Page 106 of Severed Rivalry
“The fuck you aren’t.” His meaty fist pounds on the stone table.
“Calm yourself.” I look toward the house but return my gaze as not to give away that I have guests.
“You are in charge while I’m ‘on administrative leave.’ That should look okay to the outside world. I won’t lose everything I’ve worked for.”
“Okay, then.” My acquiescence doesn’t tip him off.
“Right. We need to discuss the Lakewood project.”
“Not if you’re on administrative leave. I have it from here.” I push to stand. “Good night.”
“Sit your ass down, boy.”
I turn, not leaning in, not giving in, not bothered at all by the man who would sacrifice me and then think he can dictate how I work based on his whims. “You’re trespassing. Leave or I’ll call the cops.” I whistle.
Eleanor, who’s been sniffing around the back after her potty break, comes to my side, sitting like she’s trained to do.
“If you’re not gone in three minutes, I’ll send security footage”—I nod to the camera on the corner of the house—“to the PD and the Sheriff’s office. I’m sure they’d be quick to respond to a drug trafficker who is trespassing.”
“Fuck you, Cian. I’m your father. You will not treat me like this.”
“You’re nothing to me but a squatter in my life, and I will treat you as such.”
I turn my back on him, knowing that dismissing him is harder on his pride than anything I could say. “Come on, Eleanor. Time for bed.”
I close and lock the door, giving my pup scratches behind her ears and across her neck.
As my father’s car drives off, I send a message to our IT and accounting teams, copying legal counsel.
All,
Seamus Murphy is on administrative leave indefinitely.
Per his request, I will helm Murphy Enterprise moving forward.
Please lock his building access cards, all email and server permissions, and bank access immediately.
Please confirm when done and keep operations moving smoothly during this transitional time.
Cian Murphy
Why I didn’t think of it before is a huge facepalm moment. But it’s done now.
Ayla has spent nearly three weeks on my books. Her passion is photography, but our father forced a business degree on her just as he did on me. She focused on accounting, but refused to sit the CPA exam, knowing her gift for numbers was far outweighed by her creative talents. She got the degree, all the while trying to figure out how to avoid getting under our father’s thumb.
She hates accounting. She hates our father more, and never wanted to be in the family business. Here she is elbow deep in analysis of the company, sorting out his mess, and not being able to live her passion.
I owe her a fucking coffee bean farm—or stock in one—as a thank you.
I have no intention of keeping or managing M.E. If I’m in charge, I’ll happily close the business. The ultimate fuck you to Seamus Murphy is putting him on leave then shuttering the doors to his company while acting in his stead.
Fuck yes. This is going to be fun.
I start another email.
Christian,
I’ll have several solid staffers who will need new employment within the next month. If you have vacancies, can we discuss?
