“Blaire is where Blaire is.” Mr.Ahn has had enough of our ignorance and hands us his phone with a map pulled up.
Ridiculous as it sounds, it’s exactly where Mom and Dad said it is—in central California, west of Bakersfield, north of Santa Barbara. It’s a microscopic town called Blaire. I click on the town icon, and it readsPopulation: 150.
“Why are they allowing us to retain this one piece of property?” Dad asks out of curiosity.
“In the time since you purchased the land, Blaire has become a government-sanctioned National Radio Quiet Zone. That is, it is the location of a scientific telescope that has a lot of rules enforced on the town to keep it secluded,” Mr.Ahn explains, “which, naturally, has made it a less desirable place of residence and subsequently driven down the price of real estate in the area. In essence, the property no longer holds value.”
Well, there’s a sobering sentiment. Our lives have been reduced to living in a place where no one wants to live.
“It could be good for you to stay out of public life during this time,” Mr.Ahn says, probably noticing the utter defeat in our expressions. “There are a series of quotes from your autobiography that are starting to pick up momentum online.” His eyes flick to Dad.
“Quotes from my book?” Unbelievably, Dad has the audacity to beam at the mention of his most prized possession—the story of his life. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Not the way it’s being circulated.” Mr.Ahn shifts uncomfortably as he gears up to explain. “The quotes are probably being taken out of context, but people are accusing you of supporting a toxic work culture. Some are saying your status as a self-made man has not only made you successful but has also made you out of touch with reality.”
I’d say he’s out of touch, all right. Dad’s expression sinks deeper, as if this was the worst of our problems.
“The good thing about Blaire is that the National Radio Quiet Zone makes it secluded in a way that no one will know who you are there. News travels slowly, and oftentimes only the big headlines reach the town. It’s a good place to lie low and bide your time while we wait for the appeal.”
Lie low? Of all the bombshells Mr.Ahn has dropped on us, this is the one that hits the hardest. Because I didn’t build a career on my lifestyle by lying low. And without my very public—not to mention very lucrative—image to uphold, how am I supposed to move out and be on my own now?
Gavin sits back, rendered expressionless, probably from the shock. Mom is at a loss for words, and Dad seems more distraught over hearing his autobiography is portraying him as a corporate douchebag than being told we’ve lost everything. It wouldn’t be the first time I didn’t understand my own family. But how can they be willing to accept defeat so easily, especially when it’sthisextreme?
“There’s got to be a way out of this,” I say, desperately pleading with Mr.Ahn. Someone’s got to come up with a reasonable solution. It may as well be me. “I was able to negotiate my way out of an arranged marriage to a prince in Bhutan—”
“What?” Dad startles.
Mom’s head shoots up with eyes full of concern. “When did you—?”
“I didn’t actually agree to the marriage. It was a misunderstanding over an innocent hand gesture. Anyway, my point is, I was able to get out ofthat. Surely we can do something aboutthis. Can’t we?”
“There is one way.” Mr.Ahn hesitates before continuing. “Filing bankruptcy would allow you to reorganize and restructure your company and secure the future of It’s Ok!”
“No,” Dad says firmly. “Filing bankruptcy is admitting fault, and I didn’t do anything wrong. I worked hard, and I stand by my decisions. I’m confident I can find my way through this.”
I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have a close relationship with my dad, but even I can attest to his strong work ethic. His absence from home is evidence of his dedication to the company. Mom looks as if she’s going to try to convince Dad to reconsider, then gives up. She knows better than any of us that when Dad’s mind is set, there’s nothing anyone can do to change it. Gavin has no opinion to offer at all, which is surprising, since he’s the one who has just as much at stake in the company as Mom and Dad do.
Mr.Ahn shakes his head, shocked over what he’s hearing. “Dale. As your lawyer, as your friend, I have to advise you to reconsider. It’s in your best interest.” Noticing Dad’s hard stance, Mr.Ahn sighs. “Well, then, we just have to file a petition with the court and wait for an appeal date. In the meantime, the petition will prevent the creditors from taking collection actions against the company. At the very least it’ll buy us time to strategize over how to proceed in the event that the case doesn’t end up going the way we hope for.”
“How much time?” Gavin asks, finally showing some concern. It seems like a delayed response. Maybe it’s the shock, which isunderstandable. As an executive in training at It’s Ok!, not to mention the publicly acknowledged heir to the fashion empire, Gavin currently has a future that is, arguably, in more jeopardy than mine.
“We have two weeks to appeal,” Mr.Ahn says. “Then it’s out of our hands.”
There wasn’t any part of the conversation that wasn’t pure torture, but at least I know there’s an end to this nightmare. Two weeks is recoverable. I’ll still have most of the summer left. Maybe by then, Kiki can do some damage control and negotiate some events for me before school starts so I can get back to monetizing my appearances to earn a proper living. In a year my parents will expect me to go to college, and I can’t tell them I have no intention of going until I have something better lined up for me.
Chapter 4
It takes a series of steps only seen in international spy missions and heist movies to get our bags packed and sent to us in this abandoned warehouse. First we each arrange for our house cleaners to pack a specific list of essential items that can fit into only one suitcase a piece, a challenging feat in and of itself. Once they load the luggage into their car along with their cleaning supplies, they take them to their facilities. An hour later we arrange for a separate car service to pick up the bags from the facilities and meet an associate of Mr.Ahn’s in an underground parking lot in his office building. There, he takes the bags and gives them to another car service, which is scheduled to pick us up in the dank and depressing warehouse where we’ve been since this morning.
While I wait, I check my phone to see if Kiki has called me back, but there’s nothing. No messages, missed calls, or voicemails from her. My finger hovers over the keypad to call her again. A second later I think better of it. I’ve already left her a series of voicemails, increasing in batshit with each subsequent message. If I were her, I’d probably screen my calls too. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t freaking out. Yesterday she couldn’t wait to talk to me. Now I can’t get her to return my calls. With my phone in my hand, a slurry of texts comes in. I fumble with my phone, too eager to read themessages, but I’m disappointed to find that none of them are from Kiki. They’re from acquaintances and sponsors who are either pumping me for information or canceling my bookings. Both are depressing, so I delete those and read the texts from my friends.
Melody
Just saw the news, El. Are you okay?
Willow
Is any of it true?
