Hypergeniture Bk. 01 Pt. 03

I could hear Skylar smile -- actually hear it change her voice. "I figure you'll eventually make Alicia your right-hand, and not just your head of security..."

"Then you'll take her job? Ambitious. I like it."

"Thank you, sir."

"Is it the pay-rise you're chasing?" I asked.

"No, sir. If I wanted a raise I'd get on my knees and earn it the old-fashioned way."

I laughed out loud under the water. "Ha! You were bullied at school, weren't you?"

Skylar's surprise was evident, even though I couldn't see her. "How... How do you come to that conclusion?"

"The lack of a filter -- the fact you make a joke out of everything. Becoming the class clown is a sure-fire way to neutralise bullies. They can't hurt you if you pretend not to take yourself seriously."

My protector confessed, "They didn't agree with who I chose to love... But, I'm not nearly drunk enough for this conversation, sir."

"Of course. Thanks for opening up, even if it's just a little at a time. The Natasha thing is a good enough idea," I conceded, "but it'll still leave me without a proper PA."

Skylar disagreed, "The only qualification she needs is the ability to represent you. We have people for all the technical stuff."

Fair enough.

I shut off the water and Skylar passed me a towel. Heading back into the bedroom, I grabbed my phone and started playing a Dave Brubeck album. The room's expensive bluetooth sound system was pitch-perfect, and I smiled as every note hit, thankful for the existence of good music.

Next, it was into the walk-in robe for a change into some comfortable clothes. Skylar followed, stopping halfway with a hand on my shoulder. She let her hand run over my wet skin until her fingers were close to where I'd been stabbed. She leaned in a little closer and took a good look at the scar.

"It has healed nicely, sir," she appreciated. "How's your health generally? They were never able to identify the poison on that blade."

I dismissed the question, being a typical man, never wanting to discuss his health. As we resumed our walk to the wardrobe, I kept up our earlier conversation instead. "I'll talk to my cousin later. Seeing how eager she is to take the job might reveal something about her agenda."

"Yes, sir. Whatever her intentions are, I don't think she's a super-spy. You know her well enough to tell if she's acting suspicious."

"Suspicious... Somehow, I wouldn't use that word. She's inconsistent and stressed, and she's definitely keeping a secret. The small lies are messy: like that second phone she has, or the fact she never left her place on the night of the stabbing. Then, there's the way she feels about me... I'm not saying a romance between us is perfectly logical, but the way she was on and off about it seems crazy. Like she's processing a lot of guilt."

Skylar agreed and we returned to the bedroom proper. "You've moved on from her, sir?"

I nodded, before getting dressed and walking back to the room-proper.

My mind drifted off as I spotted a little piece of paper on the bedside table. It was a note from Tecla:

Last night was incredible. You're incredible. We're incredible. It was all incredible. I miss it already: miss being able to hold your hand and touch your body without limits. I love you, Olly. You're the best big brother--

The note stopped midway and I smiled as I imagined the reason for the pen trailing off. I could already see Elle standing over Tecla, watching as her sister wrote the note. She'd have wanted to get out of the room fast, before someone discovered them there. She would've opposed the note, as much as she loved me, because it was evidence of what we'd done and what we'd done could be used against us. Tec, on the other hand, would happily challenge authority and rules. She didn't care, even when she should've, about what people expect or require. An artist at heart, her only duty was to love.

Elle cared more about what people thought, and thought more about people. She was almost my co-parent growing up -- the assistant-manager of our home and our family. She could stress herself out over small things, but through the sex I saw her grow as a person, and she always found a safe place in my arms.

They were a good pair. We were a good trio. I blushed at the beautiful letter and tucked it into a drawer. It was something I would keep forever.

Turning to the glass panes that overlooked the city, I realised it was raining again. We'd been talking about my cousin and about understanding her, but I wanted to avoid thinking about all that. Still, I couldn't pretend it didn't matter.

"This man Alicia is looking for... Liz Wharry's old boyfriend--"

"We don't know anything yet," Skylar offered. "At least not anything that could help get some answers."

Unsatisfied, my mind turned to something else. "My mother is losing it... Completely."

Skylar seemed to shrug as I caught her reflection in the glass. "Sorry to hear that, sir. What can we do about it?"

"Well, she seems paranoid about the media. Maybe you and Alicia could reassure her that we have measures in place to ensure privacy. I know you even have those anti-photography thingies."

"Easy enough, sir."

I scratched my arm as I considered telling Skylar even more about my private life. "I... She once locked herself in her room and threatened to take pills. I wasn't home and my sisters had to sit by the door and beg her not to kill herself."

Suddenly, the room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. I don't know why that recollection hit me as hard as it did, but in that moment it was all I could think about.

I continued, "I... I don't know how to fix her, but I feel I have to try."

My bodyguard was breathing shallowly and I got the first sense that she could be shocked by words. "How do your sisters feel about their mother?" she asked

"After all the things that happened? I try to get them to stop thinking about her... To pretend she doesn't exist, for the sake of their sanity."

"Okay," Skylar conceded, "but that doesn't answer my question... Do they love her as much as you do?"

I inhaled sharply and exhaled deeply. "No... No, I don't think they love her at all."

"That makes it lonely for you? I mean, you can rely on them for companionship in every aspect of your life, but not when it comes to your mother... She's a burden you feel only you can carry--"

Waving away the conversation, I gripped my knees and felt anxiety build. The nausea and racing of my heart intensified. Skylar patted me on the back and asked if I wanted her to get me anything. I simply straightened myself and told a lie.

"I don't get panic attacks," I declared -- fooling no one.

My protector knew I wanted her to leave the room, so I could struggle in private. I knew she wouldn't. She stood by me as I grunted my way back to health -- as I struggled against my body -- as I wrestled with my mine. It was becoming more common, even after great victories. "You must think I'm pathetic? I have money, power, love... Everything a man could want, yet this is how I behave!"

Skylar didn't respond. The corners of her bright pink lips gently curled upwards, and she gave me the most reassuring smile I'd ever seen. She didn't think I was pathetic, but what did she think? Had I taken on more than I could handle? Was I arrogant or just foolish? How could I overcome the flaws that stood between me and happiness?

"You can't do it alone," Skylar counselled. "That's why I wanted to work for you: because I knew you'd need help. That's why we're all standing by you! Because, sir, you've got too much on your plate for one person to handle. Fuck, you've had too much on your plate since the day your dad died and you had to parent twin girls and a grown woman! You've been in the deep end for more than a decade with no relief."

Appreciating the support, I couldn't help but chuckle with renewed fortitude. "The deep end... Well, did I tell you I can't swim?"

Skylar gave me a funny look before hooking my pinky with hers and making a promise. "Good thing I'm a qualified lifeguard!"

29 • Radioactive

The penthouse had its own suite of offices on the second floor.

It seemed having work and play so close together would be the norm for the rest of my life. Each home came with its own workplace, and my bedrooms were all a stone's throw away from my boardrooms. This meant there was little escape, and it justified the massive scale of the residences. If I had to spend my entire life inside them, they might as well be as grand as possible.

Stepping into my Singaporean nerve-centre, there was a reception with a desk for a secretary and a small office off to the left for a more senior assistant. Through the middle, double doors led to a 12-seater boardroom table and an executive desk. The style -- much like the rest of the house -- was modern and open, which made working there a pleasure.

Unlike the London house, this one seemed to have been designed by someone who knew what they were doing.

All the latest technology was present, whether for video conferencing or encrypted communication. Pellinore was a big player on the financial markets, where milliseconds matter, so the internet connection was blazing fast and stable. There was an uplink to the company's intranet, and from there I could access everything I needed to do my work. It was a legacy system; antiquated, but it did the job and brought back memories of our first computer, which we kept and used for 10 years.

I was lost in memory before I snapped back to reality, and noticed someone behind my desk. "Tash? What are you doing here?"

My cousin was typing away on the desktop terminal that we used to link up with the broader company network. My arrival startled her. "They... They told me I can use this computer to video call my mom."

"Oh... Did you manage to make the call? Wasn't there a password on the machine?"

"Eh... No. I found it... I... Fuck, my head hurts. Sorry, I can't seem to keep a train of thought."

Narrowing my eyes, I tried to split fact from fiction. Everything seemed like a lie -- everything could be questioned. The headache seemed real enough. Natasha was groggy, uncomfortable in her own skin, overwhelmed...

My sisters called her radioactive, well maybe this was radiation poisoning... Her own toxicity biting her in the ass.

Ugh, Tash... I wish you could just tell me what the hell is going on in your head.

Taking a few steps closer, I spotted something on the otherwise pristine desk. As I reached for it, I kept an eye on Natasha, but she'd turned her attention away from me. The item was a sheet of paper, neatly folded. Opening it, I found a recreation of my mother's list from the day before.

This time, I was a little more careful reading it; registering each demand.

There actually seemed to be a few items I could arrange, which wouldn't be the end of the world. The more extreme ones were out of the question. Assuming my mother wasn't mentally fit to make her own decisions, I had to step in where necessary.

I had to be both her son and her guardian.

Eve thought changing everything about herself would reset things. Once life gets started, it's never that simple... You can't remake yourself in the same way you crumple up your bad teenage poetry. Our days aren't pages that can be thrown away without destroying ourselves in the process. Yet, it's a desire we all feel, but few of us ever attempt.

Setting the list aside, I felt uncomfortable and dirty. It was sick that my own mother wanted her son to pay for her near-psychosis.

I had hoped to have time in the office, alone. I had hoped to set some of the complexity aside to focus on my more menial tasks. So, I was in no mood for Natasha, or my mother, or the confusion the two of them wrought.

Checking my phone, I opened the encrypted voice and text app. For security reasons, it didn't generate notifications, so it came as a shock when I saw a handful of missed calls that begged to be answered.

"Could you come see me in a few minutes, cuz? I need to return a call, then we need to have a chat."

"Nothing bad, I hope?" Natasha asked with pursed lips.

"No, nothing to worry about," I assured.

Tash got up, sort of stumbling and grasping her head as she dragged her feet out the door. "This damn headache."

Before I took my call, I sent Alicia a text, telling her to get some aspirin to my cousin. Then, I scrolled to the Pellinore CEO's contact and tapped her number.

My last conversation with Cassandra Nash had been tense, which wasn't a problem. That was the way of business on the scale we did it. While I may have been a rookie in this new world, I at least knew and accepted that.

"Mr Orwell," was the self-assured greeting I expected. "I hear you're in Singapore."

"Hi, Cassandra. You seem to know so much about my comings and goings. Have your friends in British intelligence been gossiping again?"

"Let's not get into that fight, Chairman. I want to get some actual work done."

I listened as Cassandra explained a choice open to the company. An offer had been made to buy a stake we held in a boutique hotel.

"Sounds a little small for a business our size," I remarked.

"How's an annual profit of forty-million? Big enough?" Nash relished. "The place was the brain-child of an actor who wanted to play at being a hotelier. We gave him the money for his vanity project two decades ago, and since then, it has become an enclave for the ultra-wealthy."

"So, what's the problem?"

"We've received a proposal to sell the place under market-value."

I raised an eyebrow and rubbed my chin, not quite getting the issue. "Don't accept it. Sounds pretty straightforward."

"You'd think... But I've got a heads-up that the police are very interested in things that happened at that hotel--"

"And you want to sell before the investigation becomes public and the bad publicity hits?" I smiled; this was exciting.

"Exactly."

"So, what do the cops think happened at this place?"

Nash enjoyed my curiosity and fostered it by offering truly scandalous information. "The place hosted prostitutes, drugs, and at least one transfer of nuclear material. Unfortunately, you and I can't tell the board we know about an investigation."

"Nuclear material?" I chuckled, awed by the absurdity of my once mild-mannered life. "So, we need to convince the board to take what looks like a bad deal without explaining the real upside? You've made me complicit in this by telling me."

"Sure," Cassandra admitted, "but you're having fun, aren't you?"

It was certainly interesting and I knew the risks were negligible in the big scheme of things. From Nash's perspective, it was a show of trust and an invitation to partner on something after our ups and downs. Still, I couldn't help but let my thoughts wander.

There was something far bigger on my mind.

"Liz Wharry had a boyfriend at the time she wanted to adopt me--"

"Where did you hear that?!" Nash demanded, clearly panicking as the conversation took a turn.

"You're not the only one who has friends that are spies, Cassandra," I said, thinking of Aaron in South Africa. "Tell me about the boyfriend."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I held my own; letting the quiet stir an answer from the titan of industry. "His name was Edward Sardonis," she explained. "You don't need to know anything about him."

"Edward Sardonis?"

"Yes. That's his name."

"My people will find him," I insisted. "You might as well help them do it."

Nash was silent again, but this time the silence didn't break. There was conviction behind everything about her -- even in the way she did nothing. This was clearly one of those times that she was absolutely convinced inaction was best.

I had no time for games or silence or more deception. With Natasha, I could still play and tease out the knowledge I needed. I didn't have the same patience for Cassandra. I pressed on with more questions! "Why did the British government want me as chairman of the company? What's their long-game?"

"Try not to think about it..."

"Come on! I'm going to need answers eventually. Let's not make this hard because I will start putting pressure on you. We both know you depended on Liz Wharry--"

"Yes!" Cassandra yelled. "I depended on her as a friend and business partner, and now I depend on you. You can make my life hell and relegate me to obscurity, but the answers you're looking for aren't worth selling your soul! You are far too nice to carry out your threats, boy."

I chuckled softly to myself. Cassandra was right -- I wouldn't be able to stomach destroying another person in the way I threatened. Or, was that just the old me?

"Don't underestimate me," I declared. "These answers are important and I think you know why. Then again... I've never even considered that you might be the one plotting against me. Cassandra Nash: overlooked for the top job by a young and inexperienced man... Seeking retribution or a promotion?"

"What are you on about? Where is all this coming from? Did something happen?"

Nash's voice seemed to turn almost motherly, but I wasn't buying it. "You know what happened! How doesn't everyone know? How have we managed to keep it quiet?! There are people hunting me and people protecting me and I don't know either's motivations!"

For the third time, silence. Almost a minute of nothingness until Nash changed the topic completely. "Get back to me about selling that hotel."

Then, the line went dead.

Taking a look at my watch, I saw the conversation had lasted longer than I expected. Natasha was already waiting by the door to talk to me, and she'd clearly been listening in. "Who was that you were fighting with?"

I shook my head dismissively. "Only a business partner."

Tash was looking comfy in a pair of shorts and loose-fitting top. It fit the humid climate well, yet she still seemed stiff... She kept licking her lips and articulating her shoulders. With a cup of coffee in each hand, she approached and offered me one -- black -- made the way I like it.

Taking the coffee, I set it aside with memories of poisonings on day-time soap operas flashing through my head. I focused on Natasha and tried to decipher her one last time.

My cousin had been losing weight because she'd been eating very little... She could have anything she wanted, and our people would make it, but she had no appetite. Guilt shows itself in many ways: lip-biting, sweating, little lies told for no reason, a lack of interest in life...

"We haven't hugged since I arrived. Why?" I asked, knowing that withdrawal was another sign of something not quite right.

My cousin's face was blank, but the embrace between us was warm as we made up for the neglected hug. There wasn't even a hint of sex in the way we held each other. Only bittersweet affection.

"Looks like things are over," Natasha remarked. "It feels just like the old days... So close to taking things over the edge, but always holding back. We can be cousins, or we can have sex -- best friends or lovers -- but never both. Why couldn't you just have accepted casual fucking and done away with the niceties?"

"Casual fucking? That's not even what you asked for! You wanted... Nevermind..." I withdrew, not in the mood for another fight.

"I wanted to stop pretending. Stop everything that tries to pretend--."

"So, all the memories of loving one another are pretend?!"

"You didn't let me finish," my cousin insisted. "Things changed that night with the crazy chick at the jazz club. Surely, you know the idea of us being in love is ridiculous, Oliver, or did they teach you too many of those 19th century love stories at your fancy schools?"

I smiled, recalling my old literature teacher's passionate lectures. "I only ever pretended to read those books."