A Stormy Night Pt. 10

One. And. A. Half. Damn. Weeks!

Ever since I left Detroit for my father's company headquarters in New York, I haven't been able to do the typical kind of activities that ensure me functioning like a human being most of the time: sleep, eat, think and sense. It's as if I've been shoved into a line that I can never leave as I go about learning the ways of drilling oil and making deals and being the boss and any other facet that guarantees that I possess the knowledge to be able to run a business. Yet I suspect that they're actually just tests to see whether I'll be as ruthless and unforgiving as my old man.

Fuck it! I hate everything! I hate the way I always dream of Cassandra whenever I manage to get some sleep for an extremely small number of hours—her smiling at me and teasing me and just making the best time of my life. And I hate the way it ends every time with how we separated—me striving to be strong enough to leave her and her more than wrecked from that very fact—and I always wake with a start, hoping that I was really just dreaming it all and I'm still a few streets away from her so that I'll be able to hold her and kiss her and give her unparalleled joy. But then reality delivers a solid blow to my gut and tells me that my time with her has ended and our chance together is just a ghost now.

But maybe I can manage to prove it dead wrong.

"Later on tonight we'll need to go to a business dinner," my father informs, stacking up some papers to give to his secretary whose name I still haven't bothered to try to learn yet who constantly gazes at me with undiluted hunger in her eyes. "It's extremely important that we do our best to impress Mr. Dawson since it's our one chance to be able to drill in the Atlantic. That means absolute... best... behavior. Understood?"

I finally look up from whatever document I should be assessing on my iPad to see him glaring at me, fierce warning blazing as bright as the sun in his eyes.

"Yes," I just agree, not giving a shit about whether I sound convincing enough or not.

"Good. Eight p.m., you should be ready, and read the manuscript for real," he says matter-of-factly just before exiting the office for a meeting next door, leaving me alone with Miss Hungry Eyes.

Well shit.

"So, Mr. McLane," she starts with a practiced sexy smile, walking towards me. "I can help you get ready for the dinner if you would like."

"No thanks," I brusquely say, rising from my seat and walking past her for the door.

"Oh! Umm... are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Maybe I can—"

"No you can't."

As soon as I open the door I start to powerwalk for the sanctuary of my own office, locking myself in and then dropping towards the floor with my back pressed against the door, releasing a sigh of relief and frustration. Okay, I know that before Sandra I would've been ecstatic about having women be so persistent in chasing after me but now I really wish they would just take a no as a no.

Then the sudden thought of her immediately does what it always does to me; make me long for the ground to split open and let me pummel into its black depths. Damn it! I've never felt this... depressed. And puny and worthless and powerless and hollow and lifeless. Every second that ticks by is just a painful reminder of what we could—should have been; my heart can testify to that as it emits heartbeats too faint to hear or feel. All I'm craving for is her: her voice, her giggle, her grin, her passion, her sassiness, her eyes. Each and every little attribute that I think of pierces, incinerates, shoots, shreds, disintegrates and stomps on my heart without hesitation or mercy, making me feel twenty billion times more pathetic time and time again, not caring if I survive the assault or not. But it's not like I want to be let off the hook. I actually believe that I deserve to hurt like this with every single breath that I take. I just hope that Sandra's heart isn't aching as much as mine is.

I can't stand to be me right now, and fuck do I miss her bad.

My phone starts to vibrate in my pocket, and checking the screen I see that it's a message from Robert Hagen, an old friend of mine that I asked to do a favor for me, something that may or may not change the course of my future. My expectations unexpectedly rocket to the sun, and I instantly open the message to see what he has to say.

Found something. Call me as soon as you can, he texted, which I do straightaway.

"Hey. What have you got?" I ask, furiously praying for some grace to beam down on me for the first time in eons.

"So much," he declares rather proudly, and fireworks go off in my body as if it's the Fourth of July. "More than I had expected. I'm sending it all to you now."

My phone vibrates to confirm his words. "And the pictures?"

"All gone. Originals and backups. It'll be as if they never existed."

"That's... that's great. That's just great! Thanks, man. I can't tell you how much you've changed my life."

"I think I can guess. I don't just do this for anyone you know."

I smile. "And I promise I'll repay you any way you want."

"Hey, just go get back the girl and then we can talk about the number of drinks you'll buy for me. Okay?"

That does more than just unbalance my equilibrium. A tsunami of gratitude tumbles all over and inside my body, cooling and soothing my wounded heart a bit, and suddenly I find it hard to speak with a growing lump in my throat. It's so rare to have friends who are prepared to do just about anything for you, and I know that I've been blessed with someone like him.

"Thanks again, Rob," I manage to speak.

"No problem," he says. "Now go ruin that asshole of a dad of yours."

With that terrific encouragement, I do nothing but grin deviously as I end the call and stand, newfound resolve and purpose coursing through my blood. I exit the room, making my way towards the conference room that my father is in. Miss Hungry Eyes is sitting right outside the door, cheering up as she thinks that I'm here for her but gets disappointed and shocked at the same time when I move past her and enter the room unannounced. Without delay I say, "I need to speak with you."

Many heads, including my father's, turn around to look at me, their faces full of shock and bewilderment but his only showing reserved rage.

"I apologize, Sir. He appeared and moved so fast and I couldn't—" Miss Hungry Eyes starts rambling but instantaneously falls silent when my father raises his hand.

"I will be with you as soon as I'm done," he simply states with cold menace that only I and his personal assistant can detect, and she visibly cowers.

But I glare back at him, knowing that he'll have to listen to me since I possess so much power over him now.

"It's vital that you come," I emphasize, my eyes informing him that he has no choice in the matter.

After contemplating what the hell I could be plotting, he finally excuses himself and follows me to his office. As soon as we're inside I shut and lock the door, making sure that we have the privacy that we need, right before he blows up.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" he starts, his tone malicious and dripping with detest but I act as if he didn't say anything at all whilst I open the documents Rob sent me.

"You know, I had such an amazing life before you decided to barge in and snatch it away from me," I nonchalantly express, my joy almost becoming rampant as I hold the key to freeing myself from the devils' grip.

"If you're telling me that that's the reason why you've disturbed my meeting, you have hell coming your way and ready to shit on you."

"Of course it's the reason why. And it's you who's going to see hell, what with all the numerous offences you've been committing in the name of money."

He gives me a blank look as he wonders what the hell I'm talking about. Then I start reading the most interesting fact I've recently discovered about him. "This person... Hank Williams... do you still continue to do shady business with him or was it a one-time thing in Asia?"

When I look up from my phone, he has transformed into the inverse of the tough, coldblooded, hard-bitten business mogul he has made himself to be. His skin has gone ash brown, he looks like he's gradually folding in on himself and it's almost as if he's ready to eagerly dig his own grave before his time.

"I mean, fraud and bribery sounds like once should be enough but maybe you decided to resume increasing your profits a little more," I add, scrolling down the screen, even more dark and suspicious things popping up. "Or maybe Mr. Fields knows something about the polluted water disappearing into—"

"Stop!" he shouts, unable to hear one more sin being exposed. "Where do you think you'll go with this? I still have the photos—"

"Maybe you do," I hint at, which causes his eyes to widen into satellites. "But let's not blow things out of proportion yet. There's still embezzlement, forgery, inside trading..."

"Okay. Okay!" he shouts, finally snapping under the strain as he clearly witnesses how I have him in my grasp now. "What do you want? More money? The millions of dollars the divorce cost me that your mother left you in her will not enough for you?"

"No. I don't want any more of your money. What I want is obvious," I reply with coolheaded sternness somehow despite wanting to run around the world twice with the way I'm overjoyed. "I don't want to work for this business. I want my life back. I want you to leave me and Sandra alone. And if you ever try to sabotage our lives in any direct or indirect way again just remember who has the bigger bomb."

He glares at me, evidently trying to process whether this is all some epic bluff or terrible nightmare or neither of those. After realizing that this is just the first stage of karma kicking him in the balls, he finally decides that it's best to let me have my way. "And what guarantee do I have that you won't expose me?"

"You don't, that's where faith and trust comes in," I say, loving the way I'm fucking with his mind right now.

After a long time of contemplating whether or not he should kill me in an 'accident' or not, he finally nods his head, and I feel all the weights that were holding me down vanish and the chains around my body slip to the ground as I become a free man.

I turn around and unlock the door but then pause with my hand on the handle. After an internal struggle, I finally say, "I never wanted our relationship to be like this. I just wanted my dad to be there when my mom and I needed him. But you let your selfishness and greed get the better of you and now they've dropped you right in the middle of this mess. Don't ever forget that."

With that I open the door and leave him, leave Miss Hungry Eyes and leave his empire with a spring in my step. When I step out onto the busy sidewalk I turn around and crane my neck up to try to see the top of the skyscraper, visualizing in my mind him sitting down at his chair, totally beaten and helpless.

Well actually, not totally yet.

Taking my phone out, I speed-dial and Rob answers on the third ring. "You did it?" he asks hopefully.

"Yeah, I did it," I confirm, a smile spreading across my face.

"That's fantastic, Shawn," he says, the same delight I'm feeling mirrored in his voice. "So should I drop the bomb?"

"Yeah. It's time."

With that the call ends and I take in the first satisfying breath in such a long time. All the crimes my father committed are being sent to the police right at this moment. I guess I went back on my word not to reveal all that (even though I didn't actually say that I wouldn't) but I can't let him roam the earth at will knowing that there are many more lives that he has ruined and will ruin. He deserves to go to prison. With a bit of luck, he might be able to change his ways and be a better man with the excess amount of time he'll be serving when he's there.

Ultimately, I begin to look for a cab, ready—desperate to get away from this place as soon as possible for good. So many emotions are now crashing inside me, but one towers and suppresses all the others: anxiety to be with her again.

Hold on, Sandra. I'm coming back for you.