Page 12 of Broken Brothers

5

Some things just never change.

In the poorly lit corner of a cubicle farm, in a private office only because of my last name, in a building that had seen better days, I sat with a crumpled piece of paper in my right hand. I flicked it up, watched it go about a foot above my head, caught it with my left hand, and repeated the parabolic arc once more.

That day out in the field… when I had learned the true value of having a superficial name but not what it meant to have everything it brought… it had come a full ten years ago. Ten years! I could scarcely believe so much time had passed.

And yet, my worst fears had come true.

Sarah Hill, bless her, grew into one of the most stunning women at school. Boys didn’t just chase her, they practically threw themselves at her feet. I watched with amused disdain, knowing that when the time came that we could escape the Hunts and the Hills, we could do whatever we wanted. I didn’t have to grovel; if anything, Sarah had to grovel because I’d be the one making the choices. I never saw it coming at twelve yearsold, but then again, what boy ever had the confidence to assert himself to that degree that young?

And then, just before senior year, her family moved to New Zealand.

And that was that. Sure, we kept in touch on Facebook and such, but what the hell did that mean? Her father intended to pay for her to go to college at Stanford—on the other side of the USA, not quite “able to do whatever we wanted”—and then have her run the family business from New Zealand. Sarah had the life she could ever hope for because she had the last name Hill.

Meanwhile, despite all his saying that he would not wind up in a much better spot than I, that we would have the same opportunities, guess where Morgan wound up?

Not in the corner of some crappy investment company, working as an intern, slaving away at the most menial of tasks, that’s for sure. Not having to rely on some back door help because the front door made it look too sad and too awkward for Edwin Hunt to help his adopted “son.” Not wondering where his future might lie.

Nope, as usual, Hunt Industries helped those who were literally family and left everyone else out to dry. I was nothing more than an employee who had no job security the second the market turned down, at least in the metaphorical sense. Of course, at my job here at Burnson Investments, that was a bit too literal.

The only reason it might not have been was because I had the ironic security of not being paid, which meant it might have actually cost Burnson Investments to fire me.

I can’t say that I never had any work. Sure, I got to work on researching potential investment opportunities here and there. In fact, I even had my hand in a few associated deals with Hunt Industries. More than once, something I had done had workedits way up to Edwin Hunt. Undoubtedly, Morgan had seen some of my work too.

But let’s be real. For being named Chance Hunt, an awful lot of my career was left up to chance.

These were circumstances I hated, but it was damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. I had always wanted to branch away from the Hunt name to build myself out, especially as it became apparent after Sarah that my last name would be nothing more than a curse of failed expectations. But, perhaps in a case of wanting my cake and eating it too, I wanted the security and power that came from having the last name Hunt.

Well, I got to branch off. And what did I get out of it? I got to intern for John Burnson, the senior partner, founder, and owner of Burnson Investments, whose named adorned everything, and who, in theory, was supposed to mentor me in a way that Edwin Hunt would not.

I say in theory because, frankly, John Burnson seemed more interested in nurturing his golf habits and his favorite restaurants than he did me.

I looked at the clock. 12:02 p.m. A normal lunch time for most of us. Except today, Mr. Burnson had not even shown up to work today. I had gotten an email advising me to check into a new deal and that he would come in for a meeting around noon, but lo and behold, the man with the name on the business had decided he had a few more holes to play.

I checked my email again. Nothing new had popped up. I sighed. I watched as the balled-up paper flew to the sky. This time, I wanted to approach but not hit the ceiling. I wanted to see how close—

My phone rang. Startled, I missed the paper dropping to the floor and then fumbled my way over to the phone. It was the front desk and I picked it up.

“Burnson Investments, this is Chance,” I said.

“Chance, it’s Peggy,” the front desk lady announced. “Mr. Burnson’s twelve o’clock is here, will you help them to their meeting room?”

Oh, you gotta be kidding me. Golf on regular days, sure, but when clients are in town? Really? Maybe I should start pitching for a job with Hunt Industries. Edwin may be a tyrant, but he’s not a fool.

“Be right there,” I said, putting the phone down.

I stood up with a sigh and grabbed my suit. I smoothed my shirt and tie out, threw on the suit, and cleared my throat. I may have been a disgruntled intern, but that was only when I was alone. I knew how to put a pretty smile on my face for our clients.

If nothing else, Edwin Hunt had drilled into me the value of appearances perhaps a little too well.

I passed by the rows of cubicles filled with everything from marketers, financial analysts, and investment bankers to tech people and other jobs I had never bothered to learn. It was never lost on me what it looked like that I got the corner office and many of these people did not. It never left me that John Burnson had likely done this not to recruit me to the company, but as a way of getting into Edwin Hunt’s good favor.

It’s too bad he probably doesn’t realize how little Edwin cares about me. I’m only good in the sense that I’m a body to protect Morgan in certain spots.

I came to the front office and found an unexpected pair there.

Of course, there was the older gentleman, a skinny man with thinning hair, sharp green eyes, and veins in his neck. This, from my research, was Craig Taylor, the CEO of the company that Mr. Burnson had expressed interest in investing in.