I looked at the eighteen-year-old boy. He possessed no actual power, only the illusion of his father’s shadow. I looked down at his custom-made Italian leather loafers, currently smearing the dirt of my ruined flower.
“You are standing on dangerous ground, Jason,” I warned, keeping my voice quiet.
Jason laughed, stepping forward and poking the wooden stick hard into the center of my chest, right over the pocket holding my gold Vertu phone. “I own the ground, old man. Now get your trash out of my greenhouse before I have security throw you out on the street.”
Jason turned and swaggered out the glass doors, Bryce trailing behind him like a loyal dog.
I stood in the silence of the humid greenhouse. I looked down at the crushed hydrangea.
Ten years of peace was enough.
I reached into my pocket, pulling out the gold phone. I didn’t bother changing into clean clothes. I wanted them to see exactly what I was when the execution came. I turned and walked out of the greenhouse, heading straight for the manicured lawns where Richard Sterling was holding court.
CHAPTER 3
The spring board of trustees luncheon was a nauseating display of manufactured elegance. Massive white canvas tents had been erected on the great lawn, shielding forty of the wealthiest parents and board members from the midday sun. Waiters in crisp white uniforms circulated with trays of champagne and seared scallops. The air buzzed with the low, confident hum of generational wealth and corporate strategy.
Standing on a small wooden dais at the front of the tent was Richard Sterling.
He was a tall, sharply featured man in a custom charcoal suit, possessing the kind of predatory charisma that made weaker men agree to things they knew were wrong. Jason stood proudly by the side of the stage, smirking at his phone alongside Bryce and a few other elite students who had been invited to attend.
I stopped at the edge of the pristine white pavilion carpet. My steel-toed work boots were caked with dark mud. My denim overalls were heavily stained from the fertilizer Jason had dumped on me. I looked like an absolute vagrant, a walking stain on their perfect aesthetic afternoon.
“…and that is why progress cannot be hindered by sentimentality,” Richard Sterling was saying into the microphone, gesturing smoothly toward the edge of the campus. “The old botanical gardens are a waste of prime acreage. Sterling Capital is prepared to underwrite a massive development loan to transform that space into a state-of-the-art facility that will attract top-tier capital to this institution.”
The board members nodded in polite agreement. Headmaster Harrison stood near the back, looking physically ill.
I stepped forward onto the white carpet. My heavy boots left distinct, dark, muddy footprints with every step I took down the center aisle.
A wealthy woman in a designer silk dress gasped, pulling her handbag close to her chest as I passed. Whispers immediately began rippling through the crowd. Men in expensive suits turned around, their expressions twisting in shock and disgust at the sight of a filthy groundskeeper invading their sanctuary.
“Excuse me!” a board member barked. “Who let the staff in here?”
Richard Sterling stopped speaking. His sharp eyes locked onto me, his brow furrowing in deep irritation.
Jason practically vibrated with excitement, pointing a finger directly at me. “That’s him, Dad! That’s the psycho I told you about! He’s the one who threw a shovel at my car this morning and threatened me!”
The blatant lie didn’t even make me blink. I continued walking down the center aisle, the heavy gold Vertu phone gripped loosely in my right hand, my eyes locked dead on Richard Sterling.
Headmaster Harrison surged forward, grabbing my elbow. “Arthur, what are you doing?” he hissed, his face pale with terror. “I begged you not to do this!”
I gently but firmly pushed Harrison’s hand away. I stopped ten feet from the wooden dais, staring up at the CEO of Sterling Capital.