Chapter 1 #2
Once North is out, I check a few emails on my phone before making my way to the large photograph facing my desk.
I loosen my tie, letting out a much-needed breath.
There's windows, sure, but I need air, more than even the outside could offer me.
My office is substantial; that's not the issue.
A large rectangular wooden desk with a luxurious black chair.
It's facing a large framed photograph above my chess set.
A state-of-the-art piece made of marble and imported from Italy.
Two armchairs surround it, and a photograph of my sailing boat is mounted right above it.
Massive and wide, in black and white, it takes up enough space for me to lose myself in the memory whenever I get a few seconds during the day to remind myself what it is to be alive.
Wait.
It should be exactly parallel to the floor, yet it isn't. It's not right.
Damn it. If I had a ruler, I could measure exactly how many centimetres it was off.
I step closer, noticing a speck of dust on the wooden frame.
The only people allowed in this office when I'm not here are the cleaners from a company I've worked with for five years.
Until now, I'd never had a complaint. They were as good as ghosts to me, leaving my office impeccable, working at night so I'd never be bothered.
But the frame has been moved an inch, and now I can't unsee it.
A knock echoes behind the door, Nate sliding his head inside.
“What's up?” My brother, who's only two years younger than me, fills the doorway, his past in football leaving an imprint on his shoulders that our female employees always seem to notice.
Short hair, lighter than mine, disheveled, and with a bit of a stumble, he seems more approachable, I guess.
Compared to me, he's talkative, but I'd say to the average person we're both pretty stern and boring.
I mean, that's what Maddie, my six-year-old niece, keeps telling us whenever we refuse to play with her.
“Someone touched my frame.”
“I was gonna ask about the North deal, but yeah, the frame. Alright.” He crosses his arms, inspecting the same spot I'm scanning.
“There's dust. Here, look.” I point.
“And?”
“It's unacceptable.”
“It's just a bit of dust.”
“It's not what's on the frame that bothers me,” I say, sliding the frame to the side, unlocking the mechanism that opens it, and revealing the metal door behind it.
My safe. Holding cash, invaluable documents, enough leverage to keep people around town silent with the things I've got on them.
Proof and incriminating evidence of all sorts.
This and my gun. So no, it's not about dust. Somebody got curious and left messy traces.
He runs a hand over the back of his neck.
“Anything missing?” I stand in front of the door, shielding the combination with my body, even from Nate.
I'd rather he never know what's inside so no one can blackmail him into opening it.
Funny how a metal box can keep people on a leash, make them obey, submit, and comply.
I take a look around for a few minutes, counting the cash and checking the folders.
Nothing's out of order. Damn it. I hope it was a one-time thing and not someone from the Vodianov family trying to dig up dirt.
Those rats keep coming back over and over, no matter how much poison I feed them.
“Think it's them?” I shut the vault, readjusting the frame above it, grateful I'd chosen blinds for my office.
“Check the footage. Make sure whoever was here yesterday wasn't a snitch.”
“On it,” he says, disappearing from view and into his office next door.
Why would they choose to target me now? It could be a simple mistake by one of the cleaners, though.
Fifty-fifty. I either have a problem the size of a speck of dust to deal with or one the size of Mount Everest. I'll put Brenton on it too, my personal PI.
He'll help Nate find whoever's responsible.
The Vodianovs have been at our throats for generations, battling my father and grandfather in wars fought with buildings, acquisitions, and mergers.
Their heir, Cole Vodianov, takes pleasure in provoking my wrath at every turn.
Out of all the men in this city, he's the only one who stands as a worthy opponent.
Challenging my patience, stealing associates, and spying on our every move.
But we always have a step ahead. A thirty-year-old leading his own empire, yet still failing to live up to the expectations of his late father.
We do have a lot in common. If not for the fact that I rule to serve my people and honour the ones who came before me.
Legacy. Always legacy. From breakfast to dinner.
Living, breathing Ashford until one day I'll die content, having fulfilled my duties, even if it means never living for myself.
Cole is far more hedonistic, covered in snake tattoos, pursuing the pleasures of life I'll never allow myself.
I can't waste time on meaningless hobbies and parties.
Time is money, and money matters. Money buys silence, submission.
That's what Cole is missing. The promise of a stable future for his family and the Vodianov legacy.
His hunger for money and power overtakes his rational mind, disrupting his focus.
Messy. Unpredictable. Just like dust settling on surfaces.
Can't avoid it.
Can't control it.
But Westhaven is mine. My city, my rules. It's been this way for generations. The only city in the northeastern United States that keeps growing and getting richer despite the relentless grey skies and its almost Scottish atmosphere.
“Kathy,” I call, pressing the button on my desk, my assistant answering immediately from her desk just outside my office.
She’s around fifty years old, with short white hair, rectangular glasses, and a face that would make any high schooler shit their pants.
She's been in the industry for decades, has more grandchildren than I've had dates in the last five years, and can read subtext like no one else.
Efficient, proactive. Hiding her game beneath grandma clothes and inoffensive smiles when, in fact, she's as sharp as a knife.
“Yes, sir?”
“Call the cleaning company, please. I want someone new on our floor. Effective immediately.”
“Of course, sir.” I start reading through North's contracts and investments, trying to make sense of all his missteps. It's going to take me more time than I wanted, but I need to get to the bottom of it to make the right moves. My phone vibrates.
“Mother,” I state blankly.
“Tristan, love, how are you on this lovely morning?” Her voice is sleepy, as always, catching up with the rest of the world, emerging from a never-ending anxiolytic-pill daze.
“Working.”
“Of course, honey. I didn't want to interrupt. I was just wondering if—”
“I haven't forgotten, Mother.”
“I didn't call regarding the ball. I was...
Can't a mother just call, well, her child?” As if my mother would ever call without an ulterior motive.
“Well, since you're bringing it up, I wanted to tell you that Lyla Parish will be attending with her parents.
She's gorgeous, Tristan, inside and out, a true gem. Lovely woman, I heard, discreet, elegant. She paints beautiful watercolours and is exceptionally, exceptionally beautiful.” My mother stops herself, done listing everything this surely promising young woman has on her pedigree.
I mean no harm or disrespect, and it so happens that I do know the woman from meeting her once at my mother's birthday last year.
It was a brief encounter during which I observed that she was, in fact, a decent person and that I was absolutely unbothered by her presence.
In fact, I think she'd be much better suited for my brother, as he'll be able to provide the basic human warmth and kindness to this young woman, who I have no doubt deserves it.
Not everyone in my world is in for the kill.
Some are pawns, used by their parents to fortify empires and bring money back into the household.
I pity them, actually, paraded around like livestock, cattle, for the highest bidder.
This girl seemed far too nice to deserve such treatment.
But to each their own. I won't be the one relieving her of her duties.
I do not date. I do not flirt. I guess it must be nice to find...
your person. Maybe it's just not in the cards for me.
Maybe I'm simply made for this. Standing alone at the top of my empire.
Making sure everything runs smoothly for as long as I'll hold the reins.
Focusing on my responsibilities, on fortifying the Ashford name.
Everything else would be a distraction. And distractions lead to mistakes, Father used to tell me.
“I'll be there at ten,” I state.
“Of course, darling. You have more pressing matters at hand.
I'll leave you to it.” She pauses. “And Tristan? You'll invite the young lady for a dance tonight. I already promised her father. It’s… It never hurts to take a chance,” she murmurs.
I let her words hang in the air, twisting my wrist into compliance just like she always does.
My mother means well even if her ways are peculiar.
I guess being ruthless was, at some point in her life, the only way to be heard.
No wonder I'm known to be cutthroat. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
“Well, I'd better get going. Say hi to your brother for me, will you, darling?” I end the call and straighten up in my leather chair, glancing at the frame before me.
Another evening spent faking smiles when I wish I could just be elsewhere.
Anywhere but surrounded by so many people with whom I don't share an ounce of common interest.