Patience

Chapter 3 - Weirdo; Adjective

Sitting at the head of the table in front of six men and two women twice my age never feels any less uncomfortable and yet here I am, three times a week conducting business meetings from our brightly lit boardroom.

Four years ago, my father was sentenced to 15 years in jail after being convicted of more than five crimes and three years ago I took over a portion of the empire he had built from the ground up. I am in no way proud of myself, I don't think I could be even if I tried. How could someone be proud of themselves for organizing drug distributions given all the trouble it has caused said someone's family in the past and the fact that it is 1,000% illegal. Times were tough though and Tom wasn't even six years old when our mother split on us. She left us to fend for ourselves before my father was even convicted.

There wasn't a lot I could do to help us out at the time, and it was rough to start with. My father's people were scared, if their boss could get caught and put away what would make them any different? And why the hell would they come back to work for his daughter?

It took just over a year from when he was convicted to when I convinced the eight people sitting in front of me to start business up again. Moving it away from having anything to do with my farther was difficult, the change to mine and Thomas' last names helped slightly and we've been working nonstop since. We've managed to pull in his old clients and then some, running the business from a small office rented out under a third-party name to ensure nothing leads back to us. I'm not in the business of screwing up like my father did.

"Alright guys, no messing around I've got stuff to do and I don't want to keep you in here longer than needed on a Sunday. As you know Adam will be released on good behaviour tomorrow morning, I can only imagine that when he comes back to the people that have waited around for him, he'll know what we've done. I expect that he'll come looking."

"Are we to keep to our usual route?" Manuel, or Manny, depending on the mood of the 36 year-old asked. Manny is my youngest head runner and by far the best. Standing at 5 foot 11, he doesn't mess around, his olive skin and bright green eyes are definitely something to see.

"Look, I think for now we keep running as we have been. We changed things up when we first started and he hasn't been around since, so there's no reason he should know our schedules." I can feel the tension in the room, the unease almost suffocating. We all know what my father is capable of, we've all seen it in some form or other over the years. "We can review our runs in a few weeks but until then keep going how you're going."

They all nod, understanding the fact that there's no point debating me on this. We have to be smart, not let this get in the way of doing business and living our lives.

"Now that we've got that sorted and we've worked our way through this quarter's financials, you can head out. Enjoy your Sunday and I'll see you again on Wednesday." I say, slipping the paperwork I had out back in its folder as they get up and file out of the room one by one is silence.

Looking up I can see everyone, but Manny has left, he stays seated, looking through his run sheet for the week. A crease in his forehead, his rough hands rubbing back and forth over the stubble on his chin.

"You good Manny?" I ask, Manuel worked for my father before he got convicted and was one of the hardest people to convince to come back, considering he was coming back to work for a 20-year-old girl (not woman, he made sure to let me know he didn't see me like that) who had only ever witnessed the workings of the business from the sidelines. I've known Manny for most of my life, he has always looked after me, has picked me up too many times to count and has pushed me to keep fighting. He has been one of the only people I rely on, someone I know I can trust to tell me when I'm in over my head.