The Price of a Last Name and the Bloodline We Rebuild
“Luke,” my former father-in-law said.
His voice sounded like gravel grinding under a heavy boot.
“Father,” Luke said, his voice tightening.
“You are not at your desk,” Arthur Mercer said.
“I am dealing with a personal matter,” Luke replied.
“Your personal matters are becoming a liability to this family,” Arthur said.
“The board is meeting in three hours.”
“If you are not in the room, I will make the decision for you.”
The line went dead.
Luke stared at the black screen of his phone.
“He knows,” Marco said quietly.
“He knows I’m not where I should be,” Luke said.
He rubbed his hand over his face.
I pulled the thin hospital blanket off my legs and swung my feet to the cold floor.
“What are you doing?” Luke asked, stepping toward me.
“I’m coming with you,” I said.
My voice was barely a whisper, but I meant it.
“Elena, you’re still weak,” he said, reaching out to support my elbow.
His hand was warm against my bare skin.
“Vivian was just here,” I said, looking at him.
“If she comes back, I am alone.”