This is my life now.
And I love it.
That’s the problem.
I’m sitting in the library, laptop open to a presentation I should be working on, when my phone buzzes with a text.
Robert: We need to talk. Call me.
I’ve been avoiding him for over a week. Ignoring his messages. Sending brief, meaningless responses when I can’t dodge him completely. But he’s persistent.
The phone rings before I can decide whether to respond to the text. Robert’s name flashes on the screen. I consider letting it go to voicemail. Consider throwing the phone out the window into a snowdrift.
Instead, I answer. “Hi, Dad.”
“Finally.” His voice is sharp with frustration. “I was starting to think something happened to you.”
“I’m fine. Just busy with work.”
“Work.” He says it like it’s a foreign concept. “That’s what you’ve been doing? Working?”
“I took a new position. With the Hales’ company. I meant to tell you?—”
“You what?” The sharpness turns to ice. “You’re working for them now?”
“It’s a good opportunity. Head of brand strategy for their acquisitions. The salary is?—”
“I don’t care about the salary, Samantha,” he cuts me off. “You’re supposed to be gathering information, not becoming their employee.”
I close my laptop, moving to the window where I can watch snow fall and pretend this conversation isn’t happening. “I’m still gathering information. This just gives me better access. I’m doing what you asked,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Getting close to them. Building trust.”
“Are you?” Silence on his end, heavy with implication. “Or are you forgetting why you’re there?”
“I haven’t forgotten anything.”
“Then tell me what you’ve learned. Give me something useful.”
I scramble for details. Anything that sounds legitimate. “Grant’s acquiring a hospitality company. Based in Miami. The deal closes in February.”
“That’s public information, Samantha. I need details about their offshore accounts. Their business partners. The illegal operations they’re running under the legitimate ones.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Are you?” His voice drops. “Or have you forgotten what they did to your mother?”
The guilt hits like a fist to the chest. “I remember what they did,” I say quietly.
“Do you? Because it sounds like you’re forgetting. It sounds like you’re getting distracted by expensive gifts and job offers and whatever else they’re using to manipulate you.”
“They’re not manipulating me.”
He laughs, bitter and sharp. “They destroyed your mother’s business, Samantha. Crushed everything she built. The stress literally killed her. And now you’re working for them? Living with them?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s not complicated. It’s simple. They took everything from us, and we’re taking it back.” His voice softens slightly. “I know this is hard. I know getting close to them means pretending to care. But you can’t actually care, sweetheart. You can’t lose sight of the goal.”
“I haven’t lost sight of anything,” I lie.
