While the actual factory is still shut down, the office is slowly starting to get back up and running. The police have finally brought me back my office material and my computer that they had taken away as evidence, so I am able to start getting some actual work done. My files have been returned as well. A very small part of me had started to miss actually working. I focus on what I can do to get paychecks to my employees. After my conversation with my driver, I’m feeling an extra layer of guilt. My lawyer, Lillian, had managed to get some of my accounts unfrozen. If I have to loan some of my personal money to the company until this shit gets straightened out so that my employees can get their paychecks, then so be it.

I wind up getting a call about an old shipment, something Eddie had had his hands in. I wind up having to place the client on hold as I go down into the factory to rummage through Eddie’s files that have thankfully been returned. There are still police all over the factory, and it makes me sick to my stomach. I wonder if this shit is ever going to end.

I sit behind Eddie’s desk, feeling incredibly uncomfortable to be here. For one thing, the large glass windows allow the cops to stare in at me as they pass by. I prefer the privacy of my office. Another thing is that this is Eddie’s desk, not mine. Eddie should be sitting here, not me. I cringe because it makes me think of Eddie lying in that hospital bed, and that makes me wonder why the hell I’m even here. The doctors said he had been doing a little better, but whether or not he would actually be able to be taken off life support is still up in the air. I’d give anything to talk to him right now. Trying to do his job and mine is a nightmare; this is probably how he felt all the time –I can’t even handle both jobs while the factory is closed and nothing is going on. Eddie took over my shit all the time; I can’t imagine being him. No wonder he was always acting like he had a stick up his ass.

After about thirty minute of being unable to find the appropriate paperwork, I grab the desk phone off of Eddie’s desk to talk to the client. I apologize profusely and explain to them the situation. The guy on the other line is fairly understandable, but I can still sense the annoyance in his tone. He says he’s seen the news coverage, so he cuts me a break and says he will call back next week to give me time to riffle through some paperwork. Since the cops have returned everything, nothing is where it is supposed to be. It’s driving me crazy.

I keep digging through Eddie’s files, grumbling and cussing under my breath the entire time. I finally get to the point that I am so frustrated that I stand up and kick the shit out of his desk, stubbing my toe and making the middle drawer pop open. “Fuck!” I shout and drop back down into my seat; I notice a cop snicker as he walks by the office. I have to resist flicking him off. I got to close the drawer that popped open when I notice an envelope with Eddie’s name scribbled on the outside in a familiar handwriting. It’s my dad’s handwriting.

A part of me knows that I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself. I pick it up, close the drawer, and lean back in my seat. I open up the envelope and pull out a handwritten letter. It does not take me long to figure out that it’s not just any letter –it’s the letter. The letter our dad, my dad, left Eddie after he died. The one Eddie never let me read. I tell myself to put it away, but I wind up reading it anyways like a complete idiot.

Edward,

I realize I should have told you this before now, but I promised your mother I would not. I feel that it is unfair to you to bring this secret to the grave. You are not my son. There was a brief period in mine and your mother’s marriage in which we were separated –and I do mean brief. In fact, for the longest time I had assumed that you were, in fact, my child. Not long after James was born, your mother told me the truth about your lineage. Your real father’s name is Ricardo Smith. He lives in LA. I do believe you have some various other siblings through him, but I honestly could not tell you. It’s not your fault, and I realize that. I did my best to raise you as my own, but at the end of the day I always felt differently towards you than I know I should have. I suppose you could call it indifference or sometimes even a hint of anger or hatred. You were and still are a good person, so I hope that this news does not change that, but I felt that you should know the truth. As I’m sure you have found out by the time this letter is reaching you, as my only biological child I am leaving most everything to James. This is not meant as a jab at you, but in my last days I have had to think about where my priorities lay, and after careful consideration I realize that you are not one of them. I have set aside more than enough for you to live comfortably; besides, you are smart, so I am sure you will prosper on your own. I truly am sorry that this is how you are finding out about all of this. Take care of my son for me. Best of luck to you,

-Howard Mont

Best of luck to you? There is literally so much in this letter that makes me want to scream. It’s not outright hateful, sure, but it’s so damn cold. There was so much in it that was just unnecessarily cruel. Why tell Eddie that he felt indifferent towards him? Saying he felt anger and hatred –was that necessary? Saying that he wasn’t a priority? He didn’t even bother signing it Dad or your father or anything! He signed it Howard Mont! He couldn’t have even said I love you? This, this bullshit, is what our father left behind for Eddie? I try to imagine what it must have been like when Eddie had first read this letter just a few years ago.

Our mom had passed away a few years before. Our dad was dead, and we were still in mourning about that. I can’t imagine the emotion of still being broken about the loss of a parent and then getting this! It makes me so angry that I’m almost feeling sick. I am sick. My throat tightens, and I fight back any tears. How could my father be so damn cruel? He really couldn’t have even said I love you? Even if it would have been a lie –he couldn’t tell him something like he always thought of him as a son or some cheesy line like that? No, he was too proud. He had to be an asshole even in his final moments. Take care of my son for me. Best of luck to you…. That’s how he ended things with Eddie? Take care of my son –as if Eddie had not spent his entire childhood and most of his adult life believing that he too was this man’s son?

It’s all too much. I feel tears stream down my face, and I am really wishing that this damn office was more closed off. I lean forward and rest my forehead on the end of the desk so that I can just stare down at the floor until I can get a hold of myself. I have never been so hurt and so angry in my life.