Chapter 5. Death

Blake’s POV

Robert Sinclair has never been a saint; I have seen the evidence in too many ways. But I never expected the news I received after that day.

“What?” I had asked in shock.

“You have a son? You have a son with that slut. Well done, Robert. First, you humiliated her in private, and now you want to make it public.”

“It was before I married your mother. Years back, a drunk night with some woman.”

“And you all these years?”

“I didn’t. Until about a year ago.”

I sighed, trying to calm the anger that raged inside of me. “Did Dan know?”

“I told him months ago.”

“How old is this son?”

“Thirty-seven.”

Seven years older than Dan was and older than me by over a decade.

“How did you find out?”

“Received a letter here in the estate from his mother. She claimed to have dumped him in an orphanage. She was sick and wanted to right her wrongs. By the time I was even able to open the damn letter, she had long been dead. Checked the orphanage she listed, and indeed, there was a child there who had a splitting image of me when I was around that age. He moved out when he was sixteen, and no one heard from him again. There was only one picture of him, a picture of when he was a baby. Nothing else. And all the traces my men attempted led to a dead end. It’s almost like he never existed.”

“No school records? Medical records? Nothing?”

“Nothing. They combed the whole country, and they still are, but it’s like we are searching for a ghost.”

“You think he knows?”

“Someone good enough to become a ghost should know his background.”

“So he has to be out there, lurking and waiting for the right time.”

My father nodded.

“This would be the perfect time, more than ever.”

I looked him in the eyes.

“I won’t let my mother’s legacy fall into the hands of your bastard. So celebrate your victory well because you’ve succeeded in your agenda. But here are my rules: I need an apartment because God knows I can’t stand living in the same house with you, no matter how big of a mansion it is.”

From that day, my life turned three sixty degrees and I kissed goodbye to whatever life I had for the past ten years.

My transmission to my new life was quick as there was barely time for it to be otherwise. I was introduced to the staff and met the board.

And I needed no fortune teller to tell me what was on the minds of everyone. I could see it in their eyes every day as I walked by.

Robert Sinclair is a living legend. A businessman who had skyrocketed Tarvex to its maximum glory. Dan Sinclair was the smart son who had carried on his father’s legacy. The real deal.

But Blake Sinclair… No one knew her. No one knew what she was capable of doing. The best they knew was she was the spoiled brat that lived abroad. And now she was back to inherit a company based on her blood and not her abilities.

No one needed to say anything; I could see it in their eyes. On the way, they watched me like hawks, ready to pick on any flaw.

Every corner I turned, I could see the doubt and the condensing looks from the board.

I walked into my new apartment, already exhausted from the events of the whole day. I didn’t waste a second in discarding my heels and heading straight for the bar.

I poured a shot into the glass and closed my eyes as the alcohol burned through my throat.

Almost immediately, my phone pinged with a message.

I stared at the screen notification and tabbed on it.

Judy had sent me links to the evening news publication.

My interview was just before work ended, so the papers would be released during the evening headlines, which was now.

The first headline read: “Blake Sinclair, The Fresh Face of Tarvex.”

The article had detailed info on how I might just be the fresh rebranding Tarvex needed. It went ahead to explain the history of the company and how my mother was one of the brains behind its success and was rarely given accolades for it. The article spoke about how it was to see a young woman become the CEO of one of the most successful companies in a male-dominated industry. The article had turned me into some sort of campaign for women.

At least it was better than the bad publicity we had the past week.

Judy’s text came again. “Turn on the TV.”

I sighed in exhaustion before walking to turn on the channel she wanted.

My face came to life on the screen.

I was laughing at the news of me being a crackhead. The camera zoomed in on Judy as I asked if she knew about the news. The video kept running through how I had carried the reporters and how interactive the interview became.

The screen cut back to three newscasters. One of them was a young woman with long black hair, while the other was an older man with traces of gray hair, and the other was a younger man.

“Wow, Hank, I gotta say I wasn’t expecting that.”

Hank happened to be the older man.

He answered immediately, “No one was. I can’t say anyone expected the interview to turn out that way.”

The younger man chirped in, “I’ll say she handled it well. Even if we know the PR team gave her the answers.”

The woman frowned. “C’mon, Frank. Those answers looked genuine. I mean, look at the way she was so respectful to the reporters. You don’t see many rich kids do that.”

Frank still stood on his point. “Because she has no choice. If she was disrespectful, the media would eat her up. This is just an attempt to keep the company’s image in good light.”

“So you think she is a pothead? I mean, look at her. She looks nothing like that.” The lady whined.

Frank rolled his eyes. “Of course, she is not supposed to. They can’t present her to the whole world looking like a crackhead.”

Hank spoke up. “I think she is far from a crackhead. And the way she handled all the questions was with grace. She reminds me of her mother. Her laugh, that laugh was genuine.”

The lady cut in, “Very genuine. She was so surprised. And you have to agree, she is hilarious.”

“Honestly, she is. Not everyone can make a room filled with story-hungry reporters ease up that way. She was having conversations with them; that wasn’t even a press conference anymore,” Hank added.

Frank, who was out for head, spoke again. “But funny and beautiful isn’t going to head a multi-million company. If you ask me, she is all beauty and no brains. Perfect for an actress but not business. Business needs brains and experience.”

Hank defended me.

“She looks intelligent to me. And besides, she was an accountant. I think she has this.”

“I agree with you, Hank. I think she has this.”

“Don’t go anywhere; we’ll be back after this short commercial.”

I’ve got to give it to them. If they had found a common ground, the section would be far from interesting. However, having varied opinions meant keeping the audience glued and asking the audience for their own opinions.

I don’t care for all that, if any. My mind only raked on how to keep the company from the clutches of those who are out for it.

My phone rang, and the caller ID indicated it was Judy.

“Hi, Judy.”

“Hi, Blake. Don’t think much of the reporters. This is a step from the bad publicity we had last week.”

“Thank you, Judy. Have a good night.”

“Night.”

I like Judy, probably because her positive energy radiated in every corner of her. I wonder how she can keep such energy in a place where everyone is ready to climb on the other to get to the top.

But Judy is different, all she wants is to genuinely get her job done.

My brother must have seen that in her when he made her the head of the PR team. Maybe my brother and I were not much different from each other.

I will never get the opportunity to know that again.

I spent a long time in the bathtub, trying to relax my tensed muscles. When I finally hit the bed, I was out within seconds.

The difference between working for someone and being your boss has always been the privilege of going to work at whatever time pleases you. But for someone like me who is desperately trying to find herself in this new world, a minute late would be catastrophic for me.

Besides that, I genuinely want to learn as much as I can. And since I was a kid, I’ve always been an early riser. Going to the company before everyone did is somehow soothing to me.

The time was barely six a.m. when I walked out of my apartment. I had a bunch of documents I had carried home from the previous day.

I still couldn’t look at them at home because I was too tired. The drive to work gave me the perfect avenue to go over them.

Everything had been going normally like every early morning ride when traffic was at a minimal rate.

Suddenly I heard the scratching of tires as the driver tried to swerve away from hitting another vehicle.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

“Yes, what the hell was that?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. The driver was headed straight at us.”

He had barely stopped explaining when the other car began speeding toward us again.

“Drive!” I yelled.

He stepped on the pedal and drove, but the other car was still chasing us.

I looked back in fright as the car caught up with us and bumped into us from behind.

“Shit,” I cursed.

I felt another bump, this time on the side.

Great, we were being attacked by two cars.

The other one had also turned to this other side. So we were trapped in between two cars.

Death felt closer than ever. I closed my eyes, wondering if this was indeed the end.