Hard Rules

Chapter One - Part Three

This is book one in my DIRTY MONEY SERIES! I will be sharing part of the first four chapters every day for the next 10 days in celebration of book three BAD DEEDS coming out on AUGUST 8TH! LEARN MORE AT LISARENEEJONES.COM/DIRTY

Five minutes later, I step off the elevator onto the twenty-fifth floor and pause to stare at the words BRANDON ENTERPRISES painted on the wall, my gaze focusing on the lion emblem beneath them. It's meant to represent my father—the king of our jungle, in his own words—and I'd seen him that way until I was about fourteen. From that point forward, he'd become the man he is now, the monster who'll eat any sheep who dare cross his path and a few who don't. And I have that killer instinct in me, but I will never be him. It's a thought that sets me into action again, walking toward the double glass doors of our corporate offices.

I enter the reception area, dominated by a horseshoe desk in the center of a fork of hallways; the bulk of our offices are on the other side of the building. Kelly, the new, twenty-something brassy blonde who handles the desk, straightens on my approach. "Good afternoon, Mr. Brandon."

"Is my father in?" I ask, stopping directly in front of her.

"Yes, but I believe your brother's with him."

"Perfect," I say. "Don't warn him I'm headed his direction."

"But he said—"

Waving a hand at her, I dismiss her objection, cutting left down a short hallway. In a few steps, I'm entering the enclave that is the exterior of my father's office. And considering my father just burned through his third secretary this year, there's no one to stop me as I pass the mahogany secretarial desk framed by a giant painting of the Denver skyline to reach the double, floor-to-ceiling wooden doors of his office. Without a knock, I open them and enter the room to find my father sitting behind his ridiculously large half-moon oak desk.

Derek springs from one of the two high-backed leather visitor's chairs to face me, his tailored blue suit an expensive product of everything wrong with this company and family, and he doesn't give a shit. In fact, he's proud of it.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Shane?" he demands. "Don't you know how to knock?"

I ignore him, closing the distance between me and my father, who just watches my approach, choosing not to speak until I stop in front of his desk, opposite Derek.

"Yes, son," he demands then, his voice low and controlled, like everything he does. "What the fuck are you doing?"

I'm not fooled by the obvious reprimand, all too aware of the gleam in his eyes that has nothing to do with irritation and everything to do with amusement. He thrives off the war for control he's stirred between his sons. He's not repenting for his sins with the grim reaper on his doorstep. He's daring him to come take him, and as much as I'd like to blame his brain tumor, I can't. I love my father because he's my father, but he's a bastard, which is exactly why I swore I'd never work here.

I reach inside the envelope and remove a photo, tossing both down in front of him. "Do you know who that is?"

Derek replies before my father has the chance. "You said the FDA was keeping us from doubling our money. They aren't anymore."

There is pride and victory in his voice that has me checking my anger, and slowly rotating to face him. "Did you read the reports that said the drug isn't ready for market? We can't endanger lives." And because my brother doesn't seem to have a conscience I add, "It opens us up to lawsuits."