Page 25 of Sinclair Duet

Shaking my head, I clenched my jaw. “Fine.” I pushed the button on the telephone and took a deep breath. “Darius, so nice of you to take time away from your golf game or was it sailing…whatever important thing you’re doing to call.”

My brother cleared his throat.

“What’s so important?” I asked before he could comment. “I recently returned to Indy, and my workload is overflowing.”

“Did you think I’d let the quarterly report go without discussion?”

“Consider yourself entitled that you’re still on the correspondence.” I looked around my office, the luxurious space, lavish furnishings, and beautiful view. This was my world. I didn’t start Sinclair Pharmaceuticals, I saved it. “I have nothing to discuss with you.”

“Dad isn’t happy.”

“Dad is retired. If he wants to talk to me, he knows my number. Everything is under control, and he knows that. I could explain the reasoning to you, but I have better ways to spend my time.”

“Heisconcerned. It’s stressing him out,” Darius said. “We spoke this morning. I told him I’d investigate. What’s with the decline in quarterly bonuses?”

That was the real issue. Darius lived on whatever he could suck from Sinclair Pharmaceuticals. Ten years my senior, the two of us shared a father, not a mother. When Darius was seven, our father married my mother and together they had two children, my younger sister, Danielle, and me. Nearly forty years later, my parents were still a power couple in their own right. Darius had his chance at running Sinclair. It wasn’t like Dad shut him out.

Darius failed.

He couldn’t handle the pressure.

Under his control, Sinclair was on the verge of becoming a footnote in a Big Pharma portfolio. Eli Lilly, another Indianapolis-based pharmaceutical company had been actively courting my father for a buyout. Dad was ready to retire. He and Darius were working together when it became clear that Darius wasn’t competent to take the helm alone.

I’d been with the company for a few years working my way up. I was the person who brought Sinclair its newest formula, the one that saved our company. I wasn’t the chemist, but I was the one who saw the potential in the new formula.

Nearly five years ago, I was named CEO. A year later, our father retired. Darius’s only claim to fame in the world of pharmaceuticals was that he retained stock in our private company. That stock allowed him information privy to our stockholders. It also afforded him stock options and bonuses.

It was the second that had him in a tizzy.

With the approval of the board, I’d decided to decrease the quarterly bonuses in favor of increasing our promotional spending. Getting word out to the doctors and facilities that prescribed PTSD medications was where we needed to spend our assets. That promotion was the impetus for my upcoming meeting.

“What’s the problem?” I asked. “Do you need a loan to cover your boat payment?”

“Fuck you. You can’t just decide to cut the shareholders’ revenue by fifty percent.”

I leaned back against my chair. “Actually, I can. I had the executive board’s approval.”

“You couldn’t have given a heads-up?”

“You couldn’t make last quarter’s million-dollar payout last longer than three months? Obviously, money management is also not one of your strengths. Perhaps you should hire a money manager.”

“I called,” he said, “to let you know there is growing discontent on the board. As you know, you’re still in the probationary period. The board can still oust you as CEO.”

That was true.

The sixty-month probation period would end in another five months. Propanolol should have been enough to secure my position. The probation period was put in place after Darius’s failure. In five more months, I would be set in stone, barring some cataclysmic failure. There was a loophole that I’d explored that could give me the finalized status sooner, but the cost wastoo high. I would let the success I’d made since taking over speak for itself.

“And replace me…with you? Sorry, brother, that ship sailed.”

“I told Dad I wanted another chance.”

“Dad’s not in charge,” I said.

“Propanolol won’t carry us. We need?—”

“There isn’t anus,” I corrected. “You are not part of the board or the executive management. Your bonus was decreased not because Sinclair is losing money, but because Sinclair has a mission that doesn’t involve keeping your wallet thick.” My gaze went to the antique clock in the bookcase, the one that belonged to our great-grandfather. “I don’t have time to continue this conversation. If Dad wants to chat, he can call.”

“Should I expect the next quarter to continue this downward trend?”

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