“Fuck,” he breathed and shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to focus on that bullshit. He wasn’t alone. He might be the last King in this particular family branch, but there were cousins. They despised him, but they existed. Beyond that, he had Morningstar.
That was the one thing that hadn’t changed with his father’s death. He’d always had Morningstar. He’d have to find someone to replace his role as closer and the main contact for all the business they conducted overseas, but in the end Beckett had been training to take over the business since he was a teenager. If there was nothing else he and his father could agree on, they could agree on that.
He pulled his phone out and started walking again. A quick check of the time showed it was well after two in the morning. It’s not a good idea…He stopped scrolling through his contacts and started at the name his thumb hovered over. Samara.
It was possible that he’d call, she’d answer, and she’d come to him and help dispel the hushed silence of his condo. She’d bring life into the cold rooms the same way she brought life and energy into every room she walked into. Even if they spent the next couple hours arguing and verbally sniping at each other, it would be better than walking through that door into the tomblike silence of his place.
With a sigh, Beckett shoved his phone back into his pocket. Not an option. If he didn’t want to broadcast any weaknesses to his aunt, calling her second-in-command to keep him company because he couldn’t bear to be alone was counterintuitive.
He would have to push through this without leaning on anyone.
There wasn’t anyone to lean on, anyway.
Beckett woke up disoriented. He reached for the nightstand, only to knock over a lamp that shouldn’t have been there. The events of the last few days rolled through him. His father dead. Losing Thistledown Villa. Samara. Frank. A couple hours of sleep hadn’t magically solved the problems niggling around in the back of his mind.
He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. There was no point in lying around and wondering what the hell his father had been thinking getting behind the wheel, let alone doing it drunk. Frank would ask questions on his side of things, but the thought of just sitting back and waiting left Beckett twitchy. He couldn’t drop everything to investigate a death that had already been ruled a drunk driving accident. Even if there was some question of foul play, there was Morningstar to think about. It needed someone at the helm, and with the clock ticking down to when he had to submit the proposal for renewing the government contract they’d held for decades, he didn’t have time to dick around just to assuage his own guilt.
But he still had to go see his aunt. She and his father might have loathed each other, but they were siblings. She was still family, even if it was a broken family that had no hopes of healing. It didn’t matter. Speaking to her was the right thing to do.
If in the process he managed to get an idea of what her company was offering to secure the lease for the oil in the Gulf, so much the better.
Beckett took a quick shower and chose his suit with care. At Morningstar, he preferred to keep it casual when dealing with in-house things, but outside of the company, perceptions mattered. Lydia King might technically be family, but she was still an inherited enemy. If there was someone capable of fixing those burned bridges, it wasn’t Beckett.
Satisfied he was as ready as he was going to be, he dialed Kingdom Corp. A few minutes and several transfers later, the phone connected to Lydia’s direct line.
She barely let it ring. “Beckett. What a lovely surprise.”
He highly doubted that. “We need to talk.” Now that he had some time and distance between the reading of the will and this call, he hoped against hope that he and his aunt could discuss things like reasonable adults. Over the years, she’d been just as ruthless and ambitious as his father was, but if they could put that shit aside for a little bit it would be really nice. He didn’t like the odds of that happening—he’d never managed to see eye-to-eye with Nathaniel, after all. It was possible she’d surprise him—unlikely, but possible.
“I’m very busy.”
So we’re going to play it like this. Normally, he’d go back and forth with a renitent client until they felt they were in control of the situation, but Lydia wasn’t a client. It might be seven in the morning, but he was already so fucking done with today. “Make time.”
Lydia paused. “I’ll create a window if you can be here in twenty.”
He didn’t have to ask where “here” was—Kingdom Corp offices. When Lydia had split from the family thirty years ago, she hadn’t gone far to create her own business—she’d bought a building two blocks away and proceeded to renovate it to be even more ostentatious than Morningstar Enterprise was. “I’ll fit you into my schedule.”
“You do that.” She hung up.
He took his time walking to the offices. He’d be late, but he wasn’t too worried about it—showing up out of breath and having run to make the absurd time Lydia set would put her in the power position for their talk. He couldn’t afford that. Beckett paused to look around the lobby. It was a classy white that was intimidating and distant—it conveyed the impression of money, but it wasn’t beating people over the head with their wealth.
The secretary outside Lydia’s office was tiny and dark, her curly hair cut short to her head. Like every other member of the staff he’d caught a glimpse of, she was painfully attractive. She stopped him with a sharp look. “Mrs. King will be with you shortly. Please take a seat.”
Another power play—just like his taking
