The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,68

and my uncle destroy Kingdom one bit at a time.

They all stare down at their laps.

Cowards.

“There are two main issues in their complaint. The first is that some of them were evicted without notice. The units took on water, but we disagreed with their complaints that there would be any significant problems with people living there once they dried out,” he says.

“What was your disagreement based on?” I ask.

“Huh?” His eyes dart to his left again.

“You’re on your own here, Rich. They’re not going to jump in and save you.” I hook my thumb at the two other men. “Tell me.”

“It was just what we thought,” he says in a high nasally whine that makes me wish hitting people wasn’t illegal.

“But some of ‘em left without notice, and we didn’t know if they would be back. There were plenty of people looking for places to rent so we filled the vacated units right away.” He shrugs his shoulders, eyes wide with complete bafflement at how what he’s saying could be construed as fraud and theft.

“It says here you emptied occupied apartments and threw away personal belongings after residents were gone for less than seventy-two hours? Is that allegation true?”

“Yes, but we thought they were moved, and we needed to turn those units over to people who wanted to pay,” he snaps defensively and wipes a drop of sweat from his forehead. I shake my head in disgust.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone and text my PA Muriel that I want her to find an executive search firm. It’s time for me to build my own team. I’ve had enough indulging my uncle’s ego and treading lightly.

“Well, we’re going to settle this case. And we’re going to make these people whole again. I want a report on the actual damage costs. They’re suing us, seeking general and pecuniary damages. Our exposure at trial is unlimited. This isn’t hard. Let’s give them a little money for their troubles and send them on their way.” I stand up to leave.

“On Monday, I want a list—a comprehensive one—of all other potential liabilities you’re aware of. Even if it’s just a repeated customer complaint. And I don’t mean just in real estate, I mean throughout Kingdom. I also want a report of our philanthropic spending in the last ten years. I’ve received disturbing reports about our failure to support efforts that were pioneered by the Rivers family,” I chastise them.

“The zoo doesn’t need our help any longer. Why should we continue making such huge bequests?” Eugene Kinder, the CFO, chimes in from his chair.

I’ve never liked him.

“That’s not for you to decide. I want those reports by the end of the week.” I stand. The four men all stand and offer their disingenuous farewells.

“Uncle Thomas, will you walk me out?”

I wait for him outside the door. I scan the vaulted tray ceiling. The ivory-colored, intricately-carved crown molding runs along the perimeter of the room.

A huge crown sits in the middle of the letters R and K. Rivers Kingdom. That’s what this used to be. That’s how people have referred to us. But we have never called ourselves kings. Not until my uncle’s reign.

He joins me in the corridor. “Yes, what would you like to discuss?” His tone is formal, his eyes wary as he waits for me to speak.

“Poppy refuses to remain on staff as long as you or Eliza reside in Rivers house,” I inform him.

“Well, we’ll be sad to see her go,” he says and adjusts the cuffs on his shirtsleeves.

“She’s not going anywhere. I’ve told her that you will be moving out,” I inform him.

His eyes nearly bug out of his head. His lips pucker like he’s sucked a lemon and he seems incapable of speech. So, I continue. “In two months, members of Denmark’s royal family will begin an extended occupancy at Rivers House. Poppy has arranged to have the house cleaned and the rooms prepared, so you and Aunt Mai will need to make other arrangements for accommodation. Eliza has already been informed that she will need to vacate the house,” I say.

He blinks at me, his face flushed red with embarrassment. But he manages to unstick his lips, and he fixes me with a judgmental stare.

“Aren’t these sort of details and message deliveries below your station, nephew? Or are you finding these more mundane and administrative tasks better suited to your capabilities?” he asks, smugness at his dig spreading across his withered face.

I shake my