I knew when our eyes met that Maxwell was guilty of everything they threw at him.
I’d trusted that guy with my company and my life. I’d been best man at his lame vow renewal last year. I’d spent holidays with him and his family. Hadn’t I more than compensated Max for his work? His bonuses alone could’ve funded the average American family for a decade. And this was how he thanked me? By running some sham Bitcoin investment scheme? Besides the personal loss, I couldn’t even begin to wrap my mind around the fallout for Star Gazer. The IRS would probably be on my doorstep tomorrow demanding an audit, and I couldn’t even think about what this would do to our stock. For some reason, investors didn’t like pouring money into a company built on shifting sand.
I’d wanted to call Olivia, but there hadn’t been time, and my legal counsel had advised against speaking to anyone but them.
Fine. Maybe there had been time to reach out to Olivia, but I’d hesitated. Okay, avoided would be a more accurate word. But I needed to process the failure that was Maxwell, come up with an action plan for Star Gazer, and spend some time wallowing in the mire of embarrassment and anger. So, yes, I’d let Olivia’s calls go to voicemail.
Then things got worse a half hour ago.
Much worse.
Because when Janet Paulsen of Paulsen, Reinhold, and Hassan called you, it wasn’t because she brought glad tidings.
“Lachlan, you’re not going to like the direction things have taken,” my attorney had said. “The press found out Benjamin Emmerich is your father.”
My hand had frozen over a nearly empty bowl of pretzels. “What?”
“Check the internet. See for yourself. I’ve got another call. If you need me to sue someone, let me know.” Janet had then yawned into the phone. “Apparently I’ll be up all night. Don’t forget my fee doubles when I miss my beauty sleep. Triple if I have to skip my ten o’clock brunch.”
“I’ll FedEx you some pancakes.” I ended the call, and even though I didn’t want to, I pulled up a favorite news site.
And considered throwing up.
Un-freaking-real.
Second story beneath the headline showed a photo of me and one of dear old dad. “In Epic Move of Revenge, Lachlan Hayes Reveals Tech that Will Shut Down Benjamin Emmerich—His Father.” Another site gave me top billing in the news proclaiming, “Abandoned by Father, Lachlan Hayes Defies Odds and Creates a Tech Empire.”
It only got more soap-opera dramatic from there.
I’d never wanted to be connected to Benjamin. I was happy denying our biological ties, just as he was. If we ignored it, then the DNA couldn’t speak. But now it was out there, and I was once again Emmerich’s son. Specifically, I was hisunwantedson.
This story leak might’ve boosted some investor confidence, but I would’ve chosen bankruptcy over pity. The world could keep their sympathy. I didn’t need it then, and I sure didn’t want it now. The next article I pulled up on CNN cited the information source as “a representative of Lachlan Hayes.”
Olivia had gone to the press. In the middle of the night, my wife had reached out to reporters with a breaking news scoop.
I sat with that hurt for another half hour, eating a burger I didn’t want and watching the captions scroll on the TV hanging on the back wall of the bar.
Maxwell’s actions cut me to the quick, but Olivia’s story leak ripped out my heart.
Now, as I laid down my Mastercard, a shadow fell across my plate.
Good Lord, I couldn’t have sketched out a plot this bad if I’d tried.
“Hello, Lachlan.” Benjamin Emmerich leaned an aging hip against the bar. “Or I guess I should say—son.”
Of course he’d be haunting the halls of the hotel. Like a vampire. Dude probably melted in the sun.
“I was just leaving.” The hotel and the entire state. I’d find a plane out of there at daybreak if I had to fly it myself.
“What’s your rush?” Benjamin sat his tall self on the stool beside me, as if we were friends. “Congratulations on the sound card technology. How innovative to invent something and attempt to ruin my company all in one product.”
“I thought so.” My days of cowering to this man over, I faced him head on. “Be sure and tell your employees they all have jobs with Star Gazer anytime they want. They don’t need to be collateral.”
“How kind.” Benjamin’s white hair looked slightly disheveled, as if he’d run his hand through it once or twice. “But I take care of my own.”
His smile was so mustache-twirly I had to laugh. “Right. Forgot you were such a family guy.”
“I guess your PR wife didn’t.”
