Ellison tugs at his tie with his right hand.

  The day has been a mess, really.

  From choking down a bowl of dried cereal to climbing into the leather scented seats at the back of the limousine, he’s been numb on the inside. And his head is still killing him, despite the mountain of aspirin he’d downed over the past couple of hours. The rim of his large sunglasses briefly catch in the over in the dim lights from the molded ceiling crowns of the church. He glances around the wooden pews. His stomach really hurts. Pierre, his driver, does some awful turns and stops. The man can’t drive to save his life. He’d probably need to end his contact pretty soon.

  Ellison actually needs to throw up.

  Just fifteen more minutes.

  The pastor’s voice drones on.

  A ringing settles in Ellison’s ears. Not a lot of people are here, really. Mostly coworkers and acquaintances. He glances at the Rolex on his wrist. It’s only eleven in the morning. How is it only eleven? It seems a lot longer than that. His father’s colleagues are doing the same thing, checking their watches. They want this to be over as much as he does.

  A large display of flowers surround the casket, where Ellison can just make out the top of his father’s head and the polished tips of his shoes. A picture of him, solemnly staring ahead, is placed to the right. Ellison couldn’t remember the last time he ever saw his father smile. This is all such a dream. One by one, he sees the people sitting ahead of him in the pews stop to pause at the body, waiting in line like children at a cafeteria.

  As he finally approaches the casket, Ellison places a hand against the smooth wooden edge. His father is dressed in a silver suit with a bow tie, grayed hair slicked back. Even up close, Ellison can see how much the cancer had eaten away at his flesh. He’d never noticed how much weight his father had lost, or how sunken in his cheeks had become. His face grows hot. He loudly scoffs when notices the wedding band around his finger. Why he’d kept that thing for so long, even after his pathetic excuse of a mother—

  A cold hand suddenly clamps over his shoulder. Ellison turns around to face a tall, dark haired man. One of his father’s closest friends, Max Gibson. His brown eyes, usually so warm and sparking with laughter, are now red rimmed and dull. He loudly sniffs and blows his nose in a crumpled tissue, before shoving it deep down into the breast pocket of his suit. He gives Ellison’s arm a soft pat.

  “You doing alright?”

  “Yeah,” Ellison mumbles. “I’m good, man.”

  “If you ever need to talk—”

  ”I said I’ll be fine.”

  Max exhales. “Alright. But just know that I’m here, alright? I’m only a phone call away.”

  A smirk crosses Ellison’s face as he gestures at the casket. “Too bad he never was.” He didn’t look back as he walked down the aisle between the pews, his shoes echoing against the floor. As he descends down the marble steps, he could feel the sun on his face. He could see other people talking, trying not to look at him. He is infinitely grateful he decided to wear shades today. The nausea swells in his stomach as he firmly grips the railing and empties his guts, sour bile in his throat.

  * * * * * * * *

  ”As your father has mentioned in his will, you are the sole beneficiary of Prisma Enterprises. You will receive all of his assets, including twenty five percent of his estate—”

  ”Hold on a minute,” Ellison snaps, holding up a hand. He props both of his sneakers on the lawyer’s desk, who is glancing at him beneath his thick frames glasses. “Only twenty five percent? Who the hell receives the rest?”

  Emory Jones sighs and takes off his glasses. “We’ve been through this. You and Max Gibbs will be co-owner of the company. Donovan Halson explicitly stated that he—”

  ”Why the hell would he do that?” Ellison explodes, suddenly standing up and knocking over the papers on the lawyer’s desk. They float in the air. As Ellison loudly bangs his fist against the surface, he points a finger at him. “No one told me this. I’m not co-owning nothing with anyone! He said that Prisma Enteprises will be passed down to me. To flesh and blood. Not some old douchebag that is about to drop from a heart attack.”

  ”Mr. Halson,” Emory sharply replies, “If you would let me finish, you’d know that this is only a temporary arrangement. Max Gibbs has been an excellent partner to your father, given that he has been there and helped build this business from the ground up. You will be the owner upon your thirtieth birthday, as Donovan has stated in his will. He has believed that a mentor would be of great—”

  “What?!” Ellison grits his teeth. “Did you say that I have to wait until I’m thirty to receive what is rightfully mine? I’m twenty-one. That’s damn near eight years! Eight years that I have to be tied to the hip by this clown.”

  ”Mr. Halson—”

  ”No, now you listen to me, buddy,” Ellison fiercely snarls. “Max Gibbs has gotten the piece of the cake while my father was around.” He rubs his forehead and paces back and forth, kicking the papers aside. “I’m a grown man. I don’t need a babysitter. I can handle myself, and this company needs several upgrades. That starts with cutting down on staff. My father may think I need a damn mentor, but I need no one.” He spins around, before picking up a vase from the coffee table and throwing it against the wall. It shatters. “You hear me?! I need no one.”

  “With due all respect, Mr. Halson—”

  ”It’s Ellison,” Ellison spits out

  Emory takes a deep breath. “With all due respect, this is not to insult you. But I’m going to be blunt. Mr. Gibbs has over forty-five years of experience in diamond-mining industry. You have certainly never operated a business before, let alone any organization. You are currently a college dropout. Your father may not have been perfect, but he has always been looking out for your best interests. Take this as an opportunity to—”

  ”I want to contest,” Ellison stops pacing. There are dark circles under his eyes. “I want to contest this will, right now. And I’m getting another estate lawyer. You’re fired.” He glances at the door. “Get out of my office.”

  Emory’s mouth drops. “But sir—”

  ”Get the hell out of my office, now!”

  The lawyer blinks for a moment, frantically gathering his papers and stuffing them into his briefcase. As he rises from his chair, Ellison leans against the wall and folds his arms. “By the way, tell Max Gibbs that he will be receiving a little present in the mail in a couple of weeks. And tell him to get a lawyer.” A smirk crosses his lips. “A really good one.”

  Emory gives him a bewildered look. But before he could open his mouth, Ellison slams the door in his face. He then sits on his desk and reaches into his pocket to light a blunt.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  * * * * * * *

  Silas McClaire types on his computer, his fingers loudly clacking against the keyboard. His hands are shaking. All morning, he’s heard rumors. As a marketing assistant, he knows he stands no chance. Forty-five people have already received the pink slip from his department alone, and it’s only been three weeks. There are so many empty desks.

  Three flipping weeks.

  His manager, Rosa Gonzalez, had given him the news when he clocked into work this morning. “It’s Donovan’s boy,” she had explained, sipping on coffee with lipstick stains visible on the Styrofoam rim. A cigarette is placed in her hand. “Apparently Donovan wanted Max to have sole ownership over the estate. There was a nasty legal battle. Donovan’s kid won.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I suggest you begin looking somewhere else, since who knows if either you and I will be here tomorrow.”

  ”A son?” Silas asked. “I didn’t even know that Donovan even had a freaking son. He didn’t mention that he had children to us before.”

  “Yeah and for good reason.” Rosa stirred creamer in her coffee. “This kid is absolutely crazy. He’s just firing everyone left and right.” She blinks and sniffs, wiping her eyes. “It doesn’t make sense, you know. I mean, getting fired is one thing. But you’re blackmailed from other businesses. This industry is all I’ve ever known.” Her face falls. “I’ve got a son in the hospital and a daughter to support. How are we going to survive? I’m already in medical debt.”

  Silas had pulled her into a hug. He didn’t know what to say, but simply held her.

  * * * * * * *

  Max Gibbs slowly closes his laptop and places it at the bottom of the cardboard box. His eyes are burning—his vision is blurry as he continues to empty out his desk drawers. He doesn’t seem to be in control of his body. Sure, who likes to work? It’s just a job. He could always get another one. He could hold off retirement in a couple of years. He’d find another way to help pay for his daughter’s tuition. He had six children—the youngest one just starting Florida State in the fall. He’s figure it out. He always did. The last thing he needed was for his wife to stress out.

  But this place, it was a second home to him.

  He remembers Donovan first approaching him in high school, (was it ‘65 or ‘66?) dressed in those hideous pants and jacket, freckles and acne splattered across his face, and wickedly crooked teeth. He was constantly getting bullied, having just transferred. The two had been together in mathematics, a course that he was on the verge of failing. An idea clumsily drawn out a sheet of Donovan’s yellowed notebook paper. He was just as bad at Algebra, if not worse. B

  It had been an adventure, for sure.

  He studies an old photograph of them together, Donovan grinning as they are hunched over a table piled with papers and drawings. A half empty box of pizza. Max’s fingers shake as he tucks it into the box.

  They never got their high school diplomas, and worked at a local pizza shop to save. Donovan was never book smart, but he sure had a knack for smooth talking. Too many late nights in a tiny office, designing product ideas, calling and getting rejected repeatedly until an investor said yes. Max wipes his face and exhales as he places two notebooks in his box. He blinks a great deal, trying to fight back the great storm brewing in his head.

  Why didn’t you tell me, Donovan? He wanted to scream at his reflection on his blank monitor screens. Why didn’t you tell me about the damn will? You know I couldn’t take anything from you. You’re a brother to me.

  Max had been off bereavement leave, expecting to reach the office bright and early Monday morning. He’d never seen the young man before, at least not prior to the funeral. He’d only figured out that he was Donovan’s child—his only child—once one of the shareholders told him. He was the spitting image of his best friend. Tall, slender, with thick blonde hair, pale skin and blue eyes. He’d love to introduce this kid to the business, to see what he was passionate about. But that would not be a possibility anymore.

  And now, he was getting sued.

  Max folded the lids to the cardboard box, before hoisting it on his hip and shutting the door to his office—the one that him and Donovan had shared. He didn’t have the strength to look at his best friend’s desk. As he stepped out into the hallway, he slowly looked up to find everyone in the upper management department looking at him. Their eyes were red rimmed, and even though phones were ringing in the distance, they did not turn their heads to look.

  Max’s gaze fell upon the newest intern, Lisa. She was gripping her notebook, fighting back tears. Her chin quivers as she slams her notebook against her desk and took off walking briskly to the other side. Jeff Tunsa, the director of marketing and international affairs, placed his face into his hands. Cheryl Davis, the vice president, slumps into her chair and slams her first against the table. Mike Holmes, the financial analyst, runs his hands through his head.

  ”Don’t fret,” Max quietly says. “Okay?”

  ”How the hell are we not supposed to?” Jeff explodes. “We won’t survive without you.” He raises his arms over his head. “This is bullshit. Some…some kid can come in here and destroy what you and Don have worked your backs off for? Where the hell did he come from? And why would Don have—”

  ”I don’t have the answers to those questions.” Max swallows hard. “But you don’t need me to be successful. You are the best people I have ever had the opportunity to work for. And I am honored and…and beyond grateful to have met all of you.” His voice cracks. “And I will miss you guys. A lot.”

  Cheryl wipes her eyes. “There’s gotta be another around this, Max. We’ve gotta figure out how to get your job back. This isn’t right.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Max glances away. “Keep an eye on Lisa, okay? Just watch over her.” Without another word, he flings his coat over his shoulder and walks down the hallway for the final time, his form hunched over.

  * * * * * * * *

  There’s a knock on the door.

  Ellison mumbles under his breath, scrambling to get out of bed. There is a girl tangled in his sheets, snoring loudly. He yanks on his underwear and pants, glaring at the mess. His blood boils, and he flings the door open, his blue eyes glaring at the maid timidly looking at him. Sarah. Her arms are shaking.

  ”Good…good morning—”

  “What the hell are you doing up here?” Ellison’s voice is quiet, but cold. It causes Sarah to hesitate. She can see that his pupils are dilated, and the scent of marijuana floats from the room. She tightly grips her broom.

  “I…” Sarah swallows. “I wanted to tell you that Pierre is..is waiting for you outside.” Her heart is thudding in her chest. “In the driveway.”

  Ellison takes a step forward. “For what?” He is coming closer. “Why would he be waiting for me, exactly? Give me just one reason.”

  The maid bumps against the railing of the balcony. Her fingers dig into the smooth, polished surface. “F..for….f..or….work—”

  ”Let me tell you something.” Ellison grabs her by the wrist. His nails are sharp, cutting into her flesh. “I can do whatever the hell I want. You don’t tell me to get ready for anything. And you don’t come up on this floor, unless I say you can come up here. I’m with my girl.” His breath smells of alcohol, and his words are slurred. “This is house, my rules. Don’t you tell me what to do in my damn house.”

  Sarah tries to pull away. “N…no!”

  “Didn’t I tell you before that if I ever found a hair in my room, I’d let you go on the spot?” A faint smile crosses Ellison’s lips. “Today is your lucky day.” His grip tightens. “Yeah.”

  His other hand rises in the air. Before Sarah could move away, he delivers a heavy blow across her face— an echo against the finely painted walls. She cries out, blood spurting down her nose and mouth, before losing her footing and tumbling down the stairs. Ellison leans against the railing, chuckling to himself. Except he didn’t really know why he was laughing. He was numb and dizzy inside.

  He slowly sits down on the top step and rests his arms on his legs, rubbing his temples.

  The front door swings open, and Pierre rushes forward, gathering the maid’s form in his arms. One of her shoes are on the steps. “Sarah! Sarah!” He shakes her shoulders. “Come on, come on, wake up!” There’s a muffling sound of voices below the balcony as staff swarm below, black and white. There’s a lot more blood coming from Sarah’s head.

  When Pierre looks up the stairs, Ellison could see nothing but dark rage in his eyes. ”You’re going to pay for this,” he yells. “You hear?”

  Gary tugs at Pierre’s sleeve. “We really need to get her to a hospital. Now.” He gives Ellison a sideways glance, before scooping up the unconscious maid in his arms and quickly heading out the door. Pierre follows, but not after giving Ellison a long, hard look. An uneasy sensation settles in Ellison’s stomach, but it is only a brief one. He sees all the staff members below looking up at him.

  Ellison’s ears are ringing again.

  The upstairs hallway door opens. He suddenly turns around. His girl has a horrified look on her face, and she quickly moves around him as she heads downstairs and runs out the doorway into the afternoon heat, wearing a gray hoodie, shorts and flip flops. The keychains from her purse and bag jingle.

  Sarah’s shoe sits on the step.

  As Ellison stumbles to his feet, he moves away, down the hallway, just to get away from the eyes. There are so many eyes looking at him. He shuts his bedroom door and backs away, breathing heavily as he turns the lock. As he slumps to the floor he stares at his hands. There are specks of blood on them.