Marlin Find paced his empty office oblivious to the passing of time. Judith — Mom — had once again gotten under his skin, and he was doing a masterful job of cultivating the anger. She never should have spoken to him the way she did; never avoided his calls. But she had and she was doing it more and more.
It wouldn’t be so bad if she kept her disdain of him private, but he knew, just knew, that others were starting to talk behind his back. The fact that his father had left the business to her and not him wounded him a hundred times a day. Find, Inc., should be his, not hers. He was flesh and blood with the old man, all she had was a marriage certificate.
He stopped his pacing, forced himself to take several deep breaths, and ran a hand over his head. His hair was brown, short on the sides, long on the top. The hair felt stiff; it was caked in gel. The longer hair on top added an inch to his height. He wanted every inch he could get.
Compensation. That had been much of his life. Compensating for low grades, compensating for being shorter than most men, compensating for being second place to the woman who moved in when he was fifteen. At ten years younger than his father, his new stepmother was only fifteen years older than Marlin. He had never accepted her. Oh, she had tried to draw him in, a ploy as transparent as glass, but Marlin never fell for it.
At home, he had played the game. Not wanting to upset his father, who had a temper he wasn’t afraid to show, Marlin had played polite and obedient, and gagged on every moment of it.
Now Dad was gone, buried on the hillside of the most prestigious cemetery in Southern California. He had earned that final dignity. Although a father at twenty, his dad had worked his way from finish carpenter to founder and owner of one of the most competitive and respected interior supply companies. During that time, perhaps because of the sacrificial hours he worked to make something out of nothing, Marlin’s mother left with another man. His father once told him he had hired a private detective to find her. The man did, in Brazil, living in a small home and addicted to some kind of drug.
He never heard from her again. Marlin didn’t care. The woman left when he was still a toddler. What kind of mother does that?
He grew up with no maternal influence. One mother had dumped him; the other had stolen his inheritance. Within a year of the marriage, she-who-would-steal-all had become the new figurehead for the company. His father had said many times, “Judith has the looks and personality to put the likes of Martha Stewart in her place.” In quiet moments, young Marlin wondered if that was the reason for the marriage. Did his father need a pretty face to take the firm to the next level? Maybe he never loved her.
That thought made him feel good.
His day neared. It came closer with each sweep of the second hand around the face of the clock. Marlin resumed his pacing. Vice president wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. He needed to be in control; control of everything. And only one woman stood in his way.
For now.
The last thought brought him some peace.
He had done his planning. He had counted his supporters. He had done favors by the score, and people, including several board members, owed him big time. He had to wait for just the right time, and that time would come at next week’s board meeting.