Page 92 of Broken Brothers

I didn’t know the answer. But I did know that finding the answer was going to be a lot fucking harder than I had ever anticipated.

38

When I got home the next day, I was surprised to find Morgan sitting on my couch as if I had left him there.

“You aren’t at your place?” I said. “And how did you get a key to my place?”

“You gave it to me the night you got shitfaced hammered after the disaster with Burnson Investments,” he said. “You said that for what I did for you, I could have a key anytime I needed help from you. And, well…”

“What the hell did Edwin Hunt do to you?”

Morgan just laughed.

“He was paying for my place,” he said. “Was. Then he got the leasing officer to kick me out and warned that if I tried to keep the place, he would destroy me with legal fees until I cried for mercy. I figured I could at least come here.”

“Of course,” I said, but I was just feeling sick rage at Edwin Hunt. His only son! And he treated him like a piece of garbage to dispose of. “You and I are going to operate MCH out of his apartment.”

“Good,” he said. “Between Rising Sun and Virtual Realty, we have quite the portfolio to start.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, even though I knew only half of that was true.

Morgan seemed to pick up on my hesitation, because he looked at me askance. My attention, though, was taken up by something else.

Normally, I didn’t give a shit about Facebook other than to check it maybe once every blue moon or so. But today, a notification popped up containing a name I hadn’t seen in ages, a name that elicited old memories I thought I had left behind.

“Chance?”

I heard Morgan, but I ignored him. I opened up the friend request to see who it was, thinking that maybe it was a coincidence. Their name was common enough.

But, no, it was definitely them.

“Chance? What’s going on? What haven’t you told me?”

Sarah Hill.

39

Iwalked home under a bright, sunny sky with relatively little honking in New York City. It almost felt like the city had felt it fit to declare today a sort of holiday for what we had accomplished—securing Virtual Realty as our first major investment, beating out the bastard of an old man Edwin Hunt. Compared to the last major night out, this was a rather sharp contrast to blacking out with a random Columbia co-ed.

I’d left Claire McLendon, the founder of our first company we’d invested in, Rising Sun, satisfied and unable to move in the best way possible in bed. I’d barely found the strength in my own legs, but I had all the strength in the world in my head. I felt not just on top of the world, but soaring above it.

Which made it all the more surprising, if not necessarily disconcerting, that I found my brother, Morgan, sitting on my couch as if I had left him there—which I most certainly had not.

“You aren’t at your place?” I said. “And how did you get a key to my place?”

“You gave it to me the night you got shitfaced hammered after the disaster with Burnson Investments,” he said. “You saidthat for what I did for you, I could have a key anytime I needed help from you. And, well…”

I already knew where this was going. I didn’t need it spelled out for me, because the actions of all of the Hunts had spelled out for me what had happened already.

“What the hell did Edwin Hunt do to you?”

Morgan just laughed.

“He was paying for my place,” he said. “Was. Then he got the leasing officer to kick me out and warned that if I tried to keep the place, he would destroy me with legal fees until I cried for mercy. I figured I could at least come here.”

“Of course,” I said, but I was just feeling sick rage at Edwin Hunt. His only son! And he treated him like a piece of garbage to dispose of. “You and I are going to operate MCH out of this apartment.”

“Good,” he said, though he spoke with what sounded like false confidence and bravado. “Between Rising Sun and Virtual Realty, we have quite the portfolio to start.”