One of the best things about having obscene amounts of generational money is that very few people dare to cross my family. And the ones who do, pay for it.
With great wealth, comes great power. I try never to take advantage of the lavish amount of privilege I was born into, but I will do whatever it takes to protect my family. If that means putting up with the a-hole that tried to take us down, while the two of us fix the damage he caused, then so be it. I’ll suffer through this time with him, in order to set things right.
When I get to the driver’s side of my brand-new Mercedes, which I had illegally parked in my haste to face-off with Joe, I whirl around to instruct him, “You can follow me to my office in your car.”
The clueless man is all smiles as he walks to the passenger’s side of my car and climbs in, saying, “I’ll ride with you. I was arrested at work and delivered to jail in a police cruiser, so I don’t have a vehicle here.”
He’s acting like I’m doing him a favor. I clench my teeth together as I slide behind the wheel of my car. This is supposed to be a punishment for him, but the blasted man seems to be enjoying himself. That’s the last thing I want––to reward the person who tried to ruin my family’s reputation.
After making an illegal U-turn, I head toward the tall building where I run my empire. I drive too fast. It’s always been one of my secret pleasures, but I take my speed-demon ways to the extreme today in the hopes of rattling the man beside me.
Joe remains as cool as a cucumber and looks like he’s having the time of his life. One would never guess the precarious situation he is in by looking at his relaxed posture and satisfied smile. I’ll drive us safely, of course… I’m not a lunatic. But that doesn’t mean he’s off the hook. He messed with my family, and no one gets away with that.
We don’t speak as I park in my primo, reserved spot in the garage next to our building nor in the elevator on the way up to my executive suite of offices on the top floor.
When the elevator doors slide open, Joe lets out a low, impressed whistle as he looks around my plush office.
I ignore the tingle of pride that flutters in my belly over his obvious approval. Brinkley and I hand-selected every single item on this entire floor to make it feel like a home-away-from-home for us, and there’s no denying that we did a fantastic job.
Brinkley’s eyes nearly pop out of his head at the sight of Joe. In an instant, he stands and swishes around his desk to greet us. “Well, hello, Mr. Biceps. If there’s anything you need from me, just say the word, and I’ll jump on it.”
If Joe is bothered by Brinkley squeezing his upper arm or openly flirting with him, he gives no indication of it. I can’t help but be impressed that he doesn’t seem to have that toxic masculinity streak that so many straight guys have where they either fear or ridicule gay men.
Joe thanks the other man, but doesn’t make any requests, so I say, “Please bring tea service and a snack tray to the Executive Conference Room, along with a powerful computer for Joe. We have a lot of work to do.”
“On it,” Brinkley answers, already moving to make my requests a reality.
By the time we settle in at the conference table, Brinkley arrives with a laptop. He makes quick work of getting Joe logged into the office wi-fi, before hurrying off to get our refreshments.
Giving Joe a no-nonsense look, I say, “The story with the private information about my family that you stole and sold for a profit has already been pulled from the Atlanta Bugle, and all of the responsible parties on that end have been fired.”
Joe cringes at the last word, but I keep my gaze steady on him, wanting him to know how serious I am about this infringement.
“Did you really have to fire them? They were just doing their jobs.” His tone is dripping with accusation.
“Publicly posting that my father is not my grandfather’s biological son was their job?” I ask, with barely contained fury bubbling in my belly.
“Yes,” he fires back. “Anything to do with the Morrow family is a huge public interest story, especially in the greater Atlanta area.”
Hating it that I sound defensive, I add, “I’m not the one in the wrong here.”
At his steady, no-nonsense gaze, I cross my arms over my chest––likely making myself look like a petulant child. “We need to figure out a way to contain this news to limit the damage done by the leak. The original story has been taken down, but people had already begun sharing it and discussing it on social media, so it’s still spreading like wildfire.”
In a calm, rational tone, he says, “At this point, I doubt if there is a way to contain it. The revelation has likely already taken on wings of its own, and anything we try to do to curb it may just draw more attention to it. Wouldn’t it be better to just ride out the storm, until something new grabs the squirrel-like attention of the internet?”
“Morrows don’t just ride out storms, like fearful weenies. We take control and crash through the waves on our own terms,” I say, allowing my obvious family pride to shine through.
It hits me, then, like a punch in the stomach. I’ve been aware of it for a while, but I never truly allowed it to fully sink in… I’m not actually a Morrow. My dad’s biological father could be the mailman, for all we know. And since my grandmother passed away a long time ago, we’ll likely never know the truth. My surname––the source of so much of my pride, wealth, and stature in the community––is based on an enormous lie.
Unable to stop myself from being vulnerable, I say through teary eyes, “My entire identity is centered around being a Morrow. I’m nothing without my family name.”
Joe raises his hands to indicate our plush surroundings. “I’d say you’ve done quite well for yourself. You built this branch of the company, Alexandra. It’s yours, not your family’s.”
“Yes, I’ve built my own empire, but that wouldn’t have been possible without the significant start-up capital and door-opening privileges that come from being a Morrow,” I admit, unsure why I’m confiding in the stranger who caused this leak of one of our family’s biggest secrets.
Brinkley unobtrusively enters the room with a rolling cart stacked with all kinds of goodies. I swipe at my cheeks, but he can likely tell that I’ve been crying. Although I don’t keep secrets from my trusty assistant, I don’t like allowing him to see me looking weak.
Straightening my shoulders, I ask Joe, “How did you find out about my father’s paternity? I thought all of our private records were sealed and buried. I hired the best and brightest computer whiz in the country to make any incriminating information about us disappear.”
Looking proud of himself, he answers, “Oh, they were buried deep, but thanks to the Life Chat data breach, I was able to hack my way through the layers. Apparently, you didn’t hire the best after all.”
“You don’t seem like a computer hacker,” I say, shaking my head as I try to align the handsome, friendly man before me with my preconceived mental image of a pale, nerdy cyberpunk working to get even with the world in a dank basement.
“Oh, I was a total geek in high school, so I spent all of my free time on computers,” he answers.
Brinkley gapes at him. “I wish I’d gone to your school, if a hot hunk like you was considered to be a nerd.”
Joe chuckles good-naturedly, but I give Brinkley a stern look. My assistant has always been completely relaxed and perhaps a little too at-ease with me, but I expect him to be professional when others are in the office.
Brinkley gives me a wide-eyed look as if he’s innocent of any wrongdoing. “What? You know he’s absolutely scrumptious.”
“That will be all, Brinkley,” I tell him firmly, but I can’t quite keep the smile from tipping up my lips and completely ruining my irritated façade.
After my assistant hurries out of the room and closes the door behind him, I rise to make myself a cup of tea. Thankfully, my back is turned when Joe asks, “So, Alex, do you think I’m scrumptious?”