Page 30 of Van Cort
We stare at each other, both of us using the same manipulative smile that we used years ago. I’d like to say I’m uninterested in the thought of game playing with him, but it’s difficult to deny the very genes inside me. Especially when he’s close. We are the same, in every way. Same nature, same ability to outmanoeuvre each other. Same tendencies.
“Why aren’t you drinking?” he asks.
“I don’t anymore.”
“Really? Well, that’s fucking dull too. Does that make you sane these days?”
“I was never insane.”
“Debatable.”
Eventually, he slowly removes the tie from his neck and flicks his top button open. “I don’t know how the fuck you do this every day. It’s restrictive as hell. I’d have to drink all day to manage it.”
“It’s called being a grown-up, West. You wouldn’t understand.”
“And why is that?” I look at the music box, annoyed that the latent guilt made me. “Say her name for me.” No. I snort at the attempt to aggravate me, though, and look back at him. “Go on. You must think about her. I do. I remember her running through the forest sometimes, smiling and laughing, from me and towards you. Wrong direction really.”
“Enough, West. What do you want?”
“To engage.”
“In what?”
“You. And your new little thing.” My eyes narrow.
“Why?”
“I deserve it.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“All this time and you’re denying me some fun?”
I laugh and shake my head. “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of fun without any interference from anyone and the very healthy trust fund you’ve had since our nineteenth.”
“It’s barely livable compared to the lion’s share you now have. Should be half and half, shouldn’t it?” My teeth grit at the inference and part truth in it, despite nothing of this company or holdings being his. “You’re only a few minutes older than me, Rhett. That’s the only difference between us. My name is still Van Cort, and, after careful consideration, I’ve decided I deserve compensation.”
“Compensation? For what?”
He leans forward and pours another drink. “Emotional torment. Daddy dearest agreed.” I frown at the mention of Father and wait for more information. “Although he was fucking senile by the end. He enjoyed listening to the story, though. Exactly how it happened. Every fucking detail. He laughed at it.” He downs his large double in one gulp. “I nearly killed him for that. Didn’t, though. I decided the time would come for revenge, and it wasn’t really him I wanted to aim at, despite his faults.”
We stare at each other again, and a sigh of regret wants to leave me. “You visited him?”
“A few times. As you. He never knew. You were quite persuasive about me being able to have half the fortune. I almostgot him to sign, but then the asshole died and that opportunity was lost.”
“He never would have signed anything. He knew the difference between us. I have the scars to prove it.”
“Scars?” He snorts. “The only scars on you are in your fucked-up head.” He smiles and gets up, walking over to a run of sculptures I’ve got on a sideboard. “Still, that’s the one thing I’ve kept remembering, because you deserve that pain, Rhett.” He fingers a small, black marble bust. “And I’m going to help you along with remembering what happened. We’re going to play. Like adults rather than the children we used to be. I’m really very good at being you now. I’ve had plenty of time to learn how to be callous as fuck.” One flick of his fingers and the delicate sculpture tumbles and crashes to the floor, shattering. “If you don’t agree, well, I’ll make things difficult.”
I look at the ten-thousand-dollar art on the floor. “Not a child anymore, no?” He moves on to the next one, a companion piece, and fingers that. “Don’t.” It crashes to the floor with the same amount of gentle persuasion as the first.
“Imagine the damage I can do when I really put some effort into it.” The same amount as me, I would think. “And you’re quite capable of destruction. We already know that.”
I stand and look away from him, frustrated with whatever he’s not getting around to actually saying. “This is ridiculous. What do you want? Half of everything?”
