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I lean back in my chair and look around at all I’ve built. I open up the blinds and look down at the warehouse floor through the window behind my desk. Rows and rows of growth, each plant meant to be consumed. I’ve done the right thing. I’ve made steps to become a better man. I know this, and I desperately want the latter to be true.

???

Spending Friday afternoon seeking out my brother is not at the top of my list of things to do, but I have to. And being a better person includes being a better brother.

He doesn’t greet me at the door this time, and I’m notentirely surprised. August is, despite what my father thinks, a quick learner. His doorman greets me pleasantly, his wrinkled face giving me a polite smile as he takes my jacket. He guides me down the same corridor as before, enunciating that my brother is in his officein the west wing.

I thank him, slapping him on the shoulder and squeezing gently. The poor man scuttles away before I can open the door. And because I’m polite and a good boy, I give the door a knock before I enter. And that’s a lesson I’ve learned after visiting dear old daddy the last time. I’m a quick learner, too.

“Come in,” my brother calls out.

I step into the office. Everything is very much the same as last time, except my brother.

Holy shit. He’s wearing jeans.

I try to contain my smile, failing desperately. Have I become an influencer? Our father would have a conniption if he could see the two of us now. Maybe I could convince August to become a farmer like me. I’m sure he’d like the harsh lighting and lack of weather in my operation.

“Brother, how are you? Good week?”

“I’ve had better. How about yours?”

Still painfully polite, I see.

“Drink?” I ask, inviting myself for one while I’m at it.

He checks his Rolex and tuts. “Might as well.”

I pour out the same amber liquid as last time. Either my brother fills his decanter up regularly, or he doesn’t drink at all. I’d guess the latter. He really hates being out of control.

“My week has been good,” I say, handing him his glass. He takes it and sips it delicately. “So, come on, tell me what was so terrible about your week.”

“Should I expect regular heart-to-hearts now that you’re in love?” He snickers.

I roll my eyes, even though a twinge of satisfaction runs through my body. Even August has noted a change in me.

I lean back, taking in the artwork I saw last time,the waves crashing into some famous ship of some famous explorer. It surprises me that August seems interested in this kind of work. But then, I don’t know my brother very well.

He finally responds to my question. “Father called me and told me I was fired. I’ve ignored him, of course, carried on as usual, but it does make things rather difficult when the head of The Organization has been sending rage-fueled emails for the past week.”

“Hmm . . . can’t imagine what would have caused that.” I wink.

“Austin.”

“August.”

He throws a look my way that only an older brother can. It hits me with guilt. What would Alfie suggest?

“I should have called sooner and warned you. I apologize. It’s not in my instinct to give you a heads-up, but I should have.”

He nods, adjusting his t-shirt. He’s only thirty-four but the way he carries himself, you’d think he was significantly older. The man just can’t relax. Even in jeans and a t-shirt, he looks painfully uncomfortable.

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“Hope that it blows over, and he’ll need me for something soon, forgetting this whole debacle.” He flourishes his hand in my direction.

“Well, I appreciate you not blaming me for this.”

I hear him mutter, “Fuck,” under his breath, and he sighs heavily. I want to laugh; surely he’s not that annoyed? This is classic Dad.