Page 79 of The Producer: Aaron

“Aaron, you can try to challenge the will, convince your mother to sell you the company, do something. You can’t sit here drinking all the time.” My voice comes out more convinced than I feel.

“What do you know?” he asks, raising his eyes to mine and dropping the mask of indifference. The anger that runs over his face is shocking.

“I don’t understand much about wills, but there will be something you can do.” This time, I can feel all the insecurity gripping my stomach.

Aaron bursts into a half-laugh and shakes his head.

“You don’t know anything about it. And do you know why? Because you’ve been working in this industry for barely three years and have no idea what it’s like to sacrifice half of your life to have nothing when it’s your turn. You don’t know what it’s like to swallow shit to have your place on the throne and then have it taken away from you when you’re about to sit on it,” he hisses angrily as he nails me to this chair.

For the first time since I entered this house, I am intimidated by Aaron. Not because I’m afraid he’ll hurt me physically, but because there’s nothing I can do to appease his anger. There is not the slightest glimmer of hope of finding a way out.

“Aaron, I understand you’re angry, but you can’t stay here and do nothing,” I raise my voice too.

“Are you serious right now? You know nothing. You’re just a little girl. We’ll talk about it again in a few years when you have real problems on your plate,” he hisses, taking his gaze in the direction of the city.

Anger boils in me. I understand his position, but he can’t leverage my age only when it suits him.

“You know what? I’ll behave like a little girl throwing a tantrum and leave,” I hiss as I get up.

“Leave the keys on the table when you walk out.”

His words freeze me on the spot. My intention was to go to my room, but it’s clear that he wants me out of his house. Tears run down my face as I pack a bag and call an Uber to pick me up.

***

When I arrive on set the next morning, I immediately realize something is wrong. Despite my dark glasses to cover swollen eyes before dawn, it’s hard not to notice the line of my colleagues in front of a still-closed set. When I get next to Emma, she turns around and grabs me by the shoulders.

“Did you know anything about it?” she asks me, shaken.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I whisper as other people turn to me, expecting answers.

“Aaron didn’t tell you anything? He shut down the streaming division, canceled all productions, and said we have to go to the HR office to get our checks,” she explains, pointing to a piece of paper hanging on the door.

I make my way forward to see. All eyes are on me when I read the paper that Emma has just summarized to me. I feel my blood freeze when I realize that not only has he thrown in the towel, but he is destroying, piece by piece, all the good things he has built in his life. Despite being angry with him, the fear that gripsmy chest makes me short of breath. This time the phoenix will not rise from its ashes.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask my brother Evan when I open the front door.

The grin on his face as he takes off his sunglasses and slips them into the pocket of his elegant suit tells me he is happy to be the one to surprise me for once. Of course, I didn’t expect to find him in front of me when he didn’t even come to our father’s funeral. But it is also true that if he had come for my father, I would have been more surprised than now.

If there’s one thing my brother and I are similar in, apart from eye color and dark hair, it’s the fact that we always dress impeccably. It has been branded on us since childhood. In fact, he is here with his tailored suit looking concernedly at my sweatpants and crumpled T-shirt that I have been wearing for a couple of days.

“When Tracy and Dakota call me to tell me they’re worried about you, I guess the situation is serious. And I was right since I find you trashed like a frat guy after a hangover.”

What strikes me most about what he told me, though, is that Dakota called him because she’s worried about me. When I kicked her out, I immediately regretted it, as I regretted what I said. But the anger at what my father did was too intense and the humiliation so strong that I got defensive when she confronted me with her determination. Dakota has the power to lay bare all my insecurities, my vulnerability, and sometimes I can’t cope with what I feel.

“Did you know what Dad did?” I ask him while I offer him a beer, and we sit on the couch.

He nods with an indecipherable expression on his face. “I got a copy of the will.”

“And what do you think?” I urge when he doesn’t add another word.

“What do you want to hear? Were you expecting something different? He has always been a piece of shit. He confirmed it even from the grave.”

I remain silent and look at him. I don’t know what answer I expected from him, but then I don’t even know how to get out of bed these days, so no surprise here. Everything I’ve worked for in the last sixteen years has gone up in smoke. I never had a plan B because I always gave it all for what was my dream. Now that it is wasted with no chance of saving it, I find myself lost.

“I could try to buy Mom’s shares, but I doubt the other investors will let me do it. They were never thrilled that our father had seventy percent of the company. Maybe they let me buy nineteen percent, but they will never give me the majority, even if I have no full control over the right to vote.”

My brother’s furrowed brows make me feel naïve. Can he really not understand what I want to do, or is it me who can’t reason lucidly and I am missing some critical detail?

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