Page 4 of Unmasking You

How fucking wrong I was.

My life is a pile-up of regrets, and Jamie Wilson is the biggest of them all.

“Shane.” My dad’s impatient tone brings me back to the room, those spiteful eyes on me once again.

I smile, even though I know I’ll regret it, but right now I’m regretting even more what I did a long time ago because of him—and because of the name I inherited when I was born.

“Sorry, Mr Campbell,” I say to him, and I cringe like I always do at the ridiculous demand that I address him like that. I’ll never get used to it.

“Your department.”

“Yes sir.” Then I spend the next fifteen minutes sharing about my department, the challenges we’d faced and those we might face in the future. I share even more about my colleagues’ achievements and enjoy my father’s lips getting thinner and thinner the more I share about how proud I am of my team. He disagrees, of course, because I can’t do anything well and neither can my team. I ignore him and continue.

“The foundation…”

“Your fifteen minutes are up.”

I open my mouth to protest, knowing it will piss him off more.

“They’re finished. Tim, you’re up.”

Tim looks at me as if to say sorry, but we both know he’s taking the floor.

I lean back in my chair and resume tapping the table with my fingers, this time in frustration and regret, because I knew what I was doing and the consequences that would come with it, yet I did it anyway. Jamie Wilson was playing with my head and making me reckless.

I need to stop this behaviour now and think about all those kids counting on me to have a decent life.

Another dirty look has me stopping, and then I pretend to listen to everything and everyone, and my dad seems to relax now that his will has been followed.

I thank all the deities when the last one wraps up, and I jump out of my chair, ready for today to be done so I can be away from the office.

“Shane.”

Fuck! “Yes sir?”

“A word.”

There is never a please; it’s always an order. I don’t miss the pitying glances I receive from the others, but also the relief of it not being them staying behind.

I turn around to face my dad only when the door closes. I can’t stop the inevitable, but at least I can delay it.

I watch my father walk toward his desk and take a seat, and now more than ever I understand how much I’ve fucked up. The last time he did the same thing, it took me years to go back home.

“Do we have a problem?”

“No sir.”

“Then next time, don’t embarrass me or the company with less than professional behaviour. You seem to forget that we need to set an example for others to follow.”

“Yes sir.” Maybe it’s not as bad as I thought.

“When you do not follow the example, you make me look like a joke.”

“Yes sir.”

When he continues with his monologue, I switch off, until he mentions the Proud To Be Foundation and my blood freezes. “What?”

“I’ll be taking some of the money away from your little plaything to fund something else,” he says, standing up after glancing at his watch and then walking around his desk until he stops next to me.

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