Page 17 of The Reckoning
The Tower rises from the downtown skyline like a middle finger to modesty and restraint. Sixty-eight floors of steel and glass, crowned with the illuminated “H” that’s become synonymous with power in this city. Not as solid as Drew’s empire, but close. Drew’s family went straight for the money. Mine…straight for politics. Power. From certain angles, it looks like a knife stabbing into the sky. I smile as I think about Richard only managing to keep a floor of it in recent years. His power has steadily waned.
Fitting for a family built on backstabbing.
The underground parking garage recognizes the car’s RFID, and the barriers automatically lift as I approach. Aries’s designated spot waits near the private elevator—close enough to be convenient for the heir apparent, but not as close as Richard’s. Another small reminder of the hierarchy and who really matters.
The elevator requires a thumbprint, which should be a problem but isn’t. I secured a card when an “accident” scarred my fingers so they don’t register right anymore. The phantom pain rises, but I squash it down.
As the elevator rises, my stomach drops in inverse proportion. Forty-eight floors up to the executive level. Forty-eight floors closer to the man who threw me away like garbage.
The doors slide open silently, revealing the reception area to Richard’s office suite—all marble and muted lighting, designed to intimidate visitors while appearing welcoming. Corporate doublespeak translated into interior design.
“Mr. Hayes.” The receptionist—young, attractive, carefully selected—smiles with professional warmth. “Your father is expecting you. Go right in.”
Of course he is. Richard Hayes is always expecting something—obedience, excellence, submission. He’s spent a lifetime training Aries to provide all three on command.
Too bad he’s getting me instead.
I straighten my tie, a gesture I’ve seen Aries perform countless times in the footage I studied before taking his place. A nervous tell, one of many I’ve cataloged and replicated. The small details that sell the performance.
Richard’s office door looms ahead, heavy wood imported from some endangered forest somewhere. Because nothing says success like consuming things that can’t be replaced.
I don’t knock. Aries wouldn’t. The entitled don’t announce themselves.
The office beyond is exactly as I remember from my reconnaissance—cavernous, deliberately imposing, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a God’s-eye view of the city below. The same as the other few times I’ve been called to perform like a trained monkey for Richard’s board members. The space is dominated by a desk the size of a small boat, behind which sits the architect of my nightmares.
Richard Hayes.
He doesn’t look up immediately, a power move so transparent it would be laughable if it weren’t so effective. Make them wait. Make them watch. Establish dominance before the conversation even begins.
I’ve studied this man for years, learning his habits, patterns, and weaknesses. Memorized the lines of his face from photographs and video footage. Imagined this confrontation in a thousand different scenarios.
None of them prepared me for the reality of standing in his presence, of breathing the same air as the man who decided I was disposable. I have previously, of course, but not often here…in the seat of his power.
“Aries.” He finally looks up, hazel eyes—my eyes, our eyes—assessing me with clinical precision. “You’re late.”
“Traffic,” I reply, the lie coming easily. Aries would make excuses. Aries would want approval.
I move to the chair across from his desk, forcing my body to adopt the loose-limbed confidence of the privileged. Not too rigid. Not too formal. The casual arrogance of someone who’s never had to fight for their place in the world.
“The Tokyo acquisition,” Richard continues, sliding a folder across the polished desk surface. “The numbers don’t add up.”
I take the folder without opening it. “I thought Westlake was handling the due diligence.”
“They were. They failed.” Richard’s mouth thins with disapproval. “Which is why I need you to take point on this. Fly out tomorrow and sort through the mess they’ve made.”
Tomorrow. Japan. Halfway across the world from Lilian, from the reckoning I’ve set in motion.
Not fucking happening.
“I have commitments here,” I say, careful to keep my tone on the side of respect.”The charity gala for Patricia’s foundation?—”
“Can proceed without you,” Richard cuts in. “This is my priority.”
The casual dismissal, the absolute expectation of compliance—it’s exactly how he’s always operated. How he’s controlled Aries all these years. How he’s built an empire on the backs of people who know better than to say no.
My fingers tighten around the folder, paper crinkling slightly under the pressure. I force them to relax.
“Of course,” I say, the words tasting like ash. “If that’s what you need.” But I sure as fuck won’t be stepping foot out of the city right now.
