Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
My mother was a different story. She didn’t want a relationship with me either, but she would at least look at me sometimes. I could tell our estrangement bothered her, even though she never called or texted. I suspected my father had made the decision to disown me, and she was forced to obey it. But she didn’t have enough love for me to fight it either.
Their butler set the table with the cheese board nobody would touch, and he served water glasses all around before he opened a bottle of wine and served my father first, and then the rest of us.
I knew it was for their lawyers, not for me.
I looked at the olive trees across the patio, the pool I used to swim in as a kid, the hot tub where I had my first kiss. My bedroom had been gutted and turned into a guest bedroom. The hallway that led to the bathroom had been stripped of the pictures of me. There had been open spots for a while between the other photos, but then they were replaced with other, more preferable memories.
The lawyers led the meeting, giving an update about the numbers for the month. We had a few employees who helped us maintain all of our assets, but everything was submitted to these lawyers, who reviewed all the details before payment was issued. It was completely unnecessary, but my parents were so distrustful toward me that they wanted a lawyer to handle every single aspect of the business.
“We also have this for you.” The lawyer handed me a large manila envelope that was clearly stuffed with papers. “You’ve been served, Mr. Moreau.”
My heart was supposed to plummet into my stomach, but I chuckled instead. “Alright, then.” I set the packet to the side and would deal with it later.
The lawyer stared at me, surprised I didn’t open it. “Because the Moreau Estate is a public brand, it’s fair to say that the brand has been tainted by your criminal associations, and it’s in the best interest of the family to remove you from your seat—”
“You want to get rid of me that bad, Dad?” My eyes were reserved for my father, so he grabbed his glass and took a drink without looking at me. “I’ve been nothing but agreeable to this process. I cause no problems. I do my part. We don’t even speak. I’ve caused no issue with the business whatsoever. Sue me if you want, but my guys will just bury you in paperwork for the next five years before you get into a courtroom. And when that day comes, I’ll win, because by then, I’ll have been out of prison for nearly ten years without a single criminal offense recorded. Fucking waste of time.”
Mother looked at me for just a second before she looked away again.
My father said nothing.
“You can take down all my photos to erase my memory, and you can erase me from every other aspect of your life, but you can’t erase my last name. We’re family whether you like it or not. I’m your son whether you like it or not.”
“If I had a son, he wouldn’t be a rapist and a wife-beater.” Now he looked at me. The first time since this meeting began.
“I told you I didn’t do it.”
“That’s not what the jury decided.”
“The jury was wrong.”
“You served two years in prison—”
“I. Didn’t. Do. It.” I’d said it so many times, but it was useless. There were times when it bothered me so much, I felt like giving up. Being disowned by your own father for something you didn’t even do…was a pretty shitty feeling. How could my own parents question my integrity when a woman I’d known for a month saw through the bullshit immediately? How the fuck did that make sense?
“We’re done here,” my father said. “Bury us in paperwork. I don’t care. This could take twenty years, and it wouldn’t—”
“You think you’ll be alive in twenty years?” I asked incredulously. “With all this bitterness in your heart? How can you treat me this way? I’m your fucking son. Your only fucking son. If you remove me from ownership, then what? You have no other kids. You’d rather it be given back to the government or charity than let it fall into my hands—”
“I’m leaving all my earthly possessions to your cousin, Antonio.”
I released a laugh. “No offense to Antonio, but he’d run this shit to the ground.”
“At least he’s not a criminal.”
“I’m a criminal because you made me into one, Pop.”
“Of course, blame your parents for everything. Never take any responsibility for your own actions—”
“If you already think I’m a criminal, then I may as well be one,” I snapped. “You already have such a low opinion of me that it doesn’t matter what I do. I may as well be fucking rich and have a good time.”