Page 101 of Connor's Claim
The gang leader inclined his head. “I’m aware.”
“I’m on my way to Town Hall to hand in my resignation letter with immediate effect. I want to offer you my services here.”
At his moment of silence, I hurried to get my words out.
“I might not have spent much time around your organisation, but I’m a quick learner and I already have ideas I know will work. If you’re willing to hear me out, I’ll have a proposal for you by midweek for how we can operate events here that will thrill your clients and be good for your staff. Regular theme nights, advertised events, expanding on all the great things you already do.”
With slow consideration, he inclined his head. “I’d listen.”
That was all I needed to hear. I jumped to my feet. “Thank you.”
Arran held up a pausing hand. “Is it necessary for you to leave the warehouse today?”
“It is. I need to make a clean break, which means delivering my signed letter, clearing my desk, and leaving behind my laptop and pass, as per my contract. No stone left unturned.”
“I’m not sure you should go.”
“If you’re worried about my father, he won’t be there. I know because I checked his schedule. Besides, it’s a public place. What’s the worst that could happen?”
He lifted his phone. “Mick and Manny should accompany you. Will you accept that?”
My shoulders sagged in relief, and I gave my thanks while he organised my escort.
This was it. I was making the break. I couldn’t be sure of any aspect of my future, not even of Connor, and certainly not of my father, but I was doing this for me. A step in the right direction, and God, did it feel wonderful.
Ten minutes on, and I was in the back of a chunky four-wheel drive, Mick beside me and Manny our chauffeur. Traffic was light, so in no time, we were on the approach road to Town Hall, and my adrenaline built in a steady rush.
All my life, this building had been the pinnacle of my father’s aspirations. First, as a local councillor, then as mayor. His political calendar and campaigns had been my bread and butter. The rhythm of my life.
Anger chased through my veins. I’d been his loyal supporter through and through, while he’d never once even tried to control his emotional outbursts of anger. Not for my sake. He’d lied, too. Fathered a son he’d never once thought to tell me about.
How can one person be so self-centred to never once consider the happiness of the people around them? I was his motherless child. He turned me into a dutiful staff member.
Or maybe I’d done that to myself.
The car rolled to a halt, and I popped the door.
Mick’s meaty hand landed on my arm. “Wait for Manny to exit. Then you go and I’ll follow. We’re not letting you out of our sight.”
I obeyed the orders, emerging into the bright day. “My father won’t be here,” I repeated to the men who marked me. “He’s in a formal garden party all afternoon then a sit-down meal.”
Wining and dining. All smiles and a pretend game of pleasantries. He did that so well.
My heels clicked on the pavement, and my unhappiness grew.
I was almost disappointed that he wasn’t here. I didn’t want to see him, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised I couldn’t go on like that forever. I couldn’t exist in the same city as him for the rest of my life without encountering him.
I needed to handle the man. Tackle the spectre of his presence else I’d drown in the venom I wanted to spit at him.
What was the worst he could do? I was a grown woman. He couldn’t force me to heed him now. It was broad daylight, and I had two guards.
Under the towering entranceway of Town Hall, I stalked, slamming my pass down to open the gate for the three of us to enter. The weekend security guard blinked at the two rough-faced men bracing me but made no comment, and I ignored all other distractions on my quest for the mayoral suite. We climbed the stairs through the old building, a rabbit warren of rooms and corridors spreading out on each floor.
At the office where I’d wasted years of my life, my pass code allowed us access, and the two gangsters scoped out the place then took guard positions, one inside the door, one outside.
I marched to my desk and opened my laptop to tap out a two-line resignation letter, then printed it on thick paper with the mayor’s crest and stamp. My signature ended with a flourish, and I folded the letter, slotted it into an envelope, then took amoment to clear my desk. There wasn’t much for me to take. A few personal items. A picture of my mother I’d often stared at, not truly knowing the woman holding baby-me but needing to honour her memory. I claimed my pot plant, as well. A hardy cactus I’d managed to keep alive for years.
One last act saw me delete my profile from my laptop, then I was done.