Karen & Alexa Ch. 03

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

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Disclaimer: All characters are 18 years of age or older while actively engaging in sexual activity. This story is an offshoot of my ongoing story, Mike & Karen. While not completely necessary, being familiar with that story (and Alex & Alexa) will no doubt help mightily. Reviews are welcome; flames will be snickered at and deleted with extreme prejudice by my webmaster. Enjoy!

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Chapter III -- A Grim Family Tradition

2013: Quebec City ...

Karen sat at the table quietly, her hands folded in front of her as she looked down the row of faces, so familiar to her, and yet so alien in so many ways. Yes, they were her family members, and they shared many features and traits, but she couldn't help but feel like she was looking at an entirely different species sometimes.

The Blackwells were an ancient family, able to legitimately trace their roots as far back as the Plantagenets, that royal line of genetic fighting monsters who had bloodied so much of Christendom and made it the crucible of the conquering impulse. Famous names such as Richard, Coeur de Lion, Edward the Black Prince, and even Lancasters such as King Henry V could be counted as ancestors of her family. Even if that royal blood had died out, the breeding remained, as did the remarkable intelligence and ruthless ambition of those bygone days.

The earliest confirmed Blackwell ancestor, Benedictus de Blakewell, had been in the Assize Court Rolls of the thirteenth century in Derbyshire, although even earlier references to people named Blackwell were cited in the Domesday Book of William the Conqueror.

She'd seen so many images of those fabled men and women from centuries past, and wondered how much her own kin would look like them today. The Blackwells were usually very distinct, with patrician features, sharp and pale blue eyes, and ash-blond hair. They were preternaturally gifted at almost anything they set their minds to, although the trend over history seemed to have been mercantile endeavours, for which they showed great aptitude.

And yet, the family history had always been a turbulent one, with infighting and treachery not uncommon among its members. For as long as stocks and shares had been the cornerstone of western economics, the Blackwells had rigidly remained a series of private, interconnected companies. Other ventures often went public, to expand their revenues, but often fell prey to the whims of folly and misfortune. If the Blackwells' companies failed, it was strictly their own fault.

To this day, this tradition had held true. Against most modern common sense, Blackwell Industries was wholly private, no matter how many times people had tried to buy out all or part of it. Very strong and complex internal rules prevented family members from selling their shares or interests externally, to prevent others from getting inside. If a family member wanted out, they were bought out by the central reserve, their shares and interests added back into the pool for other uses.

Karen wondered how a family could be so very clannish on one hand, and so treacherous toward its own on the other. It was a balancing act every single chairman had needed to master in order to avoid disaster. Some had proven more adept than others, and the effects were telling.

At the head of the table, some distance away from her, Jonathon Blackwell sat in his wheelchair, looking coldly down the length of ancient, inlaid wood. Karen sat a good distance away from her father for a number of reasons, the two primary ones being that she had no wish to make it look like nepotism was involved, but also because her shares in the company were laughably small, to the point of being insignificant. Her presence here was mostly based on her being his daughter, and possessing a keen intellect that none could match, even if none would admit it.

It was foolish to think Jonathon Blackwell would be inclined to simple nepotism, since everyone was well aware of his intolerance for, and aversion to, incompetence. If Karen or anyone else displayed the least bit of ineptitude, they had no place at this table. Only the worthy sat here, making decisions for the family. No, he would have kept his daughter out quite readily if she'd had no head for business. He had an empire to run.

And today, someone had challenged his rule.

Felix Addison-Blackwell, one of Karen's cousins, had made some ridiculous power play, trying to use her father's infirmity against him as a reason to remove him from his position as chief executive and chairman. Yes, Jonathon Blackwell was dying, slowly, and it was known that he was given to bouts of anger, but his mental state was undeniable. Felix's play had been a fast one, but Karen had subtly tipped her father off that something was afoot, and he'd brought the coup to a crashing halt.

Felix sat quietly in his chair, looking at the table. He was sitting opposite Karen, and she could see the humiliation in his eyes. He knew what was coming. He'd been treacherous. Worse still, he'd been sloppy, and he failed. And that was unforgivable.

"What a damnable nuisance," Jonathon said finally, his voice carrying the weight of conviction and more than a little irritation. "All of us, brought here to deal with this idiotic crisis. Have centuries taught you people nothing?"

Except for Karen, nobody was looking at Jonathon, because very few people anywhere could meet his gaze. Most of them were scowling at Felix, in fact, because this had indeed turned out to be a stupid play on his part. She could see her father controlling his temper, noticed the trembling in his hands as they rested on the arms of his wheelchair.

"What, Felix, were your grand intentions if you happened to convince everyone to wrest control of the company from me, hm?" the patriarch asked, his eyes flashing. She doubted that anyone, aside from herself or her mother, had ever seen warmth in them. Paler and colder than glaciers, they were merciless to anyone who crossed him. "Tell us, man! What was worth all this?"

Sitting next to Jonathon, on the right corner edge of the table, Karen's cousin Rodney seemed not at all perturbed by the proceedings, but looked at the ceiling with an expression that fell somewhere between boredom and amusement. After all, he was not the one called out for treachery and incompetence.

Karen had always considered Rodney the most insufferable and arrogant of her generation of Blackwells, but he wasn't stupid, either. Nothing on earth would convince him to underestimate his uncle Jonathon. Karen would never know if Roddy had been buying into Felix's scheme, but if he'd done so, it was no doubt with the intention of supplanting him soon after.

The only person Rodney underestimated, to his detriment, had been her husband, Michael. And Rodney had never forgiven her for it. The arrogant sot just looked at the ceiling, twiddling his thumbs to demonstrate that was confident and in the clear here.

"Well?" Jonathon asked again, looking directly at Felix. The disgraced businessman said nothing, but went a deeper shade of pink as he kept staring at the table.

"Perhaps you wanted to be king," Jonathon sneered. "Maybe you think that's what this position means, hm? Sitting atop vast reserves of wealth, using them as your own private piggy bank, is that it? Are you really fool enough to believe that's how this family has operated for centuries? Have you never once gone into the archives and opened a damned book?"

Karen could tell that her father's temper was getting the better of him, but she had no way from down the table of subtly gaining his attention and calming him. He would have ignored her anyway. It wasn't only her mother she'd inherited her stubborn streak from.

"Treachery to one's family is bad enough, Felix, but what I cannot abide by is incompetence!" her father almost shouted now, and she could tell some of her family members were getting nervous. Only Rodney and her uncle Alistair seemed unfazed by the patriarch's increasing anger. "How dare you sully our name with your damned foolishness?!"

Jonathon slammed his bony hand on the ancient wood table, his blue eyes blazing. "Unforgivable! How will it look when word of this gets out? 'Blithering idiot attempts coup inside Blackwell Industries.' How's that for a headline in the financial papers?"

Roddy almost guffawed, but caught himself and went back to smirking. He seemed to be enjoying this. Felix went redder still.

"If you had made a legitimate challenge to my status in this room, I might have respected that," Jonathon said coolly, seeming to rein in his temper somewhat. "But your underhanded ploys fell beyond the scope of your competence, and caused a crisis in several of our companies. Must ambition always walk hand-in-hand with stupidity in your branch of the family?"

"It would've been just as well to see a chairman who could walk at all, for once," Felix sneered finally, turning his face toward Jonathon.

Dead silence hung over the room. The Blackwells could have heard a pin drop, and Karen would have sworn she could hear hearts beating. Had Felix really said that? Jonathan Blackwell's body was failing him, and he'd been confined to a wheelchair for over three years now.

Only Karen was looking at her father. No one else dared. Even Rodney understood the extraordinary danger of the moment and was suddenly looking at some distant point on the far wall, not a trace of a smirk on his normally insufferable face. But Karen watched her father, saw him processing what Felix had said, and what it meant. Felix had spoken the words of a doomed man, someone who thought he had nothing to lose, even in insolence. And even Jonathon Blackwell seemed taken aback, although only she recognized it.

What would her father do? This was not just a challenge, this was a direct insult to his very dignity, singular and malicious in its intent. She'd never heard anything like it in all her times here in this room, the seat of Blackwell power throughout the family empire.

Slowly, deliberately, Jonathon Blackwell put his hands on the arms of his wheelchair, but his eyes remained locked on Felix's. And then, to everyone's amazement, he began pushing himself upright, slowly but smoothly into a standing position. Even Karen watched in shock as her father rose, eventually standing straight as an arrow, and looking down his aquiline nose at the lowly being who had insulted him.

Once again, the room was dead quiet.

Jonathon turned and moved away from his chair. With slow, measured steps, he walked. He turned the corner and made his way down the table, while everyone gawked in disbelief. Everyone understood that this was not supposed to be medically possible. But he walked by them, seeming his old self again, proud and haughty, but also invincible. He radiated an air of incontestable will, everything a Blackwell was supposed to be, and reminding them all of exactly why he was the patriarch of the family.

Despite her shock, Karen's heart swelled with pride as she watched her father.

Felix was looking at the table, his eyes wide with panic. His skin was pink, and wet with sweat. His hand clutched at his tie and he almost looked like he'd faint when he heard Jonathon reach him. He squeezed his eyes shut and was almost shaking when the older man leaned down and rested one hand on the table and the other on the back of his chair.

"You are a disgrace to the Blackwell name, Felix," Jonathon said sternly. "In your golden years, you should have found comfort and pride in your accomplishments. But instead, you will have to contend bitterly with your failure. Your shares will be bought out, at one tenth their value, because your pathetic efforts to unseat me deserve no more than that."

Whispers around the table as Jonathon continued to proclaim Felix's doom.

"You will not be expelled from the family, because we take care of our own, and we also deal with the refuse. You are no one else's responsibility except this family. To ensure you do not release your blight upon the marketplace, the money of your bought-out shares will be sent to cousin Ryan at his resort in Nassau for your rent, and you'll spend the rest of your days on the beach, attempting to convince empty-headed young girls on vacation of how rich and powerful you are."

Jonathon stood tall, and he looked as authoritative as Karen -- or anyone else -- had ever seen him. The look he gave Felix was nothing short of contemptuous. "Now get out of my boardroom. Clean out your office. You will never see this building again."

Felix rose unsteadily, certainly more than Jonathon had, and looked around the room with glistening eyes, desperately seeking any last-second allies, but all he found were indifferent stares. Even Karen found that she had no pity to spare him. He took his briefcase in a trembling hand and walked slowly out of the boardroom, the door closing behind him with a decided finality. It almost sounded like the slamming of a door on death row.

Jonathon let the silence hang for several more seconds before turning and heading back toward his chair at the head of the table. Everyone watched quietly, still stunned that he was standing, let alone walking. With a smooth grace, he eased himself back into his wheelchair and sighed, folding his hands in front of himself on the table.

"I will say this now, and just this once," he announced, looking at them all. "Anyone who had a hand in this idiocy, you get a pass, because I will not commission an investigation into what has transpired here with Felix. None of the rest of you will either."

He looked pointedly at his daughter with his last statement.

"One crisis and expulsion is enough for this year, and I expect no more of it," he continued. "Hopefully any of you involved have indeed learned your lesson and will refrain in the future, yes? This is your only warning."

There were murmurs of agreement around the table.

"Well then," Jonathon said, opening up one of several folders in front of him on the table. "Since Felix has brought us all together, shall we get down to the business arising?"

Karen smiled as she looked at the papers inside her folder. She couldn't have been prouder of the old man.

***

"Holy shit, Kar," Alexa breathed as her older sister finished the tale. Karen leaned back into the chair she was sitting in and sipped at her tea out of the dainty cup. Alexa was sitting in the matching chair beside her, and she stared at the far wall as she considered what she'd been told. "He stood up? I thought he couldn't by that point."

"None of us did," replied the bronze-haired woman, shrugging. "It should have been medically impossible. I'm not sure anyone was more shocked than dad. He slept for a week afterward."

Alexa giggled. "Pure adrenalin?"

"Or sheer willpower, I don't think we'll ever know," Karen said, shaking her head. "He never did tell his doctors about it; he was convinced they'd just confine him to bed and make him behave. He hated having 'those quacks' floating around him all the time, telling him what to do and what to eat or drink."

"Well, now I know where my husband gets his stubborn streak from," Alexa mused, nodding. "From dad."

"Oh, Alli, he gets it from every direction and magnifies it," Karen said, sighing and looking at the ceiling. "From dad, from mom, from the DeBournes ... trust me, you're in for a real tough night the first time he ever digs in his heels and refuses to budge on something you disagree on."

"I dread the thought," Alexa admitted. "Normally, I just press my boobs against his arms, wiggle them back and forth and whine in a cutesy voice and he's instantly compliant. Are you telling me there will come a day when that won't work?"

"Indubitably."

"But ... what will I have left?" the blonde sister pretended to protest.

"At that point, your only hope is being right, and I don't envy your chances, since he's definitely his father's son," Karen muttered. "I've learned the hard way never to contest Michael on moral grounds. The man is the Rock of Gibraltar about principles."

"I'm not used to my feminine wiles failing me," Alexa laughed, enjoying their time together this morning before the Day from Hell began. "Like, seriously, I can't really think of a time they have."

"I can't think of any except where Michael is concerned, either," said the older sister. "Trust me, you never want a DeBourne man mad at you."

"Scary?" Alexa queried. "Mike is terrifying when he's perfectly placid and cheerful, and the one time I've seen him enraged, I thought I'd die."

"No, it has nothing to do with that," Karen asserted, sipping her tea again -- Imperial Silver Needle, of course. She always drank it before doing something stressful or contentious. And her paternal kin certainly qualified. "When a DeBourne man is mad at you, it's probably because you chose to do something wrong. And they're mad, because they're disappointed in you."

Alex thought about that for several seconds. "Oh my God ..." she said quietly, still lost in thought. "I would absolutely die."

"I have spent my entire adult life being absolutely the best person I could be, to make sure I never disappointed that man," Karen said, nodding since she knew Alexa understood now. "Just the mere thought of having potentially disappointed Michael makes my chest seize up. I'd rather lick broken glass off Donald Trump's chest on a hot summer afternoon."

"Yeah, I don't know how I'd disappoint Alex exactly, but I sure as Hell don't wanna picture that reaction," the younger sister said gravely. "I'd hate myself for whatever I'd done to earn that."

"It's good to recognize that, given how remarkably slim that window you got in was," Karen agreed.

Alexa tilted her head: "In what sense, Kar?"

"It's nothing terribly important, don't worry about it right now."

"No, really, it's okay," the blonde said, turning in her chair to face her sibling, her curiosity piqued. "What are you referring to? If it's about Alex, I kinda wanna know."

"It's not about Alex so much as it's about you, and your dynamic with him," Karen sighed, putting down her teacup and pausing a moment to choose her words. "Have you ever considered how incredibly gossamer-thin, crystalline-delicate and tenuous your connection to him is?"

Alexa blinked: "You're saying our relationship isn't strong?"

"Oh no, not at all," Karen said, shaking her head. "No, the opposite, really. What I am saying, however, is that the circumstances that brought you two together are so ridiculously unlikely."

Alexa said nothing, but just let her sister explain.

"It no doubt sounds strange to you, Alli, but you were born absolutely out of time," Karen continued. "You should have been a Gen X'er like myself and Michael, or possibly a Xennial. But mom had you very late, and as a result, you're culturally a millennial, even if you're technically from the same cohort as Michael and I."

"And?" Alexa asked, wanting her sister to explain.

"What if you had been?" Karen asked. "What if you'd been born, say, two years after myself? That's perfectly reasonable to assume, and you'd now be forty-six or forty-seven."

Alexa nodded, but something told her she didn't like where this was going.

"And let's say that I still had Alex at thirty," Karen continued. "So he'd be eighteen today, and you'd be forty-seven. You'd have watched him grow up, you'd have changed his diapers, bathed him, played with him, bought him presents, and watched him kiss and begin dating girls ..."