Page 45 of Damon

“In what way?”

“You know what…” Before I could respond, a foul smell filled the room. My daughter picks her moments. “We need a new pack of nappies,” Emma said then walked over to the wardrobe, stretching up to try to remove a box from the top. I watched her lithe body ripple as the tiny shorts rose, exposing pert buttocks. Her fingertips grazed the plastic, and she sighed before looking around the room. I assume for something to stand on.

“I can get it,” I told her, walking over to her side.

“No,” she mumbled, not looking at me. “I need to be able to do this myself.”

“Bring a box down from the wardrobe?”

“No, look after Annie,” she replied. “You’ll be busy with work, the gym, and whatever else. I need to do this properly.”

“You’re not on your own, Emma. I plan to be a hands-on dad.” My hand lifted to her shoulder, squeezing gently. She froze. “We’ll navigate this together. Figure out what to do next. Now let me get down the damn box.”

***

The boardroom of The Level is quiet when I arrive. No one else is here yet. We each have a key to the elevator which accesses the room, so we’re able to come and go as required. The room is perfectly laid out as it always is, the long glass table polished to a high shine and surrounded by black leather chairs. The expanse of windows that look out on the city below provide a panoramic view of the setting sun. In the center of the table is an ice bucket filled to the brim with what I know will be perfectly chilled beer. It’s a detail that isn’t required, as there are fridges stocked better with alcohol than a lot of bars, but we enjoy leaning forward and plucking a beer from the bucket. It’s a small thing that makes our boy’s nights seem more normal.

I’m standing, looking out over Canary Wharf when the door opens and Harrison walks in. He’s not going to enjoy hearing the news I have for him this evening. I considered phoning ahead, but with everything that’s happening, it’s probably best to update the whole team together. My head is filled with so many warring opinions, it’s hard to know what is right and wrong. The older I become, the less I believe in either. What is right for one person is wrong for another. Perhaps everything is merely warped.

“Evening, McKinney,” Harrison says. He’s still dressed in his suit from a day’s work. No doubt he was in the office at seven this morning and has come straight here after returning home. The white shirt he’s wearing sits as if it’s freshly laundered—I know Mrs. D has a love of starch. “Are you as ready for a drink as I am?”

“More so.”

“Doubt it. What a shitter of a day. Throw us a bottle,” he grunts.

“You’re closer,” I mutter before walking over and grasping one from the bucket. Once I pass it to him, he throws himself down in the chair beside where I stand. I collect a second bottle for myself then sit in the next chair. “Whose been busting your balls?”

“You’d be better to ask who hasn’t,” he replies. “But the Chase brothers are perpetual thorns in my side. How they haven’t drowned each other in the Thames I don’t know. My day started with Russell stealing all Connor’s personal belongings from his office.”

“Why?” I ask, having no idea what Russell would want with his brother’s stuff.

“Because Connor wore a pair of Russell’s Armani jeans without asking on a date with the girl Russell had his eye on.”

“That doesn’t surprise me; Russell has always been an overgrown spoiled brat. And has the school bully actually dated this girl?”

“No.”

“Spoken to her?”

“No.”

“Was Connor aware of his brother’s silent infatuation?”

“I doubt it, but you haven’t asked me where he put the belongings,” Harrison says with a smirk.

“Let me guess…the center of the office or outside on the street?”

“Close.” He starts to laugh then closes his eyes, trying to control himself enough to tell me the rest of the story. “He set up a stall next to the entrance of the office with an honesty box. Then he put a sign on the table that said…” He hollered this time at the memory. “Everything one pound. Take what you need and drop the coins in the box.”

“No fucking way,” I stammer. “What the hell did he give away?”

“By the time Connor got there—he was late to the office after a successful date the night before—I believe his lost possessions include four designer suits, a Rolex watch, three bottles of special edition whiskey, a pair of Italian leather shoes, a silver decanter, his whole signed Stephen King book collection, an AC/DC platinum disc, some piece of artwork that took him months to find, and his childhood teddy bear.”

“Shit.”

“And to add insult to injury, a few tight-fisted bastards didn’t even put money in the honesty box.” Harrison snorts, then takes a drink of his beer. I lean back in my chair and do the same, shaking my head at the news.

“What happened then?”

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