Flock (The Ravenhood)
Chapter 22

“I don’t appreciate the tone of your email, Cecelia,” my father starts the minute I come into view and pour my coffee. He must have gotten in late, and I know the reason for his arrival was due to the content of the email I sent last night. More often than not, he’s been staying in Charlotte, leaving me the sole occupant of this massive house.

“You put me in this position,” I counter as I take the seat next to him. “You wanted me to take my job seriously. Well, this is me, taking it seriously.” I lay my pay stubs between us. “I’ve been shorted a quarter-hour on nearly every weekly paycheck since I started and a full hour on two of them.”

“You have a supervisor to report this to.” There’s no insinuation in his tone which brings me relief that my relationship with Sean is just a factory rumor and hasn’t reached corporate ears. He’s taken no other interest in me and if he’s been monitoring the security cameras, thanks to Dominic, they’re now on an uneventful loop.

“We all answer to someone, don’t we? I’m sure a particular government agency would be interested to know that your employees have been shorted for years, sweetening your bottom line. Especially if they were tipped off by a call from the CEO’s daughter.”

His eyes flash with pure hostility as I try and muster up more courage. I’m still on the fence if this is the smartest move to make regarding my future, but I remember all those people that gathered around me, the weight of their accusation. This isn’t just about me. This is about thousands of people and the fact that they’re living their future out in that plant.

“I have no plans to do that. But I’m certain this is an ongoing issue that you need to take seriously because they’re past the point of fed up. So much so that yesterday, I was humiliated on the line for this. Is it really worth it to have your employees loathe you?”

“I couldn’t care less how they feel about me. I provide jobs—”

“It’s theft, pure and simple, for the people who make,” I cut my hand through the air, “all of this possible. You wanted me to get a taste of your business to earn my place, well it’s got one hell of an aftertaste, Sir. When’s the last time you spent a day in your own factory?”

“Your point’s been made, Cecelia. I’ll look into it, but don’t think your threats are what make a difference to me. I’ve been running this company since I was twenty-seven years old.”

“I was afraid to walk to my car last night. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

“You live long enough, and you’ll make enemies.”

“Glad to see you’re concerned. Did you know about this?”

“I will tighten security if need be. This is an accounting oversight, I’m sure.”

“An oversight that’s involved every single employee check? Pardon me if I call bullshit.”

“You’ve never been so liberal with your tongue. What has gotten into you?”

“It was a hundred degrees in there two days ago!” I feel like I’m going to burst into flames as I slap my hand on my small stack of paychecks. “A hundred degrees, easy. It’s a literal sweatshop and you have me working there alongside everyone else. Did you expect I would just shut up and take my paychecks and play along? Well, you almost got lucky in that respect. I wasn’t paying attention, but I got my lids razored off last night.”

“Cecelia, stop with the dramatics. I’ve heard your concerns.”

“When’s the last time you updated anything in that plant to make it comfortable for the people who run it for you?”

He clears his throat, eyes dropping, voice ice cold. “Again, I’ll look into it.”

“That’s a standard reply and frankly, Sir, I’m not accepting it. Especially, if this is the legacy I’m to inherit. A plant of disgruntled employees who loathe my existence because they can’t feed their families? No thanks.”

He straightens in his seat. “I will not be lectured to or threatened by my own daughter.”

“If I’m being forced to pay, literally, for your oversights, then I will have my say with you. That woman told me over and over that I was your daughter, and I had no idea how to convey that meant nothing!”

His eyes snap to mine, and I feel the full brunt of his narrowed blue-eyed stare.

I tongue my cheek, damning my swimming vision as I glare at him. “Who better to inform you of your wrongdoings, other than your biggest mistake?”

He swallows as the air shifts, followed by a long silence. Something resembling remorse flits over his features before it evaporates. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” For a single moment, I do feel something, something tangible, and it passes between us at that table. A flicker of hope lights in my chest, but I bat it away, refusing to back down.

“You want me to take pride in my job? Pay me. You want my tone respectful? Be a respectable employer. You want me to respect my name? Be a respectable man.”

His eyes lift to mine, his voice soft. “I’ve sacrificed quite a lot to make sure you’re cared for.”

“I’ve never asked you for a single thing, aside for extending support to my mother, who worked herself stupid to make sure I had everything I needed, and you wouldn’t do that. I’m asking you to make this right, not for me, but for them. If you want to continue to dangle your fortune over my head, then do it, or better yet, take it away and give it back to them. Because if it’s their money I’m inheriting, I don’t want it.”

“Again with the dramatics, which are not necessary. I’ve obviously made an error in judgment trusting the wrong people. I’ll handle this.”

“Thank you.” I move to get up and he stands with me, stopping my retreat.

“Just so we’re clear. You are aware that I own twenty-four factories, ten of which are overseas?” His tone has me pausing.

“I didn’t realize you had so many, no.”

“Then you are also unaware I trust people with the day-to-day handling of them because I have no choice but to delegate these details, details I can’t oversee myself. When they don’t do their job, it’s my head on the line and it’s my head that will roll. I’m very aware of that truth.”

I’ve started a tiger fight with a tiger with the same stripes, though his roar isn’t as loud, it’s there, and just as effective. But it’s still guilt I feel when I think for seconds, that maybe, there is some truth to his words.

“I’m sure it’s a lot to deal with, but this one is close to you. It’s right under your nose.” My voice cracks with that statement, and I curse my inability to keep my personal feelings out of it. He opens his mouth to speak and I wait, seconds, maybe longer, before he finally does. “I’ll take care of it, Cecelia.” I stride out of the room feeling more defeated than victorious. And when the front door closes minutes later, I sag behind my bedroom door and let another lone tear fall.