The Royal Contract

A sudden movement by the door snapped him out of his trance, finding his friend looking at him with confusion. He quickly took a deep breath and turned away from him, walking back to his desk, ignoring his friend’s question completely.

He saw in his peripheral vision that his friend followed him, sitting in front of him comfortably like he never needed an invitation. On other occasions, maybe, but not today.

“What are you doing here, Mike?” He finally asked, shifting his face until his eyes met his friend. “I did not call for you.” He was dismissing his presence, so his friend should heed the warning in his tone and leave.

“Yes, I know that. But apparently, I can sense that you need me by your side today.” His friend seemed to be so thick-skinned that he missed the sign altogether.

Or he was just completely ignoring him and, as always, meddling with things that he had no business with anyway. It would not be the first time he would be doing this to him. He believed it would not be the last.

“So, what was that for?” His friend continued, pointing to the commotion earlier.

.....

His eyes finally saw what his action had created, seeing the painting glistening with the amber liquid. The broken glass might have caused the slight tearing in the middle portion of the canvas.

To an art collector, it would not be such a big deal. His mother was not a successful artist because her work did not reach the galleries.

His father would not allow his mother to sell any of her works. Maybe it was why she stopped painting for a long time because no one else would see them.

However, he firmly believed that if people had seen her collections. She would have been famous. Suddenly, his mind remembered how Ethan adored her last work.

“It was nothing.” He finally answered his friend, dropping his eyes back to the folders on his desk. But he knew he could not fool his friend.

“Nothing is when you go to a bar, have some drinks with a nice girl and fuck her senseless,” Mike said, challenging him to contradict his statement. But when he kept his silence, he continued.

“This.” His friend stood up and picked up a large shard of the broken glass to show to him. “My friend, this glass is what I called fuck up.”

He could not deny that his friend had a point, and arguing with him was useless. He was trained by the best. Soon, he might even overtake him.

“So, tell me, what is bothering you?” He threw the glass into a wastebasket and returned to his seat, wiping his hands with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

He turned around again, debating whether he should relate to his friend what happened earlier. But that was not something he believed he could share with anyone.

Again, his father’s word echoed in his mind. “There was no one person in this world that you can trust other than yourself. The rest of the people around you just wanted a piece of you.”

He wished he could shut his father up and go on with his life. But he had believed every word he had said all his life. How could he suddenly turn off that switch?

“I know Ethan was here earlier. Did something happen while he was here?” Mike asked concernedly, replacing his playful voice. “I came by earlier, but when I saw that you were having a serious conversation with the old man, I left.”

He had never noticed his friend earlier, but suddenly, his father’s warning echoed in his mind. Was his friend spying on him? But that was insane. He was his friend, and he would not admit that if he was.

He felt more frustrated now. Whether his friend was a friend who he could trust or someone that would be ready to stab him in the back if an opportunity came.

His eyes studied him, remembering the long friendship they shared. Yes, his friend was capable of doing many horrific things, but to betray him.

“But if you are not ready to share that with me, that is fine too.” Mike finally gave up, knowing him so well. He could be stubborn most of the time. “Anyway, I just came by to tell you that they were closing the case against Nick.”

His friend stood from his chair and was about to leave. “And also they have a lead to his death. I guess your assumption was right. He made some enemies inside.” His friend strode to the door. “If you need anything else, call me.” Then, he was gone.

He did not stop him. He was not ready to trust this information with him or anybody. It was a sensitive situation. It might not even be true.

But then again.

He was the only person he had trusted all this time, his only friend, and he was like a younger brother to him. He believed he could trust him, suddenly changing his mind.

He stood up from his chair and called to him. Running after him, he must have already reached the exit. He was not outside his office anymore.

But as he passed the hallway, he stopped. The painting that captured Ethan’s eyes was now in front of him. Suddenly, he was curious.

How did Ethan figure out that this was his mother’s painting? His mother’s signature was diffrerent from her usual initials. He was not an art expert, but he had studied some with her mother’s guidance.

He examined the painting closely, following what Ethan had done earlier. Letting his fingers run on the rough edge of the embossed paints, feeling it the way that man tried to examine it.

But nothing.

He stepped away from it, feeling that it might be an old painting of his mother that she replicated, creating familiarity with her old friend, dismissing the idea that it held some secret.

As he moved away, he turned one last time. Then, there it was in plain sight. He was Ethan’s son. His bastard son.