Takeover: A Step-Brother Romance (The Legacy Book 1) (2 page)

I had a lot to represent. Our farm grew from a little homestead out west into a major, multi-thousand acre empire of diversified crops and ranches stretching throughout Southern California and encroaching deeper into the Southwest. The Atwoods didn’t trade seeds for a pail of milk anymore. And, once I finished my degree and conducted my own research, our seeds would be the foundation for an entirely new division of the company.

Genetically modified, drought-resistant, high-yield seed. My research would be something that could really make a difference, a true legacy that would secure the Atwoods for generations and help the farms in Southern California survive. Maybe even in other arid places throughout the world.

Dad sent me to the best schools, put me in the best agricultural engineering university, and ensured I had every opportunity to place the family first. But, instead of working in the lab, I was on
damage control
. Investor problems. Worker grievances. Irrigation administration. We had vice-presidents to handle the day-to-day, but only an Atwood could ease the trigger-fingers of our stock holders.

I much preferred the lab.

Anthony’s paralegal waited for me outside. I tossed him the keys to Josiah’s Mercedes and hurried inside as he parked. The receptionist handed me a bottle of water, and I cracked it open before bursting into Anthony’s office without knocking. He hated that.

Anthony wasn’t a man who tolerated interruptions, impropriety, or disrespect. He was far too handsome for such strict business practices. If Anthony was anywhere near as intimidating in the court room as he was frowning at his desk, I pitied his targets. Luckily, he represented us.

His office hid under a stack of papers and thick files. Dad hired his family’s firm based on their superb organization. Now? Rolled plans, endless contracts, blueprints, and banking statements cluttered Anthony’s tables. Dad’s death didn’t just leave our house a mess. The remnants of his legacy mixed in the papers and clutter left behind by my brothers.

Nothing was where it should have been, and everything that made sense was lost in redundant duplications.

Except the paper trail telling me where most of our money went.

That documentation, conveniently, was missing.

The television paused on an image of Darius Bennett. The clean-cut, aging business man decked himself out in imported suits, diamond cufflinks, and a sleek smile that bared more teeth than genuine excitement. His only honest quality was the grey in his hair, and that hadn’t spread fast enough.

I sunk into a spare chair. “A press conference?”

“Classic Bennett,” Anthony said.

He pressed play. The staged conference was meant to be a resource for the company—one of Dad’s initiatives. Face-to-face contact wasted time, but Skype meetings calmed irritated stock holders and quieted jittery investors. Darius adopted it—like he tried to adopt everything else.

“
Family
.” Darius Bennett’s serpent tongue rolled over the word as if it meant anything
to him. “
It’s the most important connection in this world. The past few months have been a difficult time for my family—all our families. Tragedy shadowed our hearts, but, slowly, we’ve begun to heal with new projects, new friends, and, of course, new love
.”

“What’s the point of this?” I couldn’t look into his slimy, toad-brown eyes even when he was only a digital representation. I wrinkled the one paper that hadn’t been lost amid the clutter on Anthony’s desk. The marriage certificate weighed as heavily on both our minds as any of the contracts or negotiations Darius could ruin with his publicity stunt. “What’s he trying to do?”

Anthony tapped the desk and ordered me to be quiet. I huffed.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

It didn’t calm me, but it kept me from choking. Even over a video, Darius wielded a malicious power. The coiled rage pitted my stomach. He didn’t deserve
any
reaction from me—not disgust, not rage, and certainly not a response from
my
stock holders.

“
Since the unforeseen and tragic deaths of Josiah and Michael Atwood, the Bennett family has supported, comforted, and loved the Atwoods. Nothing replaces the loss of two children, but the compassion of a new family has lifted the veil of mourning and encouraged a new era of prosperity
.”

I sipped my water. The chill did nothing to extinguish the flaring of my temper.

Compassion?

Mourning?

Michael and Josiah weren’t even buried before the vulture circled their gravesites and scavenged what remained. But what remained was me, and I hadn’t given him a single taste of our company.

The water bottle crumpled in my grip. I didn’t answer Anthony’s glance. Nothing Darius Bennett said shocked me anymore. Anyone not drugged into oblivion on Vicodin and a cocktail of other soul-sucking pills should have realized what he wanted.

The grief and drugs had to be the only reason Mom was blinded to his charm.

“
The Bennett Corporation is committed to the same excellence and success which created Atwood Industries so many generations ago. Family built this farm, and the blood, sweat, and tears of its children forged an empire of new technology blended with good, old-fashioned hard work.
”

Darius Bennett spoke the truth. He was a snake, but even the ultimate tempter graced the world with honesty every once in a while.

“
Just a few months ago, I joined my family with the Atwood’s in a quiet ceremony, and this flicker of happiness has blossomed into a unique partnership between two souls lost in a life of darkness and...dare I say, solitude?”

I bit my lip and tasted blood. The copper twang of Atwood pride prevented me from pitching my water at the screen.

“
I wish to extend that partnership.
” Darius softened his voice for the camera. It sounded false and sour. “
The Bennett Corporation and Atwood Industries have lived in competition for far too long. As our families have merged, so have our hearts, ambitions, and visions for the future. Beginning today, I am announcing a new conversation—one between business partners. Friends. Family.”
He lingered over the implication. “
A business proposal between a father and his new daughter
.”

My profanity wasn’t dignified.

I didn’t remember standing. The room swirled a bit too quick, and my cough silenced the string of un-pleasantries bitter on my tongue.

Anthony stopped the video. The coughing intensified, but he respectfully waited until I recovered.

“Never,” I said.

He nodded. “I assumed as much. This is not a formal offer, but the message broadcast to your Board of Directors. Has your mother said anything about Bennett’s end game?”

“Mom’s not...” Not the mother I remembered. “I can’t talk to her. She trusts Darius. Always did, even before...”

Before she drugged herself beyond the pain of losing most of her family. I was still there, still trying to keep her in one piece. But she was the first battle I lost to Darius. It’d be the last.

“He has no claim over the company,” I said. “Doesn’t matter how many times Mom flashes the ring. Atwood Industries is independent of the family. He gets nothing but money. At least I can thank Josiah and Mike for being thoroughly irresponsible and losing it all.”

Anthony exhaled. “You aren’t destitute, Sarah. What money remains buys influence.”

“The Bennetts are wealthier than us. Always have been.”

“Certain members of your board might be interested in this partnership.” He anticipated my frown with a raised hand. “It would make for one very powerful, very wealthy company.”

“All under Darius Bennett’s control.”

“It doesn’t have to be—”

“It’s what he wants. Atwood Industries destroyed, ripped apart piece by piece. He doesn’t care about the money or the company. He can’t wait to cast us out into the street after he’s robbed us of our land.”

“He doesn’t have that power.”

“Nothing will stop him until he has it,” I said. “I’m not indulging this. He has no right to call me...to talk about me like I’m his...his...”

I wheezed. Anthony had the discretion to pretend he didn’t hear it.

My foot bumped my book-bag as I collapsed into the chair.

I was only twenty years old. Even Dad was closer to thirty when he took the company from Papa, and he had worked with him from his teens to learn the business.

I picked through my memories of dinners where Dad sat still long enough to offer wisdom. Never to me though. He looked to my brothers to protect the company like the warriors our success demanded. Atwood Industries wasn’t supposed to be mine, but it sure as hell wouldn’t fall prey to Darius Bennett.

“We have to make the clause public.”

Anthony rolled away from his desk. He shook his head, but he didn’t argue as he pulled my father’s will from his shelf. Until two years ago, I had never seen the damned thing. Now, it felt like all I did was pour over the intricacies of Mark Atwood’s Final Will and Testament and the poorly defined agreements my brothers had only started to organize for themselves.

“This clause makes it harder on you, Sarah,” Anthony said. “Legal issues, trusts, every difficulty. We could argue against it—the company can be yours.”

“I would rather lose everything than let Darius Bennett touch a single share.”

“This is your farm too, Sarah.”

“That’s why I’m doing this.” I took the copy of the will. “It’s what my father wanted.”

Anthony never showed frustration, but he tightened the dashing pony tail that swept most of his dark hair from his face. Neither of us was used to doing business with the other. Anthony was once just the charming attorney who visited us at home and brought Mom and me a box of chocolates before dealing with Dad and my brothers. Now? We were sick of each other—spending too many hours trying to fix too many problems. I hadn’t had a piece of chocolate since the plane crash.

“I’m well aware of what Mark wanted for your brothers and what he expected of you,” Anthony said. “But he’s gone. You can take control of your own life now. So the question is...what do
you
want?”

I stuffed the will in my bag next to the homework I had forgotten to complete and the paper I’d never turn in.

“I want my father back.” My voice hardened. “And I want Darius Bennett rotting in jail for his murder.”

“Did you win?” Dad asked.

I hid the red ribbon behind my back.

“Almost.” I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Second place. But most of the kids were older than me. Like, fifteen. They were in high school.”

He waited. I offered him my prize. He didn’t take it.

“I can’t display that in my office. Throw it away.”

“But, Dad, it…it’s still good. They said so.”

“I don’t want you to make me look good.” He packed his briefcase and left me at his desk. “You’re an Atwood. You’re meant to make me look great. You’ll have to try harder.”

“I will. I promise.”

He didn’t answer, but I earned his proud nod.

It was better than any stupid ribbon.

I grabbed my keys from Anthony’s secretary and hit my inhaler the instant I reached my car.

Early summer was a bad season with all the pollen on the farm. Staying at school was easier on my lungs, but Mom made the worst decision of a lifetime without me being there. I moved home and thought I could balance both school and my family’s mess.

I learned that lesson fast.

The add/drop forms were signed by sympathetic professors, but I hadn’t returned it to the administrative offices. Dad said Atwoods never quit. As long as we had sun, water, and dirt, we’d survive.

But Dad never took thermodynamics and organic chemistry while managing the entire corporation. Dad hadn’t dealt with Mom slicing her wrists the day of her sons’ funerals. Dad never had to bathe her, dress her, and force her to eat. He didn’t watch as a loathsome man more snake than human took advantage of her depression with superficial words.

Ten miles outside of Cherrywood Valley, and our fields traded the buildings, industrial districts, and diners for swaths of green. We owned acres upon acres, but the corn, alfalfa, and almonds still felt like Dad’s, not mine. At least when Josiah and Mike squandered most of our money, they hadn’t lost the most important things: the property, the soil, the crops.

Our future.

My phone rang. I couldn’t avoid her forever.

Mom’s sweet voice dulled—about three hours into her latest dose and already itching for another.

“Sweetheart,” Mom said. “Are you coming home?”

Her newest obsession was always knowing my exact location. I couldn’t blame her. We hadn’t realized Josiah and Mike went to Vegas until the cable news channels broke with a story about their private plane crash. The police called an hour later.

“Just turned into the driveway.”

“Good. I have a surprise for you.”