The closer I get to the kitchen, I realize that luck is not on my side. Hearing his voice and the sounds of the clicking of keys on his keyboard, I know he is in his office. If the truth be known, he has probably been up for hours working, because the high-end financial world never sleeps. There are always, at any time of the day, money markets open and reports releasing that affect the prices of shares. I don’t know how he does it, that job would bore me to tears. But there is a part of me that also has such a hate for the financial world because it took my dad away from me, and that I can’t ever forget.

I should be worried that Forrest works in the same world as my dad, but it’s very clear that Forrest is so conservative that I presume it carries through to his investing too. Plus, there is no way he would let the others down by doing anything risky like my father did. Forrest is very protective of his family and friend group. I just wish my dad had been the same.

The financial world is not my thing, and I’m just glad I don’t really have to deal in that part of Kentwall Estates; I just get the fun of organizing how we spend it. I also need excitement and challenges in my career, but just not in the way of making money at others’ expense. But to each their own, I suppose.

What is the right thing to do here? Go into his office to let him know I’m awake, which I’m a bit hesitant to do because his conversation could be something confidential, and we are business competitors, after all. Or do I just make some noise in the kitchen, purposely loud so he gets the hint that I’m out here?

Two days ago, I probably would have just marched in there and not given a fuck about what he was saying on the phone, showing him that I’m running the show here. But this morning, I’m not sure I have the energy for that.

Decision made, I enter the kitchen and start opening the cupboards to find a glass and try to close them a little louder than is needed.

“Of course they are those damn soft-close doors. Shit.” Looking around, I need something I can accidentally drop on the floor or in the sink that will make a loud enough noise he will hear me but not break.

A chopping board, perfect.

I pick it up and hold it high above my head so when it falls, there is no way he won’t hear it.

“What the hell are you doing?” Forrest’s voice from behind startles me, and I scream in fright. I also drop the board, which lands on my toe.