Mr. CEO(125)

I should be pissed that she's kept this secret from me for so long, but I'm not. Instead, another question comes to mind. “So why have you called me oniichan for most of my life, if you hate the family so much?” The Japanese term for older brother is probably only one of maybe five Japanese words I know. However, I know I'm the only person Andrea uses familial Japanese terms with. Peter hates it when she speaks Japanese since he doesn't understand it and never bothered to learn any, and Andrea would never call Margaret her mother in any language.

Andrea gets up off the chair and comes over, sitting next to me on the bed. She puts an arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “Oh Jackson, I've never hated you. You've pissed me off plenty of times and disappointed me, sure. Mainly it hurt that you spent so much of your life living in denial of who we are and what sort of family we lived in. But I have never hated you. You're my big brother, and I love you. Right now you need my help, and I'm going to be here for you.”

I hug Andrea back, fresh tears coming to my eyes, and soon I'm crying again. I wish the little waif in my arms was about six or eight inches taller, that the long black hair was short and brown, and that Andrea was Katrina. Still, it helps, and Andrea holds me back, letting me vent. When it's over, she kisses my forehead, and gives me a smile. “Better?”

I nod, and wipe at my nose. “Yeah. I think I need to invest in some tissues though. I don't see any. I don't think Katrina ever cried.”

“I bet she did,” Andrea counters. “I've done plenty of crying myself. Now, you know why I'm here. I've got some computer skills too, and with your permission, I want to combine what I've gathered with what Katrina's got. Together, I'm certain there's enough dirt there to put Sam Grammercy and Peter DeLaCoeur away for the rest of their lives. There has to be.”

“Let's do it,” I say, anger filling my voice. “I don't care about the money anymore. Those bastards took Katrina from me, they need to rot.”

“And our money?” Andrea asks.

I shrug. “Doesn't f*cking matter anymore. Maybe I'll take what I can before the cops move in, I'm sure I can do some wire transfers or get cash advances on my credit cards that he's paying for, but I honestly don't give a f*ck. I'll walk out tomorrow with five bucks in my pocket if I have to.”

“Well, we can do more than that,” Andrea says with a chuckle as she gets off the bed and goes over to Katrina's computer. She sits down and takes a look, and I can tell, she's impressed. “Whoa... this thing is f*cking... I think we could rename this thing Skynet.”

“Can you access it?” I ask, and Andrea nods. “Really?”

“I know more than just business. This might take a little while though, unless you know the system, too.”

I shake my head, chagrined. “I saw her use it, but she didn't tell me much.”

Andrea flips a switch, and the computer hums to life, a glow forming from the flat panel display. “Well then, this might take a little while to get into. Do you have any money on you?”

I pat my hip pocket, and pull out my wallet. I honestly wasn't even sure it was there until I take it out. Opening it up, I see a few bills. “Maybe fifty bucks, why?”

“Because I skipped lunch to argue with Nathan and find this place, and I'm hungry. I saw a minimart on the corner if you turn left when you hit Market Street. Think you'd be willing to make a grub run while I get cozy with the HAL-9000 here?”

“Skynet, HAL-9000... you're a geek, Andrea.”

She turns and gives me a smile, and I realize something. I love her, too. “Thanks, oniichan. Take a hat or something, I can hear the rain still.”



It actually takes Andrea three weeks to crack the system, during which I can do little more than sit around, read the business books that she brings me, and f*ck around on my own laptop. Nathan gives me a call once in a while, but my cover story of just being pissed at Peter is holding pat, and Peter hasn't invested too much effort in finding me yet.

I also start exercising again, copying the movements that Katrina and I went through, and trying some more that I make up from the stuff laying around the loft. I find that the pain of the exercise eases the pain in my heart, and that in doing so, I find myself closer to Katrina. I can understand more about what she put herself through for so many years, and I can begin to understand what drove her to become the woman she was. It's both sad and beautiful, and as I drop the sandbag that I've had over my shoulders, not all the water dripping down my face is sweat.

“You keep pushing yourself like that, you're going to end up with rhabdo,” Andrea says from over by the computer, where she's been working for four hours. “I'd prefer to not have to drag you to the hospital on the back of my scooter.”

“You brought my car today,” I reply, dropping down into a burpee and kicking out before pulling back in and jumping, touching the beam that's over my head. I'd found the two rope handles that Katrina had tied around the beam yesterday for pullups, and realized there were so many little things I still wanted to find. “Besides, rhabdo mostly hits untrained individuals.”

“And athletes who refuse to accept that their bodies may not be as strong as their minds,” Andrea notes, turning back to the computer and typing away. “I'm just saying, don't kill yourself over there.”