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Stephen pushed the door open. He catches sight of his father and a half-naked man. The pair are in a suggestive position with his fathers hands all over him.
He furrows his eyebrows and averts his gaze. A subtle, soft kind of pain twists it's way into his heart.
The tousled brown hair, fair skin and sweet-looking eyes are a dead giveaway. Ryan Williams, the current man Michael is obsessing over. From the age of sixteen, an accidental discovery led him to the fact his father is an infidel. This young man is nothing new and his mother doesn't seem to care.
All he knows is that Michael found him off the streets and took him under his wing. The young man, Ryan, has no say in the matter.
A dog that bites the hand of its master gets put down.
Michael makes him do all sorts of dirty work, sexual fantasies included. An argument would be pointless. The speech and rules set in the office about professionalism, yet he goes and does that.
No surprise there.
It reminds him of his arrogant, flirtatious cousin who does the same. However, Tristan knows when and where to do such acts.
"I'll call for you soon." Michael pats his head.
The sad, tearful relief in Ryan's eyes chokes his conscience. Silent gratitude. Ryan nods and closes the door behind him. It could just be his imagination, but the energy in the atmosphere becomes thick and sluggish.
"This better be important."
Michael readjusts his belt buckle and reclines in his leather seat. He rubs his eyes and stretches. The smell of stale air and cleaning agent is still fresh.
If his father expects an apology, he will not find any.
Stephen keeps silent. A quick glance around the room and fresh evidence is scattered around. Tissues on the floor, an untouched pile of work and the little vases and trinkets are knocked over. Delightful. He rolls his eyes.
Count your days, father dearest.
He has no reason to fear his own father. Stephen started out as an intern at this company, put up with nonsense just like everyone else and slowly worked his way up. Only a few more years until he can kick him out, thanks to the board of directors. He's successfully won them over and his parent is too busy with that young man to even notice.
Call it a low blow, but Stephen put the stocks in his name. When his tolerance for uneccesary crap hits the breaking point, Michael will be removed.
Stephen rolls up his sleeves and reclines on the couch, crossing his legs. He turns on the TV and flips the channels slowly. A fair majority of news channels question the company and the current head.
Another headache, as if the territory disputes weren't enough.
Alone or beside his father, he can't do a thing.
A new building owned by their company had collapsed, causing the death of too many people. Unfortunately, an entire class of young children and one teacher are the victims. The media immediately paints the company in a dark light, saying it was done on purpose. The families are currently outside the property, demanding justice for their children. One media outlet reveals the building had been rushed and used below average materials.
Stephen hasn't done enough digging yet to confirm these statements, but at this rate the public's opinion won't change anytime soon.
"I thought this had been taken care of." Michael pinches the bridge of his nose.
Ignoring an issue does not mean it's been dealt with.
"I arranged a meeting. The rest of the board await you, father."
He brings Michael to the conference room and makes eye contact with those seated. At the sight of him, they all stand.
He exchanges a look with his father and closes the door behind him. Not even a minute in and he can hear yells followed by accusations. Even behind a closed door, their voices are as clear as day.
Not his problem. His father had it coming.
He doesn't need to interfere, Michael would get himself kicked out at this rate. Stephen whistles a tune to himself, continuing with his paperwork. He nibbles on his fingernail as he reads report after report.
The employee in charge of that project is nowhere to be found. If not dead, he'd be on the run. With the whole country looking for him, there's a slim chance of waiting it out. He chucks the folders aside and leaves his office.
At this rate, they'll use the family of that employee as the scapegoat.
He makes eye contact with the other employees, staring at him with a look of uncertainty.
"Focus on your work." Stephen narrows his eyes. They look down and whisper among themselves. He can only imagine what the victim's families are feeling, having lost their loved ones out of the blue.
Ryan's expression burns in his memory, clawing at his conscience. Like an eager animal, hungry to feast on his guilt until he's an empty shell.
Stephen scans the envelopes on Michael's desk, clearly untouched. He sighs and throws the bundle of papers off his desk, scattering them everywhere.
Distractions. How much more? In a couple of hours, they'd have to address the media.
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A whole row of news reporters and photographers in the front with the families of the victims. Merely being present is nerve-wracking. Michael has a stoic expression, but the look in his eyes said otherwise. He has changed into an all-black formal suit and ordered a team of stylists to apply makeup to make himself look pale and distressed.
Even in a situation like this, he's still wondering how to make more money. Despicable.
He glances at the crowd. A mix of nosy reporters, victims and some employees. The entire board sat in the front row.
The sound of footsteps stumbling around on the carpet and questions being yelled across, ultimately ignored, as his father walks past them. The security team is barely holding them back.
A tap on his shoulder makes him jump. At the sight of blonde hair and a leather jacket, Stephen rolls his eyes.
Terrible timing, as usual.
"Lookin' sharp, cousin!" Tristan smirked. His hair had been done hastily and his shirt was halfway tucked in. There were marks on his neck.
If asked, he'd merely wave his hand and say just mosquito bites. Yes, mosquitos in cold weather. Must be a rather large insect.
He clearly did not receive the memo. Dress code is formal in black.
For a man who constantly flirts and has far too many one night stands, he is a terrible liar.
Honestly, how much longer would he act like a teenager?
It's as if he's desperately looking around for something but he doesn't what it is, so he takes and tries anything within reach. Tossing it into the trash when it doesn't match, like a child.
"Have you been well? " Stephen crossed his arms. All this messing around of his is bound to get him sick someday, especially with the constant partying.
If he didn't act like this, he wouldn't be Tristan anymore.
"Aw, you love me that much?" Tristan cooed, patting his cheek. Love is the last thing he'd feel for an irresponsible, arrogant and overly confident relative.
"I hope you get run over."
He hadn't even cuffed his jeans. Did he stay at the apartment again? No different than Michael indeed. He wonders if Uncle Henri, Tristan's father, is the same, or worse. He wouldn't know, his cousin doesn't talk about his parents at all.
Tristan gushes, exaggerating his movements on purpose. He ruins his neatly gelled hair just because he can.
"Love you too, cous'." Tristan grinned.
How Tristan can transition from a cheeky grin to a dead serious look never ceased to amaze him. He remembers Isabelle calls it duality.
Could it be considered a talent? He'd love to learn how.
He pulls Tristan aside. The pair stand far enough to observe the crowd. If he'd trip and fall, his reliable partner would laugh first before stepping in to help. The chatter and the countless camera flashes cease for a moment.
"No apology can suffice for the loss of your loved ones. As a father, I understand. I admit I am at fault," Michael paused.
He holds his breath and Tristan pats his back. Whenever his cousin comforted him, he knew words wouldn't work. Even if his head barely reached his shoulders, he'd hug without shame.
In response, he ruffles his hair.
"Not again!" Tristan cries and slaps his hand away and he chuckles. For a moment it's as if they were kids again.
"Oh?" He smirked.
"Consider yourself lucky I can't reach your head." Tristan pouts and looks away. The two focus their attention on Michael, who has his lips set in a thin line.
"I cannot bring back the dead, but I swear, I will bring justice." He finished.
Stephen has been given explicit orders to hide the identity of the employee, Adam Blair. Wherever Adam is, he deserves some time in jail for his actions. He even has a family of his own and it's only a matter of time before people harass them.
Money isn't everything.
People realize that far too late. As James did, bleeding to death with a fat paycheck in his pocket.
Not again.
Michael entertains the requests of the families affected, away from the media. A man in a red hoodie pushes past the security, running straight at his father. Stephen loosens his tie and dashes towards the man, successfully throwing him off balance.
Stephen places his hands behind his back.
"Do not dare imagine it." He threatens. The stranger struggles against his grip.
"Idiot." Tristan comments, staring at the man in red with a grin.
"It takes one to know one." Stephen smiles in return.
"Hey!"
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Stephen stands before a house, surrounded by the media. Of course, someone would leak the information. He waves his hand and the bodyguards shoo them away without much difficulty.
It's a humble, normal-looking house. The word murderer is sprayed onto the walls in red, along with other terrible words. A broken window, fixed with duct tape and a wooden board.
He rings the doorbell.
A little boy peeks at him from the window, followed by the mother. He shows his card and she quietly invites them in.
She's seen better days. Tired, puffy red eyes and a sickly complexion. The sink is chock-full of plates as the smell of food about to rot reach his nose. Tristan waves and pinches the bridge of his and Stephen slaps his arm.
Don't be rude.
Tristan flashes Stephen a look. He dismisses the bodyguards and steps inside the house.
While it is average sized, the warm happy environment made him comfortable. Family portraits of all sorts are hanged on the walls, followed by trophies and medals. The eldest son, Axel Blair is a promising athlete. Judging from the report cards and photos on display, he must be on a scholarship. He seems to take after his mother more, matching her dark hair and tender round eyes.
She serves them some tea. With shaking hands, she sets down the cup. Allison Blair, the wife of the absentee employee. Even with faint wrinkles on her skin and the loss of melanin in her hair, her beauty still shows.
"Has he come by?" Tristan asked. He takes a sip of the tea and freezes. The taste of sweet, light peach tea is refreshing.
It's a low class, cheap brand but it's fine.
"I don't even know where to start." Allison sobs. She buries her face in her hands, hanging her head.
The door opens abruptly and a young boy stands in the doorway, his hair dripping with egg yolk. She rushes over and asks what happened, but her son shoves her hands away.
"Axel!" She exclaims. He stares at Stephen and slams a door behind him.
"I'm terribly sorry." She wipes a tear from her eye, shrinking her shoulders.
"Please, think nothing of it. Now, what can you tell us?" Tristan opens topic, reclining in his chair too comfortably. While she did say to make themselves at home, he took it literally.
"Excuse me..?" She tilts her head with tired, tearful eyes.
Stephen explains more in detail, shooting his cousin a glance. He merely smiles sheepishly in return. They offer some protection to the family, but they can only do so much.
A little boy comes in and runs towards his mother. He smiles and wraps his arms around her waist.
"Mama." He says and taps her cheek. He wipes her tears.
"Yes, Mark?" Allison asks, blinking through tears. Unlike his older brother, he has blonde hair.
"Mama!" Mark cries, starting to tear up. Stephen smiles, reminded of his daughter. Amelia did that often too, crying if she saw tears on his face.
"We can still see fireworks?" He asks, rubbing his face.
"Yes, yes of course honey." Allison kissed his forehead.
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Two weeks pass by, and the harassment got worse. After further digging, turns out Adam did lie to Michael, his father. But it wasn't for personal gain, but to be able to afford the medical treatment his wife needed. He pocketed the extra money and that's it.
The children couldn't attend school without getting bullied and threatened. The young boy, Mark, showed up with bruises on his face the other day. The older sibling, Axel, took it personal. He took out his anger, denying all the rubbish people said about his family.
Only a child and already dealing with this.
Stephen drops by the house. He rings the doorbell, not receiving any answer. Was there no one home? He knew they stayed in during Sunday. He takes another route, towards the back of the house, he effortlessly slid open the glass door.
She really didn't lock up.
There's a chance she might feel responsible. After all, Adam cut the budget, killing people for her sake. He understood why he did that, but it doesn't justify his actions. At some point in his life, he'd have done the same for Kate.
No point in that, now.
Not hearing any movement, he looks around. He finds a piece of paper left on the table.
A suicide note?
Stephen rubs it in between his fingers. The door bursts open, Axel looks around in a panic. He snatches the note out of Stephens hands and covers his mouth, tears spilling out of his eyes.
"She has my little brother!" He exclaims. Stephen said nothing more and gets into his car.
"Any idea where they might be?" He asks, speeding past traffic.
A ticket can wait, the life of two cannot.
"The carnival. Mark wanted to see the fireworks!" Axel said as he chews his nails. Stephen tells him to put on a seat belt and slams on the gas.
Of course, it had to be overly crowded today. The sun had already set and the bright lights came to life, much to the delight of the customers. The smell of cotton candy, popcorn and other sugary, processed food. The sound of delight while on a fast ride and the celebration of winning a plush toy.
Imagining biting into such greasy, processed food is enough to choke his arteries. Hard pass on that.
From the Ferris wheel to the roller coasters, he has no clue where to look. Axel taps his arm and points at an old ride. Judging from how there are no lights on, it's no longer in operation.
The sound of soles against flimsy, thin metal stairs and desperation clawing at his limbs.
They arrive at the scene.
Stephen glances up, seeing Allison trying to pull her child with her past the edge. Mark is crying, pulling away from her as they yell at each other.
Idiot!
He dashes in, jumping past a flight of stairs with Axel following. Stephen kicks the door open, sending pieces of wood everywhere. At the sight, his heart nearly drops.
One more step and they'd fall to their death.
Hopefully, the flooring they stood on wouldn't give in.
"Mom, stop!" Axel screamed. She freezes and Mark slips out of her grip. He runs towards his elder brother, his face puffy as he wails.
She laughs and cries at the same time. Allison waves her hands with a smile and takes a step back, slipping out of sight. Stephen sprints towards her, reaching for her hand.
She is an arm's length away, but she closes her eyes.
"Thank you." She said.
"No!"
The sound of a thud on concrete made him squeeze his eyes shut. The children run towards him, but Stephen pull them in a hug, making sure they wouldn't be able to see. Axel slips out of his grip and walls towards the edge, a blank look on his face.
"Mom?"
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