“You should be thanking me for covering up your mess,” my father says from his high-back desk chair. His fingers grip the leather arms and the tips of his thumbs rub gently back and forth across the brass studs.

Though the blinds are closed, the tall windows behind my father fill the large office with the dim light from the evening sun.

I look over my shoulder at him, still holding a random law textbook I’ve taken from the floor-to-ceiling shelves that line the side walls of his office. The room smells of old books. With the dark wood, tan leather and deep red Beaumont rug, the decor reeks of old money and that’s exactly what this room represents.

That and bullshit.

Lies and corruption are what have held this room in its current state for generations. I’ve pretended for so long that it wasn’t true. But learning about what my father’s done… I can’t turn a blind eye to it anymore. It’s undeniable and unforgivable.

I huff a small laugh, not letting him see how affected I am. “For the last time,” I tell him as I shut the book and smirk at him, “it wasn’t my mess.”

I’m not admitting to shit. Not even to my own father. In this city, one slip up could send you tumbling into an early grave. Like my mother and like the mess my father’s referring to. I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone any longer.

My father’s eyes turn to slits as his face reddens before picking up the cup of hot coffee. He holds the black mug with both of his hands, blowing across the top and refusing to acknowledge me.

“You would have gone through hell-”

I cut my father off, although my voice doesn’t reflect any emotion whatsoever. It’s a turning point in our relationship. Instead of him getting me worked up, it’s the opposite. “No I wouldn’t have.” I look him in the eyes as I add, “I would have been just fine.”

A moment passes and the only sound is the ticking of the large clock on the right side of the room. “It wasn’t my mess you cleaned up, and we both know it.” He’s the first to look away, but instead of showing remorse, he only looks pissed.

“Did you need anything else?” I ask him. I just want to get the fuck out of here and back to the construction site. This office reminds me of my grandfather, a man I loved and trusted. But he was a man who turned out to be just like all the rest of the powerful men in this city. Ruled by sin.

“I’m tired of you getting into trouble,” he finally says. He’s lost his fucking mind. This is the first time in my life I’ve truly been in control of myself. No more fucking around. The recent events have been sobering. When I was a hormone-filled teen dealing with grief and anger, it was easy to pick fights. First, the death of my grandfather and then my mother. It was easy to act out.

Thirty-three is too fucking old for that bullshit. I finally have my life together… all but the ties to my father. It’s a tangled mess of lies and money. Much like everyone else’s dealings in this city.

The thought makes my eyes fall to the floor and then look back up to the shelves to mindlessly scan the spines of the ancient texts.

Knowing what my father did makes all those memories of losing my mother surface. My stomach churns and my blood heats as adrenaline courses through me, adrenaline pushing me to confront the man I no longer know.

I clench my hand into a fist and bring it to my mouth as I clear my throat and take a few steps towards him. He’s the one who called this meeting, demanded it really. But he hasn’t even risen from his chair. Lazy fucker.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answer him easily. “I haven’t got a single problem on my mind.” I give him a polite smile and keep the charming look on my face. It only makes him angrier and I fucking love every second of his pissed-off expression. He thought I’d feel as if I owed him.

But I don’t owe him shit.

I may be just like him in looks. Tall, dark and handsome, or so they say. A brilliant smile with an air of ease that’s made to fool and seduce the best of them. It makes sense that he’s a lawyer. Really it’s a family business really, but if it wasn’t, it’d still be the profession most apt for my father.

“You need to quit this shit and do what you’re told, Mason.” My father stands from his seat quickly, his chair rolling backward and smacking against the wall. It hits the blinds and streams of light flicker into the room.

“I don’t need to do shit.” He could talk to me like that all he wanted back when I was a child or before I knew the truth, but now I have no respect for the man in front of me. I’m disgusted by him and caught on the edge of what’s right and wrong. I should turn him in and let him rot in jail. I grit my teeth as I stare back at him. It’s what’s right, but I can’t bring myself to send my own father to prison.

A low hum of admonishment deep in his throat makes the smirk on my face widen into a smile.

“I have my own company, my own life-” I start but my father cuts me off. Nothing new there.

“You were born a Thatcher, and you’ll die a Thatcher.” The words leave a chill across my skin. That’s the core of the problem. I was born into this shit and I can’t run from it. And my company is in debt to him. It was a rookie mistake I made before I knew what I was doing. Back when I didn’t see him for the man he really is.

“Why do you even give a fuck?” I finally ask him. His pristine reputation is just fine now that I’m an adult and I’ve moved on from the fuck-up I used to be. “I’m not the one coming to you-”

“She did,” he answers simply, with a spark in his eyes and the corners of his lips upturned as if that’s all the ammunition he needs. And in some respects, he’s right. They all know where I come from. They know I have money and power behind me. And that’s all anyone in this city cares about anyway.

I shrug my shoulders and walk closer to the desk, bracing myself by gripping the back of the chair opposite him. “You decided to deal with her when what she said was a lie.” I stare him in the eyes, willing him to tell me again how he saved me. It’s complete bullshit. “She didn’t have shit on me. She couldn’t have done anything!” My voice rises and I hate that I’ve shown him this weak side of me.

Control. I thrive with control.

A heavy breath leaves him as he gazes back with pure hate but he doesn’t say a word. I knew he wouldn’t. He’s wrong. Dead fucking wrong and utterly ruined if I open my mouth to anyone. He did it so I’d owe him, but in reality we both know that he owes me now.

“It’s your fuck up, not mine.” I practically spit out the words and shove the chair forward as I turn to leave him. My body’s tense and the anger is increasing. I try not to let it show. I fucking hate that I can’t control myself around this prick. Everyone else I can handle, but my own father, not so much.

“Mason!” he calls after me. His voice turns to white noise as the blood rushing in my ears gets louder and louder, drowning out all the bullshit.

The second I open the office door; he shuts the fuck up. He’ll never let anyone hear us fighting. Never. Secrets are always left in the office. It’s a family rule.

The door shuts with a loud thud and as I walk down the empty hall, the thin carpeting mutes the sound of my black leather oxfords smacking against the ground at an incessant pace.

Miss Geist looks up from her spot at her desk. Her eyes wrinkle as she tilts her head and gives me that smile that she always has for me. It’s one that says, oh what have you done now?

Through the years, even after my mother’s death, Miss Theresa Geist has given me that look. She’s the only one who that showed any genuine regret when I had to deal with my mother’s passing.

Weak, pathetic. You never let them see. That’s all I got from my father and grandfather. Everyone else is dead and gone.

She clutches the small pendant on her thin silver necklace and her reprimanding smile changes to something more reserved when I look back at her. It’s instantaneous and makes me halt in my steps. I know I must look pissed. And I am beyond furious. It’s been two days since my father told me what he’d done all those months ago. It makes me fucking sick. Of course I knew what he’d done back then, deep down. I knew, but he never admitted it. He didn’t have to though.

“He’s being a prick,” I mutter beneath my breath, waiting for the old lady to be a little bit more at ease. She doesn’t know a damn thing that goes on behind these walls, and I don’t owe her an explanation, but I can’t help myself.

“Now, now,” she says with a bit of playfulness although she’s still shaken. She’s not used to seeing me like this.

I give her a soft smile and wink, putting on the act I use so well. Maybe I have a soft spot for her, but I know who she works for and money is everything in this city.

“Have a good night, Mr. Thatcher,” she tells me as she shuffles the papers on the desk, seeming somewhat less disturbed.

It’s enough that it settles me and I push the double doors open with both hands and keep moving. The sound of my shoes slapping on the granite and the open air of the lobby filled with chatter soothes me.

But only for a moment.

It’s not until I leave the building that my true feelings surface. The mask fades, and the fear sets in. I didn’t know what my father was capable of.

I had an inkling, but I thought I’d always imagined it. I’d thought my memories weren’t quite right. It’s not that I expected more from him. I just fucking hate that I was right.

What’s done is done and I can’t stop what’s been set in motion.