1
Most people recognizeour name instantly.
Even in a city like this, the Shaw family name commands respect and carries a weight of its own. The truth behind it is like the elephant in the room. Everyone knows its meaning, but it remains an unspoken truth that only lingers in whispered conversations. The Shaw family legacy stretches its influence far and wide, inspiring fear and unwavering loyalty among those who hear it.
That’s why it’s surprising that the slip of a girl seated across from my father is seemingly unaware of our identity. She sits there, her small frame almost swallowed by the oversized chair, with a nervous expression and fidgeting fingers. She is genuinely oblivious, or she’s a masterful actress like her mother. It’s hard to image her mother, whose family has served ours for generations, hadn’t passed down the knowledge of who we are and what we represent.
“I don’t understand what’s going on.” Her voice is soft with a hint of a southern drawl, hardly noticeable. Most likely picked up from her mother’s own drawl growing up. “How did you even know where to find me?”
If she’s faking, she deserves an academy award for her performance of wide-eyed naivety and innocence. Her act tugs at the heartstrings effortlessly. I sit back on the plush armchair, gazing out at the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows of the opulent penthouse, where the city’s skyline stretches endlessly. My father, seated near the unlit fireplace a few feet away, leans forward in his chair, carefully choosing his words as he tries his best to explain who he is and gauge what she knows.
His voice is calm but guarded. Aware he can’t reveal too much. She nods occasionally at the things he says, her expression a blend of curiosity and confusion. He knows better than to trust her, especially if she is truly oblivious to our family’s complex history and secrets.
She also happens to be the daughter of a traitor.
Two days ago, my father received a notification from the local police department. It seems Sadie Masterson overdosed and caught herself a case of the deads. Personally, I think it’s no great loss, but her daughter clearly doesn’t share my feelings. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying. It’s not surprising. I highly doubt good ‘ole Sadie ever explained to her dear daughter how she landed herself in Los Angeles, California.
Throughout the years, my father’s fixer diligently provided him with updates on Sadie’s whereabouts, ensuring he was always informed of her latest moves. However, the revelation she had a daughter was unexpected twist which caught him off guard.
“One of the officers who responded to your mother’s emergency called to inform me of her death,” my father tells her. His voice lacks sympathy, a monotone devoid of warmth or emotion, as if each word is carefully measured and delivered with precise detachment. “He found several things with your name on it, including a school yearbook with an expired I.D. card.”
Pursing my lips, I struggle to suppress the urge to chuckle. The explanation falls short, offering only a sliver of truth. Sawyer, our resourceful hacker, had skillfully breached the city’s network of street cameras on the day Sadie met her untimely end, to track her daughter’s movements. His digital trail led us to one of the more rundown homeless shelters in the inner city, where we eventually found her. Owing to the gravity of the crime, the girl had been barred from returning to her apartment, and with no other refuge in site, the shelter had likely been her most viable option.
“I still don’t understand,” she sighs, her mousy tone growing impatient. I let my gaze drift over to where she sits, nervously twisting the frayed him of her worn-out sweater with her fingers. Her right knee bounces restlessly beneath her, a steady, anxious rhythm underscoring her unease. “Do you want something from me?”
My father settles back in his chair, his eyes piercing and unflinching as he scrutinizes her intently. His gaze is cold and unyielding as steel. He is a man carved of stone, my father. Forgiveness is a foreign concept to him, and second chances are as rare as a blue moon.
In our line of work, the head of the family must embody strength, unwavering determination, and a ruthless edge. His upbringing was a crucible of hard labor, instilling resilience into his very marrow. From a young age, he grasped the harsh lesson that, if you’re not vigilant, everything you’ve toiled for can be snatched away in an instant.
“We are waiting on one of my men and a doctor,” he admits. The girl furrows her brows in confusion, her plump lips parting slightly.
“Why?” She stutters the word slightly, her quiet demeanor shifting as fear seeps into her blue eyes.
“Did your mother tell you where she grew up?” my father asks.
“She said her parents owned a cattle ranch in Texas,” the girl murmurs. “She never talked about it much. Not unless she was feeling particularly nostalgic and that only happened when she was sober.”
So not a lot I take it.
“Your mother grew up on Blue Skye Ranch,” my father explains patiently. “A subsidiary of Black Diamond Ranch. The Masterson’s have worked for Black Diamond for generations and are considered family.”
Damn, the expression painted on her face reveals everything I need to know. It’s clear she genuinely has no idea who we are or where her mother truly from. Not fully. Her wide eyes, full of hurt and confusion, lay it all out. Fuck Sadie Masterson and her deceitful bullshit. Without our vigilance, her own daughter might have ended up homeless, wandering the streets with no place to go. Anything could have happened to her.
“It makes you family,” he continues when he sees her confusion. “I’m not one to punish the child for the sins of the parent.”
“Can you please tell me what the hell is going on?” She scowls at him. The girl has balls. There are very few people who dare to speak to my father without respect, even if they don’t know who he is. “You’re beating around a bush I have no interest in trying to climb over.”
My father smirks. “Alright.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers forming a thoughtful steeple as he fixes his gaze intently on hers. “Your mother was forced off the ranch when she was in her late teens and warned never to come back. The decision was made without knowing she was pregnant. There is only one man I can think of who might be your father, and you look exactly like him. So, he is coming hereto meet us with a lab specialist to run a DNA test so we can know for sure.”
Shock and surprise war for dominance as she processes the information my father dropped on her. I’m curious to know what her mother has been telling her all these years, because it certainly wasn’t the fucking truth.
“My father told her to leave when he found out she was pregnant,” she whispers hoarsely. “He didn’t want me. Same with her parents. They threw her out.”
Turning his gaze to me, my father fixes me with a disdainful scowl. His eyes narrow slightly, and his lips press into a thin line, conveying unspoken disappointment with the woman he grew up with. To deprive a child of their father is bad enough, but letting her believe her father didn’t want her? If Sadie were alive, I’d kill her myself.
He pulls his focus back to the girl, Peyton. Funny she would be named after John’s mother, a woman Sadie never got along with. Another reason my father believes his best friend is the girl’s father. Sadie had harbored a fervent obsession with John Denver since they were children.
A fixation which intensified as the years went by. Her obsession, originally rooted in youthful admiration, gradually morphed into something unhealthy and consuming. The more John attempted to distance himself, the more frantic and unhinged Sadie became, her behavior spiraling into a chaotic dance of desperation and longing.
