I should get out of here, but my pathetic grandmother has gotten to me, ruining what was shaping up to be a perfect day. The returns were looking good. It felt like we were finally getting a break after a string of bad investments and even worse returns. But then her visit came.
Loretta Fitzpatrick, the matriarch who holds the keys to all the money I desperately need, barged into my office without giving a damn that I was in the middle of a meeting. Larry and a few of the traders could go to hell for all she cared. Cane in hand, pearls worn like artillery, she came into the room ready for battle. Gone were the kind hellos and kisses on cheeks. Her grandson had disappointed her, and she was letting him know of her displeasure.
“William,” she said coldly as way of greeting, giving her head a slight nod and ignoring the rest of the men.
My secretary stood on the threshold of the door, guilt and fear implanted on her features. “Sir, she wouldn’t wait until the meeting was over.”
My grandmother didn’t dignify her with an answer. Instead, she focused all of her attention on me. “Please, dismiss your meeting. I’d like to have a word with you in private,” she paused, her shrewd blue eyes burning holes in me, “unless, of course, you are far too busy for me.”
Sarcasm dripped from her words because she knew that no one, not even me, would dare to deny her anything. Least of all, when she had come all the way from Greenwich for this meeting. Loretta Fitzpatrick was used to ruling an empire with an iron fist, and she led her private life in the same manner. Nothing but perfection would do. My poor grandfather had no choice but to sit back and watch her do his job for him. Consequently, he drank and whored until his death, not that I blamed him one bit.
It could also be said that she expected the same perfection in her children and grandchildren. My adoptive father, an only child from an unhappy marriage, killed himself and his lover in a boating accident. Loretta blamed my adoptive mother for his death, saying that it was her detachment and coldness that had driven him into the arms of another woman. Of course, she didn’t know that her precious son enjoyed hitting his wife and children after polishing off a particularly remarkable bottle of scotch or when in one of his darker moods. The sick motherfucker got a kick out of hearing us cry or seeing technicolor bruises on our skin. And after he’d left Gwyneth and I black and blue, he would grab my mother by the hair, dragging her to their room and finishing her on the bed. The more she resisted, the more he enjoyed it. Sometimes he even made us watch, taking a sick pleasure in our disgust and fear. The one time I tried to fight him, he broke my mother’s wrist. An eye for an eye, he had said. I hated him. The day he died was the happiest day of my life.
I never forgave my grandmother for choosing to be blind when all the signs were there, and for making our mother feel more unworthy than she already did. Soon after, she passed away of cancer. And as I stood over the hole in the ground, her casket being lowered to the ground along with the remnants of my soul, I made a vow to myself. I would never allow myself to feel. Amongst flower arrangements and a sea of people dressed in black, I raised a hand to my chest right where my heart should’ve been and felt nothing.
Then my eyes had landed on my grandmother who remained untouched, aloof, and hatred filled me once again. All I wanted was for her to die and leave me the hell alone along with the fortune that was rightfully mine.
“Please excuse us,” I said, dismissing the meeting.
As the men shuffled out of my office, my gaze found my grandmother’s and the old hate came back, ramming its horns deep in my chest. When the last person stepped out and closed the door behind him, we stood facing each other surrounded by silence.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked charmingly.
Loretta closed the space between us and sat down on the chair directly facing my desk. She was pushing ninety, but you would never know it by the way she held herself. Ramrod straight like the cane in her hands. Regal like a queen. “You know exactly why I am here. Mrs. Croft told me about your failed trip. Why is Valentina still in Paris?”
I shrugged carelessly, not surprised that the housekeeper would keep her informed about the state of my marriage. Keeping tabs on us was her sole purpose in the house when she wasn’t pretending to work. And I couldn’t fire her without pissing grandmother off.
“I guess she felt like sightseeing.”
“What do you take me for? Your lovesick wife? You’ve disappointed her again, haven’t you?”
I remained silent while waiting for her to continue punishing me with her words, not that they could cause me any harm. She couldn’t touch me. No one could.
“I was sure you were different from all the men in the family, but it seems I was mistaken. Is there someone else again?”
I shook my head, loosening my tie. “No one. I promised you I was done with all of that after the first time.”
She eyed me up and down, suspicion marking her every move. Maybe she knew I was full of shit after all. “Good. I meant what I said the last time it happened. Both your grandfather and father disappointed me. And if you do too, if that girl files for divorce, I will disinherit you. It’s simple. I’m tired of our last name being associated with that kind of vulgarity.”
My grandmother, it seemed, wanted to make a point. And when she did, she did not give a damn about the consequences. And there was no fucking way in hell I would let her take that away from me. I hadn’t put up with her all this time for nothing. That inheritance was mine.
“I understand,” I said softly.
“Excellent. I trust you’ll know what to do.”
I stood and made my way to her side to try to help her stand, but she dismissed my assistance with the wave of a hand. Slowly but surely she made her way to the door and opened it. Waiting outside in the hall was good old Don—her trusted driver. He went to her immediately offering his arm. As she placed a wrinkled hand on his forearm covered in a black suit, she turned to look at me, ready to fire her loaded words one last time, “Don’t disappoint me, William.”
She left without taking another glance at her disobedient grandchild. And as I watched her walk away from me, an intense dislike bordering on hate for Valentina spread like black ink inside me. Why couldn’t she do what I wanted? Why did she have to stay there?