𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐆𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 | Succession

𝚨𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝚸𝚨𝐑𝐓 𝚩 | Broken Glass

There was a pause as I waited for her response, as she seemed to struggle too with what exactly I was to the inner Furness circle. I've craved and cherished being the outsider for most of my life. And now, when I actually wanted to be part of the conversation, the doors were locked, and it was completely my doing.

"Look, I'm not gonna start scolding you. Dad can take that up for me. But you shouldn't expect to be welcomed in with opened arms just because he's sick. If you wanna know about it, then talk to him. He'll probably be happy to hear from you. You're his golden child after all, even after all the shitty things you keep doing."

I looked away from the mirror and tried not to think about the pain of her words.

"Sandi, I just want to know if he's okay." I grimaced at the waver in my voice.

"You don't think you would know if he's in a critical condition? Yeah, he's fine, Eleanor. It's just a sex disease, no one should be fucking surprised. I mean, you know how much of a freak he is."

I shook my head as if it could untangle the thought out of my mind. But it was like a gross, old piece of gum stuck in your hair that just wouldn't leave. It was enough to seize me of words and insults and questions and thinking in general. My older sister must've realized that I wasn't going to speak. She spoke into the phone with a more gentle voice. The kind I was hoping to be greeted with at the start of this gut-wrenching phone call.

"I'm sorry. I'm just... stressed. Will you at least tell me who told you? Please?" It was careful, and delicately asked. I couldn't reason properly for why I shouldn't just tell her, my alliances were so out of whack. How the hell did it get like this?

"It was PGM's CEO. Rhea Jarrell." Maybe if I tell her she'd tell me more about Dad's condition.

"What the...?" Her voice faltered as she thought out loud. "Why were you even talking to her in the first place? You know what actually, I'm glad you told me. Dad will be very interested in what this means for the takeover."

That bitch. "You bitch."

She made a, hmmf, sounding very pleased with herself. "You're not the only one in this family. We'll see you at Argestes Elly. Bye!"

The line went dead and I hung onto the phone as if she would somehow come back and laugh like it was all a fun joke; That dad wasn't sick, that she hadn't scorned me for being his favorite daughter and that I didn't just let the enemy know the next move.

I picked up a jar of hand soap on the sink and hurled it into the mirror violently. The crack the sound made as the plastic collided into the glass was incredibly satisfying. Tiny shards flew out into the ceramic bowl beneath it, but mostly the aftermath was seen by the crater left on the mirror, with weaves of cracks branching out like a beautiful piece of art. As I inspected the broken glass, I felt the anger drain away from me staring at the mess I had made. I shouldn't have done that, but it's too late now.

Now I was left with my distorted reflection looking at me, and the weight of it all deeper than the indent on the mirror. It was far deeper. I have fucked up. I don't even know who I align with anymore. Maybe I should try and help my family.

I thought of Greg, and then JB and Jenna, Hunter, and even Tom. I can't believe I'm admitting it, but I don't totally hate that man. He's obsequious and two faced, but then again, who isn't? He's just so obvious about it, it's almost admirable. No, I can't leave my friends behind. Jesus Christ, is Tom really my friend now?

And yet, I don't want to be apart of this game anymore. I don't wanna keep writing bigoted stories and being told how good I am at it, and having to avoid phone calls from my friends when I do something outside my moral compass. I've been scratching an itch that I have been so careful not to for so long.

And the worst part is, I like the way it feels. Calling Tom and intimidating him, getting Benny fired, marching up to Logan Roy and demanding a job, and even an hour ago insulting a room full of million and billionaires. It's such a satisfying rush. It's a vice even more rewarding than sleeping around.

And I've been telling myself for so long that by participating in all this, it makes you a bad person. But it's not bad when you do it for something good, and I am good. Yes, I am.

You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Greg was right. I don't have to work for Logan, or my father, or for anyone but myself. And unfortunately for my dad, he taught me just how to get what I want; hook, line, and sinker. If everyone wants me to dance for them, I can dance, just not to their tune. No, starting now, no more vengeance against a dying man, wasting my time, and wondering about about my next steps. I have my own agenda.

I cradled the phone against my ear, feeling the blood rushing through my head and making it twisty with all the anticipation.

"Hello. Is this New York Weekly?"

"Yeah so hi! This is Nora Furness, and I'm so sorry to be calling during out of office hours."

"Why thank you! I appreciate the compliment."

"So I was calling because I have an anonymous source with a story involving Waystar Royco and their cruise lines. I was gonna use it on my show but I figured that once we blew the lid open, more details would come out that my team could use. So I thought, why not take it up with my good friends at New York Weekly?"

"Mmm-hmm, no yeah. It's quite heinous."

"Well I'm excited to be in touch with you later too! Have a nice night."

I clicked my phone off and left the bathroom, not bothering to clean up the mess I had made. In fact, I highly doubt that would be the last one I'd be leaving behind after today.