5.Jude
I steppeddown the stairs from the company’s private jet in Tibet. The air was much cooler here than in Dallas, and I stifled a shiver.
Never let them see you weak.
That’s what my dad always said.
My assistant, Owen, followed behind me, carrying our luggage. Not ten yards away, a black SUV approached to collect us. The driver got out, opening the door for me with a nod. I slid inside, checking my phone for messages. Quentin had last month’s P&L in my inbox, and I pulled it up to review the data.
Just as I finished reading the top line, a phone call came across my phone screen, and my blood ran cold.
My father.
While Owen got in the car and gave directions to the driver, I sat back against the firm leather seat and drew my phone to my ear. “Yes, sir?”
“Where are you?” he demanded, in the brusque way of his.
“Tibet, for work.”
“Your mother isn’t pleased you’re missing dinner.”
My stomach clenched, but I maintained my posture, not wanting Owen to see me squirm. “My assistant has flowers on the way to Mother already,” I said, giving Owen a meaningful look. He instantly got on his phone, tapping on the screen.
“The Robinsons, they’re taken care of.”
My eyebrows rose, an uneasy feeling making it hard to breathe. Or maybe that was the altitude. “Taken care of?”
“Last week, you mentioned they were attempting a competing software.”
An icy cold feeling traveled down my spine, making my back stiffen. I’d gotten too lax last week in the stress of work and overshared. I wouldn’t do that again. “Thank you, sir.” The words felt like acid on my tongue.
“Anything for my son,” he replied. “I’ll see you next week.”
The line went silent.
I lowered my phone slowly to my lap, the P&L long forgotten. My fingers shook as I tapped Robinson Inc. in the search bar. The headline came across the screen.
FIRE DESTROYS MULTI-MILLION-DOLLAR SERVER AT ROBINSON INC.
My stomach churned. Frantically, I pressed the window button, needing air. It sliced through the two-inch gap, and I took careful sips.
“Jude?” Owen said.
I glanced his way. “Please turn on the AC. It’s stuffy in here.”
He hurried to adjust the thermostat, and I waited until the nausea passed to roll the window back up.
Outside, craggy foothills blurred past. The first time I came to Tibet and drove on this road, I was a young teen. My dad took Mom and me along on a business trip. She had gone to a spa day, leaving me to explore on my own with a paid driver and an unlimited credit card. Used to the time alone, I asked the driver to take me somewhere cool.
He dropped me off at the Sera Monastery. At first, I’d thought it was a weird choice. But I wandered the quiet grounds feeling strangely at peace for the first time in my life outside of the soccer field.
I might have been the first thirteen-year-old boy to dream of being a professional-soccer-playing monk.
My father never would have allowed either path unless I was Cristiano Ronaldo. Domination was the only option.
The driver slowed, and I glanced out the window, noticing the change in our surroundings. We were approaching a security gate. The vehicle stopped, I assumed for the driver to exchange words with security. My feet tapped silently on the floorboards—the only nervous habit I allowed myself—while Owen’s eyes tracked his phone screen.
The gate slid open, and we continued driving again for a short distance over carefully kept grounds that would impress even my mother. Through the darkened windows, I could see winding gravel paths lined with delicately flowering shrubs. Birds hopped from one tree to another while clients walked the grounds like they were posing for a brochure.
