
I often wondered the same thing. I loved my sister, but she spent a lot of time collecting dirt on everyone in the family.
I’d once assumed it was a defense mechanism.
After our father died, we lost almost everything and were forced to move out of Detroit due to the stigma—and the threats.
On top of that, John ensured much of the extended family treated us like peasants.
For a long time, the only contact we had in the family was … the woman staring at me right now.
I elbowed Hen to get his attention, but my cousin was too busy whisper-yelling at my little sister.
“Or you could always just ask for what you need,” Hendrix said. “No need for blackmail.”
“Where’s Cyn?” Erica said, changing the subject.
I cleared my throat again. “Heads up.”
They both knew what that meant, and all conversation ceased instantly. Granny met my gaze again before she scanned the room.
“I’m surprised you called us here today, Granny,” Jackson said in his usual constipated tone. Jackson was just like his father, John. Arrogant. Hypocritical. Liked to hear himself talk.
“I’m surprised you called us here today, Granny,” Erica mocked, under her breath.
Hendrix shook his head. “Fucking clown.”