Page 11 of Sins of the Father

I scoff. “And why do I care?”

“I need a finance manager for the upcoming election. Your national recognition will be good for it. I’ve decided I’m going to give you the position.”

“Not interested.”

“Not open for debate.”

I scoot forward in my seat. “Listen to me closely, Maximillion. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I work for you in any capacity.”

He laughs again. “Your mom said you’d fight me on this.”

My stomach twists. “She knows about this?”

“Yeah, I told her this morning.”

This morning, as in she stayed with him all night.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat. “Don’t contact me again.” I hang up and throw my phone at the seat across from me.

What is he up to?

There isn’t anything he does unless it serves him. And like most politicians who rise in the ranks, nothing he does is on the up-and-up.

The disgust I have for my mother only grows with every interaction I have with Maximillion. I’m tempted to call her, but I don’t need to hear her tell me again how much she loves him.

I spend the rest of the short ride with my head against the backrest, trying to calm my emotions. When the car pulls up to the curb, I don’t wait for my driver to get to my side of the car, opening the door myself and jumping out.

“Thanks, Ted.”

He nods. “Have a good day.”

I go into the skyscraper. There isn’t anyone in the lobby, except for the guard at the front desk. “Morning, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Morning, Fred.”

“Saw your award. Congratulations.”

I force a smile and nod. “Thanks.”

I slide my card through the security reader near the elevators. When I get to my office, I breathe a sigh of relief.

For the next hour, I efficiently work, lost in my project. But my morning quickly becomes full of more embarrassment and interruptions. My assistant buzzes me on the intercom.

“Steven, can you help me with my computer? It’s stuck on the same screen again,” Shira asks.

“Sure.” The moment I step out of my office and turn the corner, the room erupts in a chorus of “Congratulations.” There’s a human-size cardboard cutout of me withMarquis’sTop Ten Under Forty Professionals hung on the wall.

I stare at it in horror. “Please tell me that isn’t permanent,” I mutter under my breath.

“Oh, stop being so humble. We’re so excited for you!” Shira’s brown eyes beam, and she hugs me, which she’s never done before.

I awkwardly hug her back.

Where is the typical office protocol?

The next few minutes are spent with co-workers shaking my hand, one by one, and patting my back.

My mortification only grows when someone screeches, “Turn on the T.V. toBehind the Scenes.”

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