Page 9 of A Man of Wealth

“Why journalism?”I ask once we’re on the beltway. I’m trying to distract myself from both her driving and my horrible rash decision to take us to my father’s shipyard while letting her drive my most expensive car.

She’s quiet and for a moment I’m not sure she has even heard my question.

“Rupert Clarington,” she states.

“The famous investigative journalist? Didn’t he do some scathing expose on your grandfather when he was in office?”

She nods.

“I don’t get it,” I say.

“He made me see my own family in a different light. Do you not understand how hard it is to turn someone’s entire vantage point upside down? But he did. He was good at his job and he’s the reason my grandfather never saw a second term.”

“He’s also dead,” I mutter. I can only imagine his “accidental” death from falling off a ladder while repairing a broken security light at his horse barn was no accident at all. I remember my father’s whispered conversations around that time. The brotherhood was pissed, and Rupert was their target. First, they dug up every scandalous thing they could about him, which wasn’t much, and then when they couldn’t take him down by the harsh court of public opinion, they decided to get rid of him permanently, or I assume that’s what happened. The elite controls us, and we rarely know the endgame.

“He is. And that just lit more of a fire under me to find the truth and not stop until I do,” she explains.

“I imagine that your family doesn’t approve.”

She looks over at me. I glance over for a moment. Our gazes lock for a fraction of a second before she looks back away.

“No, my family doesn’t approve…of anything I do,” she confesses.

“Well, I guess we have something in common,” I murmur.

“Your father doesn’t approve of your life choices?” she prods.

“Something like that.” I don’t want to say more because while I trust her more now than I did several hours ago, I don’t trust that what I say won’t somehow end up printed on the pages ofTheTribune.

“But, you’re successful and wealthy,” she says, motioning to the luxurious interior of the car.

“Success and wealth aren’t exactly all that matters in my father’s world.”

“What matters, then?”

I sigh and run a hand over my neatly trimmed beard. “Power, wealth, and prestige matter, but most of all, loyalty and silence.”

“The vow,” she says.

I can’t stop my head from swiveling in her direction.

She laughs at my reaction. “Don’t look so shocked. First, I was in a sorority, so I know how Greek life works. I’ve dug far enough to know that whoever is part of this ‘brotherhood’ is likely part of a more secretive part of it. And with all brotherhoods, you take some kind of vow, and I imagine the reward for loyalty and silence is the power, wealth, and prestige. Am I off base?”

Her words echo in the car, and I can only hope the damn thing isn’t bugged. My new security team has been debugging things for weeks, but I don’t know the last time they swept for them in here. I should have made sure before we left. I internally curse myself for making a rash and uncalculated decision.

I decide to switch the conversation back to her.

“What about your brother?” I ask.

“Interviewing the journalist?” she states with a knowing smile.

“Perhaps, or perhaps I just want to know more about the woman driving my car,” I say as I feel myself sobering up at a faster rate than I thought possible.

“I keep in touch with him and my grandmother.”

“No one else?”

She shakes her head. “Truthfully?” She pauses and we lock eyes again. I nod and she continues. “I think my grandmother is a pawn used to get intel from me, but my brother and I have an understanding. He doesn’t agree with me being out of line, but he also doesn’t approve of all the decisions our family has made. He just prefers the path of least resistance.”

---