Page 15 of False God

There are two types of powerful people in this world, I’ve discovered. Those who inherit status and enjoy it—lift their foot off the gas, lean back, and coast. Or those who earn success and use it as fuel to strive for more—dig deeper and press harder, searching for the next opportunity.

Most of my friends, acquaintances, classmates, exes are powerful people who fall into the first category. It doesn’t mean they’re not thoughtful or kind. It means they’re content, not hungry.

I’m related to a lot of powerful people who define the second category. My grandfathers, my uncle, my parents. There’s a reason the Kensington name is worth hundreds of billions, and it has nothing to do with luck. It’s common knowledge that my familyworksrather than simply collects sizable paychecks.

My parents were there for me, growing up. I have memories of my dad driving me to swim practice and my mom baking cakes for my birthday parties. But they also worked full-time. We had nannies. Chefs who cooked dinner most nights. Drivers who shuttled us to and from school most days. Family vacations were a regular occurrence, but they weren’t frequent. Mom and Dad didn’t let parenthood derail their careers or diminish their determination.

I have it too—that drive. There was a time when I was worried I didn’t, back when I was struggling in school and with a handicap no one else in my family had. At some point, I realized that struggle was proof of ambition. If you’re not trying to get somewhere, you don’t worry about being behind.

Mom says hello to the few secretaries working as we pass them, and they all greet her by name.

She’s probably the most recognizable Kensington, thanks to the magazine covers and full-sized advertisements common in the fashion industry. Mom owns one of those magazines,Haute, and her fashion line, rouge, is featured everywhere. Dad wanted to use the photo of me and my brothers posing in front of her umpteenth Times Square billboard for our family holiday card last December.

Since I look a lot like her, I’m pretty recognizable too. I inherited my dad’s eyes and his height, but my hair and my face are basically a carbon copy of my mom’s.

Uncle Oliver’s assistant is on the phone. She waves us past, mouthing,He’s expecting you.

“You told Uncle Oliver the right arrival date?” I ask.

Mom laughs. “Your father talked to him this morning. I tried to call you, too, but you didn’t answer.”

“It was seven a.m. here,” I grumble.

Uncle Oliver stands as soon as we walk into his office, tossing a pen onto the desk and walking this way, wearing a wide smile.

“So good to see you,” Oliver tells Mom, giving her a hug first.

I glance around. There’s a new portrait hanging since I was last in here—Uncle Oliver with his wife, Hannah, and their two daughters. A new couch nestled in the attached sitting area. A presentation projected on-screen in the private conference room from a meeting that must have just happened.

“Lili. Nice of you to stop by for a visit.” My uncle’s smile is wry.

I smile back as I give my uncle a hug. My lack of interest in the family company is well known. Or lack of involvement, I guess. That makes my trips here rare.

“In my defense, I’ve been mostly living in Chicago.”

“I know; I know. You’re a busy bee. Hannah is headed there in September for a conference. I’m going to try to tag along so I can see Claremont Park in person.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I mutter, embarrassed.

“I want to.” The corners of Oliver’s eyes crinkle as he squeezes my shoulder. “We’re very proud of you.”

I clear my throat. “Thanks. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Mom and Oliver exchange an amused look.

“She takes compliments like a Kensington,” Oliver says.

“She does,” Mom agrees. “And the park is incredible, by the way. Well worth a visit.”

She and Dad came to the official opening ceremony of my most recent project a couple of weeks ago.

“I have no doubt,” Oliver replies. “Can I get you ladies anything to eat or drink?”

Mom holds her water up. “I’m all set. But speaking of eating and drinking, I was hoping you and Hannah were free for dinner tonight.”

“We’ll be there,” Oliver replies, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll text Hannah right now. Can we bring anything?”

“Just yourselves.”

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