Tull
“Why must I keep doing this? Summoning you as often as an incompetent secretary?”
Fire burned steadily between them in the most ornate of stone fireplaces in a room otherwise filled with mahogany and scorn. “This will cease now, and we will be rid of it. You are my son. You have potential. Yet you choose to ignore it, stumbling through life like a toddler in a dark room. I will not have it.”
The steady crackle of wood slowly turning to ash was the only ambience accompanying the review. My father’s eyes never left the holo-tablet in his lap as he spoke. Stock prices, headlines, and news bulletins constantly scrolled across the transparent device. I stood before him, silent as per tradition. His fingers tapped on the arm of the plush leather chair as if counting the seconds. My swollen eye throbbed in time.
“What am I to do?” he continued, “Neglect years of my own labor, schooling, diligence, and true gumption. Building a company that brought you and your mother an existence free of worry. With every want and need attended to.” He sighed, moving his gaze briefly from the tablet to the fire and back, pausing to sip one of the deep red wines he favored so much. I could still taste blood in my mouth.
“This must be stemming from your Mother’s side. She never did agree with how success is built.” I could feel my breathing getting faster, my thoughts straying to Marque and Phillipe, father’s ever-present body guards. They were posted like gargoyles by the door to the office. “That’s why she went through with it you know. Weak-willed. A trait I failed to see in time I’m afraid.”
I focused on the full moon through the window and the gentle wisps of snow outside. The stillness and cold brought my thoughts back to the present and away from instant cathartic satisfaction, and Father was still speaking. “There will always be those who believe we can have ever-lasting peace. And it is those that will be the first to go when the flame of war flares up again. Only a fool fails to see the opportunity that is profiting off of such a predictable phenomenon as conflict. Fitting that your Mother subscribed to both philosophies. Tragic though, she truly was beautiful” He sipped, my fists clenched, his fingers tapped, and my rage-filled eyes caught a news bulletin halfway down the tablet.
‘ACCORDS TO BE SIGNED WITHIN THE WEEK.
CALLS FOR CHANGE ECHO WORLDWIDE. RECRUITMENT SOARS.’
It was then that my Father finally glanced up, looking me over and acknowledging everything the town’s constable had told him. My jacket was torn, trousers scuffed and stained with spilled drinks and blood. My left eye swollen shut and jaw nearly broken. I was a sight. “These scuffles in her supposed defense are simply not worth it, and in these turbulent times, if you can’t prove that you are worthy, then I will find someone who is.”
It was then that I truly knew. I was suddenly overcome with a sense of purpose. Anxiety, insecurity, uncertainty, it all melted away at once. I felt serene and calm, for the first time in my young life. Father, finally set the tablet aside, leaning slightly forward. The flames of the fire reflected in his antique reading glasses. “So, my son, what is your answer? Shall I find another heir?”
I leaned in abruptly, causing Marque and Phillipe to take a step forward from their posts. “I suggest you do sir, and quickly.” Without another word I was out the door and down the icy roads. Letting the frigid air reinvigorate my soul with each new breath.
My name is Alexander Tull IV, and that was the night I enlisted in the URE.
