Page 58 of The Off-limits Grump Next Door
“Babe, call me as soon as you see this.
My flight lands in two hours, and I can’t wait to see you.
I love you.”
The flight was a blur. My thoughts were consumed by Kendra. Our relationship was still in its early stages, but my mind kept drifting to forever. Lazy Sundays, exploring the city, building a life together—I couldn't stop thinking about what we could be.
The flight's monotony had been punctuated only by my internal countdown. I'd checked my watch every few minutes, willing the hands to move faster. Land, car, collect baggage – each step brought me closer to Kendra.
Beside me, my father went over business strategies, but I barely contributed. I nodded in all the right places, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Kendra. Why hadn’t she called?
By the time we landed, I was a bundle of nerves. One of our drivers stood waiting with a polite smile as we collected our luggage and slipped into the black sedan.
As soon as we slid into the sleek black sedan, my father immediately began scanning the news on his phone.
I gazed out the window, wondering where Kendra was and what she was doing. I still didn’t know what her other job was when she wasn’t working shifts at Molly’s diner. Every time I brought it up, she found a way to dodge the question. I should’ve insisted.
Glancing at my watch, I realized it was barely noon. I’d have to wait another six hours before I could catch her at the diner.
My father’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Antonio, we have a problem.”
I turned to him, frowning. “What is it?”
He handed me his phone.
My stomach dropped as I read the screen, dread creeping in.
When we pulled up to the company, a crowd of reporters waited outside like a storm. My father and I stepped out, and the chaos began.
“Mr. Michaelson! Mr. Michaelson!”
My father’s expression turned stony, and he gripped my arm. “Stay calm,” he whispered.
Microphones were shoved toward us. Cameras clicked incessantly, their flashes blinding. I raised a hand to shield my eyes.
Anne, a relentless reporter from ABS Broadcasting, led the charge, but she ignored me completely. “George Michaelson, can you confirm or deny the allegations that you murdered your business partner, Don Maxwell?”
My father remained silent. He’d warned me before we got out of the car not to say a word. Reporters twisted everything.
More questions flew.
“Antonio, how long have you known about your father’s involvement in Maxwell’s death?”
“Did you conceal your father’s crimes?”
“Will you step down as CEO amidst this scandal?”
“How do you think this will affect the company’s stock prices?”
"Is this a rival company's attempt to sabotage the Michaelson Corporation?"
"Can you comment on the authenticity of the recording released to the press?"
I kept my mouth shut, even as the questions hit like punches. I couldn’t believe my mother had secretly recorded her conversation with my father and leaked it to the press.
For years, Dad had let her do as she pleased, protecting her out of respect for their past and the family. But now, things have gone too far.
Anne stepped closer. “Antonio, isn’t it true your family’s wealth is built on blood money? That your father’s success came at the cost of his partner’s life?”
