Page 92 of The Twins

Remorse is a word I don’t understand, and because of that, I deserve everything that’s coming for me.

“Remo,” Arthur Robbins, the second-in-command of our unit, sighs as I take a seat in his office. It’s closed off and dark. The furniture has seen better days, and it stinks of negligence.

I’m not here to accuse anyone but fuck it. I have to report to Arthur because he’s higher in the chain of command. I don’t want to report to him because, quite frankly, he’s a corrupt piece of shit that I want nothing to do with.

My crew consists of fifty people working day and night on issues the men above us have no clue about. I’ve transitioned from defensive player of the year to offensive side bitch of the year. Since it’s a twenty-four-hour job, I don’t have enough time to complain and be sour.

They see us press buttons on a controller, believing that it’s what it takes.

Fuck that.

“To what do I owe the honor?” I ask, taking a seat by Arthur’s desk. The chair’s legs are shaky, and I decide not to pull it into any direction before it breaks, and it ends up being my fault.

“You’ve worked hard, Remo,” Arthur says, opening up the folder on his desk. I see my picture from I sit, the one I took on my first day at the office back in Fort Mote.

I sent that picture to Andre, and he carried it with him in his wallet. I found out when I searched through the things the hospital handed over to me after his untimely death.

My limbs grow weak, and I’m grateful for Arthur when he starts talking. “You rose through the ranks in Fort Mote almost instantly. You became a national hero, Remo. Nobody knew who you were, but without you, life in our country would have been compromised. Our voting system would’ve been rigged, and the very base of our institution would’ve been shaken.”

“Thank you,” I reply because it’s what I have to do. I fight hard not to roll my eyes. I shouldn’t be this disobedient, but titles don’t mean much to me anymore. I’ve worked too hard in the last decade to be preached to by people with nepotism-earned titles.

“Your arrival on our base was made possible by our change in direction, and you swiftly adapted to the new developments. More soldiers were sent home, everyone but your unit. You are responsible for the technology that can’t be left unattended just yet,” Arthur continues. He picks up my picture, and he stares at it with a questionable expression on his face.

Is it jealousy? Fuck if I know.

“You’ve done well in developing the most efficient drone with the smallest size and least weight. It’s the most intelligent drone yet, and your cooperation with our weapon manufacturers is greatly appreciated,” Arthur says. He places my picture back in the folder, and he shuts it. “Long story short, Martin wants to give you a raise.”

I nod, my eyes widening. I process the information he’s given me, although I’ve been ready for it. There’s a but somewhere in his statement, and I’m about to find out why Martin, our commanding officer, is not the one to have this conversation with me.

“To give you more responsibility, we had to do another background check.” Oh. My body stiffens. He can’t read anything from my frozen face. I’ve trained myself in resting bitch face. “Remo, I appreciate you. You’re aware of that, I’m sure?”

I nod. “Of course.”

“What is your relationship to Andre David?” Arthur asks.

“He’s dead. I doubt it’s of any importance,” I argue, leaning away from the desk Arthur sits behind. The chair I sit on shakes, and I calm my butt down.

“It is important. I asked you a question, and I expect an answer,” Arthur insists. His relaxed smile upsets me.

“Why is my private life important?”

“You have no private life if you want to get your raise,” Arthur reminds me.

“He was my friend,” I lie. It physically hurts me to downplay my relationship with Andre, but I can’t tell the truth. There are policies in place meant to discriminate against people like Andre, people like… Me. I may be bisexual, but in their eyes, I’d be gay as fuck, and it wouldn’t matter that I like women, too.

Not that it should matter.

Me being the coward that I am, I don’t feel the need to stand up for myself.

Arthur asks, “Why would a friend leave you his fortune?”

“Excuse me?” Who did they hire to look into me? My heartbeat races, and the numbness of doing nothing returns. There’s a reason why I keep to myself and work almost all day, every day. I don’t have to meet people and pretend to care about what they have to say to me.

“You’re a billionaire, in the shadows of most of Andre David’s companies. He’s left it all to you, hasn’t he? Your name’s nowhere in the official documents because both you and David know how to hide your traces, but our team of investigators figured it out.

“I have a job, and my job’s here. I don’t have another job. I’m not involved in any other business,” I assure the man. It’s a partial lie. On my short vacations in San Ricardo, I communicate with Andre’s people through secure and untraceable lines. I make sure to cover my traces like Arthur claims I do.

“You’re not supposed to lie to me,” Arthur says. His eyebrows are raised, his eyes looking down on me. “There’s a conflict of interest, and you’re knee-deep in it. Admit it.”

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