CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AXEL
THREE MONTHS LATER
“I really wish you’d reconsider,” Trace said, his dark brows drawn together.
Damian watched me, frowning, from off to the side of our worn living room couch. They stood above me like this was an intervention, and I guess it was in a way.
They wanted me to continue pursuing my MBA while I still had a chance to wrap it up, once and for all.
I, however, completely fucking disagreed.
“Listen, I know you guys want me to be all noble and righteous in my quest to kiss the almighty wealthy asshole, but I’m not going to.” I crossed my arms, leaning back into the couch. After Cora broke things off before Christmas, I’d all but formally dropped out of my courses. I sure as fuck hadn’t paid the tuition for the last semester, either. But because they were good brothers, they cared about the increasing amount of time I spent pacing my bedroom and drawing up business strategies.
“We didn’t have enough money for all three of us to complete our degrees,” I went on. “Honestly, I got what I need out of the program. I can’t concentrate on the bullshit theories anymore. I just need to jump headfirst into our business. I’m ready.”
Concentration on anything that wasn’t actionable progress was a threat. A possibility that I’d slip down the greased slope of self-pity, down into the well of longing that still burbled inside me. Any misstep was a chance to completely lose my shit again about Cora.
I’d spent the past few months in unbearable agony, hashing and rehashing every word we’d shared in the last month of our relationship. Remembering the sheer joy on her face the night I’d asked her to marry me, and then picking apart every second after that, trying to work out what had changed her mind.
Her father wielded immense power, but he didn’t control her emotions.
Cora may have been coerced, but she’d made the decision on her own.
“Think about it this way,” Trace said, raking his hand through his thick, dark hair. “We’re a team. A trio. And we all need to have our goddamn MBAs.”
“I’m done playing their game,” I said, kicking my feet onto the coffee table. “Two out of three with MBAs ain’t bad, gentleman. Now they can take it or leave it, and I’ll convince them to take it. I need to be our salesman, and I could do this job without even my bachelor’s.”
Damian peered at me over the top of his round glasses. “You’re going to be our point man for every single business transaction…and you want to walk in there without your fucking MBA?”
“Yes,” I huffed. “I’ll go finish it someday if you want. But for now? We need to get this business off the ground. We don’t have the cash for both Damian and me to walk in May now that you’re out, Trace. I will be the virgin sacrifice here.”
Trace snorted. “Yeah. Virgin my ass.”
I cleared my throat. It had taken about a month for my hope to finally die out, then I’d turned to the only outlet I knew: endless pussy. For three weeks I went hog wild, fucking my way through most of Lower Manhattan once it really hit me that Cora was gone forever.
Three months in, the hurt still hadn’t lessened. It had only spread to new extremes. Like poison ivy, stretching silent and territorial, warning any human that dared cross its path. And it was twisting itself into new shapes. Pushing me into scary situations. Prompting new types of thoughts. Breaking barriers that I’d previously considered impassable.
And for how angry I still was, how hurt and heartbroken? I couldn’t say that I’d turn her down if she showed up at my door tomorrow. As Cora had once said: it doesn’t get easier, you just get used to it.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to this.
It was so fucking wrong. The whole situation reeked of shit. I’d never been so confused before, not even after entering the foster system and grappling for roots alongside Damian, mourning the loss of our younger sisters.
What happened with Cora was a new depth of loss, something I’d never felt before and never wanted to fucking feel again.
“I don’t know what you guys want me to say,” I went on, dragging my hands down my face. “I’ve wanted to quit for two semesters. And now, financially, one of us has to drop out. We won’t get our dividends until the quarter after graduation, so I’m willing to do it. And in the meantime, I’ve been working from sunup to sundown to get our shit moving in the right direction. I promise you that. MBA or not, these motherfuckers won’t know what hit them. And honestly? I want to show them what a Kentucky boy can do without an MBA.”
A smile tugged at Trace’s lips. “You know, the scary part is that even when you have outlandish, completely ridiculous ideas, I still believe you.”
“Then I’m doing my job.”
Damian took off his glasses and spent a moment cleaning them with the hem of his shirt. When he put them back on, he leaned so close I could see the yellow flecks in his green eyes.
“You really want to do it this way?”
“Yes.”
Damian’s jaw flexed. “Fine. But you do not have my permission to fuck this up. There is too much riding on this. We’re not just trying to pay for school and get out of debt. This is for Jordan and Kaylee.”
Conjuring our younger sisters’ names was a sobering move. I averted my eyes, studying the constellation of city lights visible outside our fifth floor window. Silence throbbed between us, the energy wavering between tense and somber.
“You don’t think I know that?” I finally forced out.
“Of course I think you know that,” Damian said, softer this time. “But I’m saying we need to give this business our all. It has to work. And as far as I can see, we’ve got one shot.”
“Whatever we do to establish ourselves,” Trace said, “is going to become a part of our reputation. We need to tread carefully. But we need to act decisively.”
“I’ve got decisiveness. And I’ve got my rubber boots, so I can tread carefully though whatever shit people decide they want to sling our way. Hell, between those two things and three-quarters of a degree from Columbia Business School, I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to head the firm as CEO. A piece of paper from the university isn’t gonna change much. The three of us can change the world.”
Damian nodded, finally backing down. He walked slowly around the living room, arms crossed tightly.
“We will change the world,” he promised.
”As long as we’re clear headed. Focused. And we can stay out of the spotlight,” Trace added.
“All publicity is good publicity,” I said. “We’re bound to make it to the tabloids once we’re rich enough. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Fine. Limited spotlight then,” Trace conceded. “At least minimize the spotlight for non-business endeavors.”
“That’s a good distinction,” Damian pointed out. “Because the algorithm I cooked up is going to turn some heads. We’re not going to be able to fly under the radar, so our noses need to be clean.” When Damian talked that way about what he cooked up while coding, I believed him. The man was a genius. He could hack into any computer and had even gotten into Pentagon files once for fun in undergrad. The algorithm he’d created would become the basis of our wealth management approach.
In other words, it was what would make us become le crème de la crème of finance.
“I’m fine with that.” I squeezed my knees, every inch of me crawling with desire to get this show on the road. Every step closer to success equaled more distance between me and the memory of Cora. My goal was to eradicate her completely from my waking thoughts. At this rate, it might take a decade to get there. “I’ll keep my one-night stands to a dull roar. And we don’t even have to worry about you two in that department.” I smirked.
“Oh, no?” Trace lifted a brow. “You act like our dicks have fallen off.”
“Because they have.” I reached out to punch Trace in the crotch, but he caught my fist. We had a brief battle of strength before I ceded.
“We get what we need,” Damian said.
“Which is what, a pocket pussy?” I teased.
Damian’s lips thinned. “Just because I don’t flaunt my cock like you do these days doesn’t mean I don’t have any fun.”
“Dude, if I don’t flaunt my cock, I’ll go crazy,” I told him earnestly. Sadness gripped me again, a painful chokehold. “I need my coping mechanism.”
“Let him have it,” Trace chided Damian. “At least it isn’t drugs or alcohol.”
on occasion,” I clarified. Truth was, I’d been downing way more beer and whiskey than ever before. But some nights, it was the only way I could make thoughts of Cora stop. Sex turned my brain off for nights when the memories were the loudest. Alcohol numbed the pain when I felt like I’d drown in how much I still loved her.
And deep down inside, I wasn”t sure this feeling would ever truly go away. I knew time healed all wounds, but this was a nasty gash that had cut into a place that might not ever recover.
“Point is, I’m ready to go all in on this. Now. Because the alternative isn’t pretty. I’m sick of being cash strapped and waiting for dividends to hit the bank account. I’m done paying for Chinese food with crypto because our assets are tied up until whatever random future date. I want us to have a fucking penthouse with a view and so much cash that we’re donating to charities weekly. Nobody will be afraid to invest with us, because Fairchild Enterprises will become the name for wealth. That’s a fucking promise.”
“God, I love it when you get on these tangents,” Trace said with a grin.
“And with this algorithm, we’re going to do right by Jordan and Kaylee. I wasn’t kidding when I said these rich assholes won’t know what hit ’em. We’ll be pumping their own money back into the communities that need the most support.”
“Wouldn’t it be fun to personally investigate each client, figure out their pain point, and put the money there?” Damian said, an evil sparkle lighting up his eyes.
“Oh, I like when you get devilish,” I said.
“Food for thought,” Damian said with a shrug. “If we’ve got the manpower, we could figure out where we feed their extra-vestments.” Extra-vestments was our inside term. It meant the skimmed percentages we planned to take, not as our service fee, but as our charity fee, built into the investment schema so that our clients had no idea they were silently feeding money into social services and charities.
It was a moral gray area and one we were pleased to enter. After all, Trace would invest the money so well that our clients would have no room to complain. They’d be missing nothing. And we’d be taking what looked like a service charge.
Win-win.
“You know I’m down for that,” I said. “And I’d be ecstatic if we could get Allan Margulis as a client down the road and send an even larger portion of his profits straight to the Kentucky foster care system.”
Damian snickered. “Yeah. Good luck snagging him.”
“I’m serious,” I said.
“I know you are,” Trace replied, sending me a stern look. “But we’re not scouting Dickhead Dad, okay? He’s not our target.”
I cleared my throat to prevent myself from answering how I really wanted.
Allan Margulis was my target. How could he not be?
He’d pissed on me from day one. Overlooked me in every way possible. Talked down to me to my face. Kept his daughter from seeing me. And no doubt a whole list of even worse things that I didn’t know about. Yet.
Because I would know about them.
No, Allan Margulis wasn’t just a target, he and his whole slimy empire were the target.
I wasn’t content letting him steamroll me into oblivion. Allan Margulis had nasty practices, and I wouldn’t allow them to dictate my future. In fact, it was precisely because he wanted to declare himself master of my destiny that my motivation had sharpened into a dagger.
I’d promised him I’d get my business up and running to prove myself and provide for his daughter.
Now that promise had become a threat. He needed to hope like hell I wouldn’t make good on my word. Because once my business catapulted into the stratosphere, I’d be coming for him.
For all of them.
I didn’t know how, but I’d make sure I got what I wanted out of the Margulis family.
Revenge.
THE END
Axel and Cora’s story is FAR from over! Find out what happens eight years down the road in The Price of Revenge, the first full-length novel of the series.