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GARNER

“I have faith in your ability to turn your division around so when you become Alpha, you’ll be able to run the entire company. Our fox den is depending on you.”

Those words from my uncle Cyrus, who handed me the position last year, rang in my ears every time I walked into the head office.

Redtail Global had been created by my father and uncle, but since Dad died and Uncle Cyrus took the reins, the company had been losing money. My dad had been the numbers guy, and he’d worked in the background while Uncle glad-handed potential and repeat customers, often splurging on wining and dining, expensive gifts, and weekends at a mountain resort, courtesy of Redtail Global.

Dad was able to rein in Uncle Cyrus because they’d grown up together and loved and respected one another. I loved Uncle too, but our relationship was different as uncle and nephew. We both grieved my dad’s death, as did my brother, Booker, though him not so much. No, that wasn’t fair. Booker didn’t reveal his emotions as I did, instead escaping the world by shifting.

That grieving—which from my experience never went away, just became more manageable—made me reluctant to criticize Uncle Cyrus. What he’d accepted from my dad, he bristled at when the words came from my mouth.

Booker was no help. Sure, he came to the office from nine to five, worked hard and checked off items on his to-do list, but he’d made it clear that his aim was to be the next Alpha and head of the company.

“You’re too soft. If you mess this up, everything Dad and Uncle worked for will be tossed in the trash and it’ll be your fault.” Booker had said those words or a variation of them countless times, and he noted my every step, criticizing me and saying how he would have done it.

Dad and the den council had designated Uncle as my dad’s successor, but as he had no children, I was next in line. Uncle Cyrus was retiring in two years, and he expected the company to be healthy at the end of his term. Or else.

No one said “or else.” But the words were implied because Uncle refused to leave the business unless it had recovered. There were not-so-secret meetings between him and the council where they discussed passing me over for Alpha and head of Redtail Global and handing the roles to Booker.

My brother was a smash-and-burn kinda guy. He’d put unattainable goals on the staff, burdening them and resulting in burnout and resignations.

“Morning, Garner.”

The greeting from one of my colleagues brought me back to the present as we strode into Redtail Global Headquarters. I sighed as I glanced around, wishing Dad hadn’t given in toUncle’s demands that we build a new home for the company. The business was thriving, and while my dad had qualms about spending so much capital on floors and lighting fixtures, he’d been swayed by Uncle Cyrus saying we had to project the right image and working out of an old warehouse didn’t give our clients confidence we could handle their demands.

Our business was importing and exporting, and I specialized in finding hard-to-come-by antiques and artifacts, including food, fabric, and spices if they’d gone viral on social media and the public was clamoring for them. I thought the old wooden building which was our former headquarters had been more fitting. It was dark, with long winding corridors, and it smelled of ancient secrets. Dad had nodded when I told him that, whereas Booker scoffed at me being able to scent a secret.

I’d lost more than a father when Dad died. He was a friend, a colleague, and someone I could confide in.

I stood for a moment in the lobby, inhaling the modern smells of shiny metal and glass, while gazing at the pointed edges and gleaming windows and floor. It was so bright. Uggh!

A large digital map on the far wall glowed with yellow dots, showing the countries and cities we exported to. Remembering Dad’s map on his office wall where he stuck actual pins and he’d stand back and admire how the business had expanded, I yearned for the past.

My office was on the mezzanine floor, so there was no need for the elevator, and instead, I trotted up the stairs. I longed for the chipped desk that had Booker’s and my names carved underneath. My brother had dared me to do it when Dad was out one afternoon but denied it when confronted. I took the blame,even though I was convinced Dad suspected my brother had spurred me on.

But in the years after that day, whenever I was in my father’s office, I’d put my hand under the desk, ignoring my brother’s name carved in the old wood, and run my fingers over the gouges that spelled Garner.

Before entering my division, I leaned on the railing and surveyed our domain. I always thought of it as ours because it belonged to the den, though when Booker talked up his big future as Alpha and CEO of Redtail Global, he centered it around himself. It was “my company,” and “my vision,” and he never forgot to add “my money.”

The lobby bustled with staff heading to the elevators and clients waiting for whomever they were there to meet. Nothing about the surroundings or the people in it suggested the business was failing.

Taking a deep breath, I strolled into my office, ignoring the title on the door that read Manager, Rare Acquisitions. I dreaded opening the computer and checking the overnight logs. Instead, I studied the street below from my large window, the one that let in so much light that I had to close the blinds by mid-morning because it made me squint.

I sat in my ergonomic chair, wishing my butt was on the old squeaky one with the cracked leather. Uncle didn’t know that I’d ferreted that chair out of our former headquarters and taken it to my home office. Not that I was ever there because my butt was firmly planted here until late every evening.

After Dad died, Uncle wanted to make a splash, even though he’d already done that with the new building. He made deals,extended credit, hired people with questionable ethics, and some of our most precious shipments had gone missing. I suspected “missing” was a euphemism for stolen and not that they were at the bottom of the ocean.

My dad had done business the old-fashioned way. Over tea or coffee, seated on a sofa, at a desk, during a meal, or cross-legged on the floor. Those meetings had taken place over hours. His contacts had been established and maintained over decades, unlike Uncle Cyrus who agreed to terms that favored the person on the other end of the deal and left us in a precarious position and in debt.

I’d spent a lot of time soothing clients so they wouldn’t sue us into oblivion and debtor’s prison. My job was to start from the beginning and build a new… new everything, from the day-to-day logistics, including manifests, tracking, and chain-of-custody protocol. Our new suppliers had to be vetted and the division's internal systems rebuilt.

I didn’t have the technological skill to start from the beginning and create something new. But with trust in the division being at an all-time low, having few repeat clients and numerous lost shipments, I was playing whack-a-mole, jumping from one aspect of the business to another.

I lay my head on the desk, wishing Dad were here. He’d know how to get us out of this hole.

Being Alpha wasn’t my dream. I’d understood from a young age that it was probably where my future lay. I didn’t mind if I wasn’t the den’s Numero Uno, but I did give a damn about the company that my dad had built.