Page 27 of Hotshot Mogul

I stood and paced, needing to move. Rain pounded the window. “She keeps insisting she must leave soon—like, right after the meeting tomorrow. I want to help her stay. I’m not sure she wants to—let me help her, or stay. She likes me, I think. I know. There’s something she’s not telling me yet.”

“Why would someone from a tiny island spearhead a petition drive in Michigan?” Dad asked.

“Is there someone else, a competitor, who could be behind this?” Mom asked. “They could be paying her or forcing her to do it. It doesn’t add up.” Mom shrugged.

Fuck. I didn’t think of that—that someone else could be behind it and using her. She seemed so innocent. Was someone preying on her naivety? I wanted to punch something.

Dad’s phone pinged. Mom glanced down at it and gasped. “Maria Rosa, right?”

He tossed the phone onto the bed. The text filled the whole screen. “Kendall. Deep breaths, darling, please.”

Sweat dribbled down my spine. “What’s wrong?”

“Maria Rosa,” Mom said. “Some of her, the things she’s told us over the years… They’re way out there. This is about you, again.”

“She says someone means you harm,” Dad said. “Two females, she says, will battle. One wants to help you and the other—she sees purple on her or near her—means to do you serious harm.”

“She’s getting up there in years. This could be dementia. Either way, tell him the rest,” Mom said.

Dad swallowed hard.

“Tell him,” insisted Mom.

“She saw you near an oak tree in a Native American village in another, earlier time. You were a Native man. The woman you were with was trapped in an abusive marriage. In your culture, women in her position had a choice. She chose you. She carried your baby. It didn’t end well for you. Braves from a rival tribe killed you before you could bring her into your own tribe. She watched it happen.”

The room spun. I slumped back against the wall. Images flickered before me. I saw blood, so much blood, and smelled death, like meat gone bad. I retched and stumbled to Mom’s bathroom, where I hurled into the sink.

I ran the faucet and splashed cold water on my face. This was about Mom, not me, for fuck’s sake. Maria Rosa’s ramblings were utter bullshit. I’d watched too many virtual war movies. My heart hammered and my chest tightened. Heat flooded my face. I returned to my parents and stretched my face into a smile.

They looked worried as hell. “Breakfast buffet didn’t agree with me.”

Mom patted the edge of her bed. “Enough about Maria Rosa. She loves you dearly, and she’s worried. You’re here, you’re fine. Tell us about the new development.”

On autopilot, I reeled off my spiel. I left the tree stuff to the end. “Anneliese’s trees are dying. I will harvest the wood and use it on site.”

Mom cut me off. “What does Anneliese want Clynes Development to do about the trees instead?”

“She’s fighting so hard to save them. She’s so passionate and focused. It broke her heart when Rufus, the arborist, showed her how diseased that fucking oak tree is.”

Dad raised his eyebrows. I knew he used that word in front of Mom, but I never had before. “The oak tree you seem to hate is part of Maria Rosa’s vision,” Mom said.

“Bullshit,” I said, way too loud.

“Hey,” Dad snapped.

“All right,” Mom said. “You said you were ‘supposed to present’ to the city commission tomorrow. Why wouldn’t you present?”

“Because I want to be here instead. I’m sorry I yelled. It’s just that I’ve never believed in that stuff Maria Rosa or her granddaughter talk about. I know how much you love them, though.”

“We love you,” Mom said. She looked at Dad. A look of understanding so tender passed between them that, out of habit, I looked down. I felt left out of their love for each other sometimes, and ashamed I felt that way. They had so much love for each other. I was jealous of that. It was only childish garbage.

“We want you to go back and give your presentation,” Mom said. “And be with Anneliese.” She wagged her finger at me. “You both need to be honest with each other.”

Dad typed into his phone for a bit. “There’s a flight to Detroit Metro on the private airline I used to fly for,” he said. “It leaves from Tampa this afternoon. If you want it.”

Mom reached for my hand. “I’ll keep you posted.” She squeezed my hand, hard. “You keep us posted, too. Promise?”

I nodded, hugged her, then turned toward Dad. “How much do I owe you for the ticket? As soon as I can charge my phone…”

---