Chapter Four
Adam
The enormity of my decision didn't hit me until I walked out on to Dearborn Street and realized I no longer had my father's resources at my disposal. There would be no more car service to transport me around the city. No more credit cards whose bills were sent to my father's accountant for payment. No more access to his personal airplane or any of the other benefits I'd enjoyed as the son of a wealthy, Chicago oil magnate.
I quickly walked the few blocks to the building where I had lived since returning from the East Coast. I had been living rent-free in a penthouse apartment in one of my father's buildings off Dearborn, but it had always felt more like a hotel than a home. The interior was all glass and white leather, punctuated by pieces of modern art that I found overrated. Still, living downtown had had its perks, one of which was that the penthouse wasn't more than a few hundred yards from any one of many bars where beautiful young women perched on barstools were easily enticed to join me in my master suite. There wasn't much I'd miss about the apartment, but this, this I would miss.
Thinking that my father's threats about me leaving with nothing but the clothes on my back were probably somewhat empty threats designed to get me to back down, I headed into the building. I wanted to pack a few things before meeting with Bugsy so that we could plan our next steps and get moving. Striding through the lobby of the building, I was stopped by Jimmy, the doorman and front desk clerk. He was accompanied by a large security guard with a holster conspicuously strapped to his side.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Wallace," Jimmy said with a look of genuine regret. "But I can't let you go up to your apartment. You're barred from the premises."
"Don't be ridiculous, Jimmy," I said flashing both him and the guard a friendly smile. "Surely I can have a few minutes to pack some things, can't I?"
"I'm sorry," Jimmy said as he shook his head. "By order of the owner, who also happens to be my boss, you're not allowed on the premises anymore."
"This is insane," I said as I turned and headed for the elevator. I'd known my father was angry, but I hadn't realized he was going to crack down this quickly. "My father is just throwing a temper tantrum. I'm sure that once it dies down he'll have no problem with me packing up the few things I own and moving them out."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Wallace," Jimmy nervously repeated. He looked and sounded like someone who was being watched. "You are not allowed on the premises."
"This is utter bullshit!" I hissed. "You can't legally bar me from collecting my own things."
Jimmy shrugged and then nodded at the security guard, whose neck was wider then my waist. The guard moved in front of me, blocking my access to the elevator as he pointed toward the front door without saying anything. When I didn't move, he shifted one hand to the holster at his side and in a deep voice said, "Do not test me, Mr. Wallace."
"This is despicable," I muttered as I tried to make an end run around him. Without saying a word, the guard grabbed my arm and quickly yanked me across the lobby to the front door where he firmly shoved me out onto the sidewalk. I stumbled a bit as I tried to maintain my balance, and then turned to look at the two men who stood in the doorway of the building.
"Wouldn't come back if I were you," the guard said before letting the door slowly swing closed.
"Bullshit!" I screamed at the glass doors. "You have no idea what you've just done! You people are going to hear from my lawyers!"
I stormed down the street to a bar on the corner where I ordered a drink and tried to calm myself down. I picked a corner table and sat down to try and figure out exactly where I stood. I made a quick list of the things I no longer had access to, and then made a list of the things that were still at my disposal.
I had a cell phone in my own name and a bank account I'd started my freshman year in college in which I'd stashed enough money that, if I was frugal, would keep me afloat for a few months. I knew Bugsy could probably figure out a way to make the money we'd generated for our startup last long enough to make a sale, but that wasn't a sure thing. One thing I knew for certain was that I was not going to return and marry some woman I'd never met simply because it would help my father close a business deal. That much I was certain of.
Once I'd laid things out in a concrete fashion, I could see that it would be a challenge, but not impossible to move forward. However, there was one more thing I needed to take care of before I headed over to Bugsy's.
I dialed my mother's phone number and wasn't surprised when she didn't pick up. She was a professional socialite who spent her days planning benefits for her multiple charities and maintaining her biggest asset—herself. I knew it was highly likely that she was at, or on her way to, her favorite spa in the Loop, so I headed over to find her.
She was just entering the lobby when I arrived. I watched her stride across the marble floor of the lobby in her Chanel summer suit and black stiletto heels.
"Mother!" I called. She didn't turn around. I quickly covered the distance between us as I asked, "Mother, are you still speaking to me?"
"Adam, you are my son and I love you, but your father is right," she said in an icy tone. "We cannot abide disloyalty in this family. Why won't you marry Veronica? She's a beautiful girl and she'll make a lovely wife for you."
"Wow, he got to you fast, didn't he?" I said marveling at the way in which my parents quickly solidified their bond against outsiders. This wasn't new to me; I'd seen them do this time and again when they'd felt betrayed by friends or family members, but I'd reassured myself time and time again that they'd never do it to their own son. "Mother, I don't love Veronica. I don't even know her!"
"What did you expect?" she said coolly looking me over. My mother was a beautiful woman, but her beauty was the brittle kind. It was designed to intimidate and, as a result, keep people at a distance. "Besides, love is overrated."
"Mother, we have a good idea and a great product," I said. I wanted to explain the idea to her, but I knew it would most likely be futile. My mother rarely thought about anyone but my father and herself. "It's not like I'm selling family secrets to the competition! I'm just doing what I feel is the right thing."
"Yes, well, that's all relative, isn't it?" she said coolly. "Adam, you need to realize that you come from a family that prizes loyalty and service to God and to the family first. You have put your individual needs above those of the family and the business, and that is unacceptable. You will marry Veronica or you will be dead to us."
"That's ironic coming from you," I retorted. "You're telling me that no one in this family has ever done anything that went against what the family demanded? You and Father didn't exactly fo
llow the rules, did you?"
"Don't get smart with me, young man," my mother hissed as she raised a crimson, lacquer-tipped finger in front of my face. Her anger was palpable. And then she inhaled deeply, dropped her hand and said calmly, "Of course you can choose to do other things, just not this other thing."
"That seems incredibly hypocritical given the fact that Father did not follow in his father's footsteps and married you," I said instantly regretting what I'd said as I felt the sting of my mother's hand connecting with my cheek.