6. Hunter

SIX

HUNTER

T hrowing myself into work as CEO is an unusual yet helpful activity. One, because we're fighting like hell to get the FDA to clear us for clinical trials for Project Panacea. So my focus at work is required now, more so than at any other time in the history of BwP.

The other reason is that staying up night and day working across different teams keeps my mind off the one person I should not think about.

I will not think about Winter Vaughan.

We're the new kids on the block when it comes to business, especially in the world of medical technology and pharmaceuticals, even though we've been around for more than ten years. And while we've grown BwP to a massive scale over the last decade, the reality is AI has made it so that what takes humans years to figure out, it can compute in seconds.

We have an advantage: Project Panacea. The apparent cure for cancer is in the technology and formulas we own. The secrets to what makes it work are locked up underground in our private parcel of land with proximity to the Pentagon.

We know we have an ace in the hole. But if we don't move quickly, there's no reason why a competitor can't come up with what we've already figured out.

We'll be edged out of the market, and then everything will go belly-up.

I'll lose the only thing that's truly mine.

And then I'll be back in my dad's mansion filling my day with coke and strippers and whatever else he wants me to do.

I shake my head to clear the impending sense of doom.

"We need this to go off without a hitch," Leo says to Max, our resident hacker and present-day administrative assistant since moving everything to Amelia Manor.

"Easy peasy lemon squeezy," Max says in response, and I nearly burst a lung at the look of pure bafflement on Leo's face. Max is a character. He's lanky and average height. He looks like that one rapper who also acts on that sitcom. He's serious about his work, but he's young and goofy.

An odd bird, as my mom would say. I feel the echoes of my mother's presence throughout this entire estate. There's no avoiding it. No avoiding her memory.

My breaths seize in my chest.

Since reconfiguring everything to stay in Amelia Manor, we reduced the number of people coming in and out of the estate. The more people, the more opportunities for slip-ups. And with that, some people have had to take on multiple roles.

For example, Max. He looks about as thrilled as a call center worker on unpaid overtime to be operating as our assistant in addition to all his other roles. In the hierarchy of our organization, Max is as close to third in command as can be. Not that he wants that title or that responsibility.

He's told me and Leo as much several times over the years. Probably because he enjoys the freedom of his criminality. We found Max in upstate New York eight years ago after being tipped off that the person attacking our porous electronic defenses was a scrawny, barely legal kid living alone with his kid brother. Apparently, Max's parents both ran off at different times, leaving Max and his little brother, Michael, behind.

He ran ransom campaigns to make enough money through Bitcoin to get his brother the treatments he needed for his sickle cell.

Leo and I stared him down in the secluded warehouse we'd had him dragged to, and when he didn't flinch, wasn't apologetic in the slightest, our sentiments toward him changed.

Max has the bravado and courage that I wish I had at his age.

Maybe things would have turned out differently.

We've changed one of the smaller dining rooms into a makeshift headquarters—although saying it's smaller doesn't mean it's small. There's ample open space, at around two thousand square feet, and we had our in-house security team break the room into work zones. In the center is the fishbowl where we have stand-ups.

"The FDA is turning out to be a real pain in the dick, H," Leo says. He usually isn't disturbed by anything. I've seen him face some seriously fucked shit in our younger days, but now he's pinching the bridge of his nose as if he is much aggrieved.

Granted, most of those days we were both high off our asses, doing my father's bidding.

I clear my throat.

"We have people in there, so what's the problem?" I ask him.

"That's the thing, I don't know, but I don't like it. And our contacts inside have gone dark," Leo says.

"Gone dark? What the fuck do you mean?"

"Dark. Oscuro . As in, no one can fucking find them and they've disappeared off the face of the Earth."

My eyebrows shoot up. Max can find anyone. And I'm confident we will find the lost agents. But the fact that Max doesn't have their locations and, hell, even the last time they took a shit in a briefing on our desks right now means something is going on.

The thing that's always amused me about my industry and Big Pharma is that from the top, everyone is as much of a criminal as any other member of the mafia or the bratva or the cartel.

The top guys at Big Pharma have hit men and politicians in their pockets. They pay off judges and district attorneys and push through legislation that benefits them.

No one is surprised at this, least of all me. But it's curious that there is a line between drug pushers on the street and the ones in suits sitting in boardrooms. It's the same fucking thing.

"I have literally nothing using the usual channels," Max says. Instead of looking scared about upsetting his bosses, he seems excited. It's a challenge that doesn't usually happen for him because most people are woefully transparent with their personal information.

Max can find anything about anyone in a few taps. I believe in him.

"Spend time following the unusual channels then," Leo says. Project Panacea means a lot to Leo, and he's the sole reason why we landed in this industry in the first place.

Leo's mom died from breast cancer when he was a kid. It's a way to honor her, I guess. His mom and my mom were best friends, and that's how we first connected.

I spent many days over at Leo's parents' house. Leo's father is a cruel man, but Gloria Polanco was an angel among mortals. In my loneliest moments, the scent of Leo's mom's empanadas unlocks in my cell memory, and I'm transported to a happier time. One where Leo and I were shithead, bright-eyed kids and none of the realities of Leo's cartel family connections and my father's malevolence touched us .

"In the meantime, see who owes us favors," Leo says to Max.

"You want folks in Congress or other agencies?" he responds.

"Cast the net wide. We need to get this thing out there this year," I respond.

"You got it, boss," he says, returning to his cave. It's actually almost a literal cave with how dark he keeps it. He even blacked out the windows.

That our contacts have gone missing is beyond strange. It's troublesome. Because there's not a thing that happens in our ecosystem that we don't know about.

"Have you heard from him yet?" Leo doesn't have to say his name for me to know that he's talking about my father.

Leo's hatred for my father goes beyond the facts of who my father is or what he represents. His absolute loathing for Benjamin Brigham stems back nearly sixteen years when my father sold Leo's sister, Isabella, to Sheikh Farid Al-Mansoori. Despite endlessly trying to find her, Leo hasn't been able to locate her in all this time.

"Nope," I say, extending out the initial vowel. Leo stares at me, spinning his black phone between his thumb and index finger.

"What, Leo?" I say as I sigh.

"You know I don't believe in coincidences," he says after a moment.

"You think he's behind this?" I wouldn't put it past him. I've been in D.C. for more than a week now when I haven't stepped foot in this part of the country for more than seventy-two hours in years.

I don't put it past my father to interfere with BwP to get my attention.

But then, when has he ever cared about talking with me?

"I don't know what to think." He looks thoughtful for a moment, then he shrugs. "Is August okay? "

I feel the edge of annoyance, guilt, and anger as I recall this afternoon's events.

August being manhandled by someone I employ. August being rescued by a woman I've never seen before in my life—someone who had more compassion and understanding of my son than I've gotten anywhere close to.

The ineptitude I felt when Leo, of all people, came in and rained vengeance on the motherfucker who decided to lay his hands on my child while I stood back and did nothing.

I didn't stand up for August, and I should have. Because I was too busy checking out the counselor's ass.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

"He seemed okay when I saw him before dinner. He took his food and went to his room." Isolating is pretty normal for teenagers, right?

It's probably because he wants nothing to do with you. And why should he?

A knot starts forming in my right shoulder.

"That therapist, though," Leo says, and I jerk my head to look at him. He's wearing a shit-eating grin, making me want to sock him.

In all the years I've known Leo, he's never had to work to get a woman in his bed. I once saw him fuck one woman in a club and then, an hour later, had another three in his penthouse.

It's a level of man-whoring I find admirable but exhausting.

"Didn't really notice her," I reply.

Leo raises an eyebrow in response. "Mmhmm. Well I caught a good look at her when she ran out of here. You wouldn't mind if I hit her up?"

I jolt. Would I mind?

"Do what you want," I say with a shrug that I hope comes off as nonchalant. I stand. "I'm sure Ella has her number," I add, and Leo grimaces. "Anyway, I've got more shit to do. See you tomorrow."

I leave the fishbowl and the office. Leo's guffaws follow me until I'm on the other side of the soundproof door.

Because I've been terrible in this life and probably in my last, it's unsurprising that Ella's curled up in my office chair, scrolling on her e-reader.

"Jeez, you took long enough," she says when I stop short at the doorframe.

"Do you mind?" I emphasize. Striding over to my chair, I tip it forward so she nearly falls out of it.

"Ass!" she yells as she bounces up to her feet. I pull the chair away and sit down.

Spinning toward my computer screens, I say, "Is there a point to your visit, Ella? You know, seeing as you don't live here, yet here you are. In my house. Always in my house."

"It's my damn house, too, Hunter. And if it weren't for me, you wouldn't have any of the cushy shit or clean dishes that I've supplied over the years maintaining this property."

"Your point? You live in Georgetown. Go there."

"My point is that your only response should be, ‘Thank you, Ella, my smart, resourceful, hilarious sister. I'm so grateful that you're the better sibling.'"

I give her the finger in reply, softening the jab with a smile.

She reaches into her back pocket and flops in the chair across from my desk. She starts unwrapping a pink square. It's a Starburst this time.

"There is a reason for my visit. I was thinking about what happened today, and there are some changes I want to put in place around here. "

I sigh, tossing my phone on the desk in front of me. I lean back because it's clear that this will be a lengthy conversation.

"Anyone with contact with August must attend an autism sensitivity training."

I mull it over. "That sounds like a great idea."

"You included," she adds.

I try not to bristle.

"You think I'm insensitive?" I blink slowly.

Not good enough.

"Not that you're insensitive to August. Just maybe a little ignorant to some of his needs."

"I see," I say.

"Hunter," she says between chews, "you haven't been around him like ever. I bet you have spent zero hours around an Autistic child, and even at that, if you've met one Autistic person, you've met one Autistic person." She shrugs. "It's not a personal attack, H. But if you're going to make any headway with August, you must first have a basic understanding. Then you need to get to know August. The whole person…who gets his humor from his aunt, by the way."

My foot taps out a rapid beat beneath my desk.

"I understand."

I am so going to fuck this up.

" Sooooo ," she says, drawing out the word. "That brings me to Ms.Somewhat-Soon-to-Be-Dr. Winter Vaughan." She smiles brightly, conspiratorially.

"No, Ella."

"I just don't understand why not, H. She's well-credentialed, has a personal recommendation from Dr.Wagner, and she's great with August. She's willing to jump in front of a massive man who could have knocked her out to protect August. Just give me a reason."

I look at the ceiling to avoid answering her.

"A good reason," she adds.

How inappropriate would it be to tell my sister, "No, we can't hire her because I'm pretty sure I'll get the desire to bend her over the nearest surface every time we're in a room together?"

"Let's keep our options open. I trust you to find viable candidates. But let's move on from Ms.Vaughan."

She rolls onto one hip and pulls a yellow Starburst out of her back pocket. "Ugh, yellow," she says. She tosses the candy toward me, and it lands in my lap.

"Thanks?" I say, picking it up. It's warm from her body heat. Gross.

Picking out another Starburst and evidently pleased with the selection, she unwraps the candy. "That brings me to issue number three."

"How many issues are there, Ella?"

"When are you going to see Dad?"

I suppress a grimace.

I'm a grown man. I own a business worth billions of dollars.

I'm not afraid of my father.

But I never want to see him again. Because seeing him will give him power. And with this power, he will inevitably try to control me. He will exploit any weakness. And now, I have many of them.

A terrifying image of August in the hospital flashes in my mind. Except he's not getting better. He's dead.

"How about the thirtieth of February. Sound good?"

Ella gives me a droll look. "Why are you so mean to him?"

I almost laugh out loud at the simplicity of her statement. There's so much that Benjamin Brigham has done to ruin people. To torture people. And yet, he is the unsaid leader of the Elites. He is the one with his thumb on the millionaires and billionaires and trillionaires in this country—if not around the world.

There's nothing he won't do. There's no line he won't cross.

"We're just not compatible people," I say. For whatever reason, Ella believes our father to be a loving man. A man who gives anything to ensure her happiness. And he has always treated Ella much differently than he treated me.

He beat me into submission, literally making me bleed until I felt there was nothing left for me to give. I pledged my allegiance to the King through blood-stained teeth.

But with Ella, he earned her submission through overindulgence. And whatever actions he's shown her, she views them as the love a father has for his daughter.

"Well, you should man up and try to build a relationship with him. You need people now that you're parenting, I imagine. Plus, he's getting soft in his old age."

I seriously doubt that.

"He'll likely want someone to take over his business for him, and who better than his son?"

I want to yell, "What business? The business of human trafficking and ritualistic murder?" But Ella looks so eager, so optimistic that I don't have the heart to break her illusions.

Instead, I say, "I'll think about it."

And when she leaves the room, I put my head in my hands and try adamantly to not think about it.