If you walk out of Apex Media to play live-in nurse to that washed-up recluse, you are dead to this family and blacklisted from Hollywood, my uncle Victor Cross told me five years ago.
The Apex Media lobby shimmered with polished chrome and hushed luxury. Young assistants with sleek haircuts glided past, their voices low and deferential. The air smelled of expensive coffee and ambition. It was a world I had walked away from five years ago, a world my uncle Victor still ruled.
I clutched a canvas tote bag filled with a few of Eleanor’s personal mementos – a chipped ceramic teacup, a worn photo album, a small, intricate brooch. I had called my mother, Chloe, and told her I was bringing some “sentimental items” from Eleanor’s house. A convenient excuse.
Chloe met me in the reception area, her smile tight. Her eyes flicked nervously towards the security desk.
“Leo. What are you doing here?” she murmured, taking the bag from me. She didn’t look at the contents, only at the expensive fabric.
“Just thought you’d want these,” I said, keeping my voice even. “For Eleanor’s memory.”
Before Chloe could usher me out, Victor’s booming voice cut through the quiet hum of the lobby.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the prodigal son!”
Victor Cross, impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit, strode towards us from the elevators. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze swept over me, lingering on my worn jeans and plain shirt.
“Still playing the martyr, are we, Leo?” he sneered, clasping my shoulder with a grip that was more threat than greeting. “Five years. Five years you wasted, playing nursemaid to that… that old nobody.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping slightly, but loud enough that Chloe flinched. “Everyone knows you threw away your career, your prospects, for a delusional recluse. A shame. You had potential.”
My jaw tightened, but I kept my face blank. The heavy weight of the film canister, tucked securely in my backpack, pressed against my back.
“She was a good woman, Uncle Victor,” I said, my voice calm, almost placid.
He barked a laugh, a sharp, dismissive sound that drew a few discreet glances from nearby assistants.
“Good? She was a charity case! And frankly, an embarrassment to the family name.” He gestured vaguely towards the canvas bag Chloe still held. “All that junk in her house. I’ve already signed off the paperwork. The lawyers are clearing it out this week. Selling the bungalow for scrap, I imagine.”
Chloe shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze.
“A clean slate,” Victor continued, oblivious, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Apex is about to finalize its biggest merger yet. We don’t need any lingering… associations. Especially with your chosen path.”
He clapped me on the back again, a final, condescending gesture. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a $120 million deal to close. Try not to embarrass the family any further, Leo.”
He turned on his heel, pulling Chloe with him towards his office, leaving me standing in the sterile, glittering lobby. He had no idea what was in my backpack, or that the “scrap” he planned to sell held the key to his entire empire.
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