I’m not ready to be around anybody, not when I carry guilt around because of my father’s death. He died while I was out, drinking and having fun. He died while I was out, trying to sleep with a stranger. He died while worrying about me. He died because of me .
I pull out the first casserole and pop the lid open to find a bunch of green crap. I wrinkle my nose at the smell before putting it back in and pulling out a second dish. Don’t people know, if they are going to leave food, they should leave something comforting, not some healthy crap ?
The second dish is mashed potatoes. I take the whole bowl and grab a spoon before heading to the basement movie theater. I don’t turn on the lights as I enter the ten-seat theater. I know where the remote is, the same place I left it on the center chair in the first row. I’m the only person who ever uses this room when I am home. It’s another useless room that we shouldn’t have .
I turn the screen on and wait for it to slowly come to life while I scoop cold potatoes into my mouth. This seems as good a place as any to spend the day after a funeral. This is where I’ll spend the worst day of my life. I’ll spend it watching movies .
The lights come on halfway through the fourth Harry Potter film. I close my eyes from the pain of the abrupt change of light. I don’t move though. It hurts to move. It hurts to think. It hurts to exist .
“Meet me in your father’s home office in five minutes,” Granddad says before he walks out of the room .
He didn’t wait for me to respond. He doesn’t have to. He already knows that I’ll follow his orders. I always do .
I count silently in my head while I keep my eyes closed. I count to two hundred and forty. I only have sixty seconds left to make it to my father’s office, the minimal amount of time I know it will take me to get there .
I crack my eyes open as I slowly get up. I place the empty bowl on the floor. Someone will get it later. I slowly climb the stairs before turning down the hallway that leads to my father’s office. It should hurt, entering my father’s office, but as I open the door, it doesn’t. It doesn’t bring back any memories of my father. However, it does bring back memories of my grandfather sitting behind the desk, scolding me, like he always does .
I love my grandfather. He has done a lot for me and even more for my family. Without him, the Felton Corporation might never have reached the heights that it has. We wouldn’t have more than enough money to take care of ourselves for dozens of lifetimes without even having to lift a finger. Granddad was the one who turned a simple casino into almost twenty properties now. He was the one who grew the empire to what it is today .
He has given me direction in my life. He was the one who got me the modeling jobs. He was the one who decided that I should go to Yale. He was the one who decided I should major in theater. He was the one who decided my whole future .
And I know why he has brought me here—to decide what comes next .
I’m usually thankful for his guidance. He’s always right. He’s even right about what he’s brought me here to tell me. I’m just not ready to hear it yet. I’m not ready to hear it on the worst day of my life. Today, I need to go back downstairs and finish watching Harry Potter. I need to feel sorry for myself. I need to feel angry with the world. I don’t need to deal with this .
“Take a seat, princess,” Granddad says, indicating for me to take a seat opposite him .
But I can’t. I’m frozen in the doorway. He called me princess. Only my father ever called me that .
Tears I didn’t even know still existed threaten to fall as my eyes fill with moisture. I thought I had cried all the tears out .
Granddad immediately realizes his mistake. His arms are quickly around me in a hug, but it doesn’t stave off the tears. They fall fast and hard. My body moves from a frozen statue into uncontrollable trembles. I feel my grandfather guide me over to a chair. I feel my body collapse into the chair, but it doesn’t stop the trembling or the tears .
He hands me a handkerchief before moving back to his seat across from me. I wipe my eyes, and then I stare at him. Nobody would know he is eighty-five years old. He looks sixty, tops. It’s the lucky Felton genes. He doesn’t work out or eat any better than I do .
“We need to talk about your future .”
I nod, expecting this .
“We need to figure out who is going to run the company .”
I nod again .
“As you already know, your father and I argued a lot. We never agreed on anything.” He sits back in his chair, smiling a little at a memory .
When he looks back at me, he frowns. He agrees with me. He thinks I’m the reason his son is dead. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me .
Maybe he would if I gave him everything he ever wanted ?
“But we did agree on one thing,” he continues .
I already know what that one thing is .
“That you want the company to stay in the family,” I say, completing his sentence .
His frown deepens. “Yes. Your mother isn’t capable of running the company. And, frankly, neither are you .”
Now, it’s my turn to grimace. Although I already knew that’s how he felt, it hurts to hear that my father felt the same way, that he didn’t have any more confidence in my abilities than my grandfather did, that I was never even considered for the job even though I was family. I’m the only heir to the empire .