2. Undercover
1959 Words
~RICHARD’S POV~
“You must marry Sonia, Richard!”
My father’s voice boomed behind me like a war drum as I stormed out of the family meeting room, barely stopping at the entrance to slip back into my loafers.
Shoes off in the house, thanks to my mother and her obsessive-compulsive rules.
“That’s the only way we can save the company from this calamity!” he shouted, waddling after me, his cane thumping against the floor like a declaration of war.
“The Walkers are the next most powerful business family in Florida. If we join hands with them, do you know how strong we’ll be? Don’t miss this opportunity, Richard!”
I spun around. Shoes half-on, tie hanging loose and rage bubbling in my chest.
“I can’t believe you dragged me away from my cases in Canada for this. And I won’t call it trash out of respect, but it sure as hell sounds like it.”
My father’s eyes lit with fury. “How dare you—”
He hurled his walking stick at me.
I sidestepped, letting it crash against the antique cabinet beside me.
My mother gasped from the kitchen, but she didn’t speak. She never did when he was like this.
“You want me to marry my late wife’s best friend?” I said, my voice rising.
“Do you even hear yourself? Marrying Sonia would be a betrayal. Not just to me. To Chloe. She gave her life to bring my daughter into this world. And you want me to marry her best friend for business?”
My father’s hands shook as he picked his cane back up. His white hair fell into his face. He swatted it away like a child throwing a tantrum.
“I don’t care!” he yelled. “You have 24 hours to go on that date!”
“And what if I don’t?”
“Then find another way to fix the company in 24 hours.”
I laughed. Actually laughed.
“That’s ridiculous. The company’s been crumbling for three months. You want me to fix it in one day?”
“Oh, so now you’re scared?” he mocked, jabbing the cane in my direction like it was a sword.
“You can’t handle the challenge?”
“It’s not about fear. It’s about logic. Even a miracle needs more than 24 hours.”
“Getting married to Sonia will fix it in less than that. So tell me, what exactly is your issue? The time or the woman?”
I clenched my jaw. My fists balled at my sides.
“Fine,” I muttered. “It’s just 24 hours, right? I’ll show you what can be done with wisdom.”
“Perfect!” Dad slammed his cane against the wall.
“Let’s see how you do it, oh wise Solomon!” He scoffed and limped back inside angrily, leaving me fuming at the entrance.
“Richard, breakfast!” my mom called from the kitchen.
“No, Mom. I’ve lost my appetite. See you later.”
I shut the front door harder than I intended and stomped off.
Henry, my executive assistant, was already stationed beside the car. Mid-thirties. Dark-skinned. Brilliant, but sometimes painfully annoying.
His tie was crooked. He hadn’t shaved in a while, and his hands kept fiddling with the tablet he never seemed to look up from.
“Sir, your destination?”
I stripped off my blazer, loosened my tie, shoved them into his arms, and rolled up my sleeves before sliding into the rear seat.
“Take me to Headquarters,” I said tightly. “I need to review the latest financials. Full breakdown. I want to know exactly what the hell is happening.”
Henry climbed into the driver’s seat, posture rigid.
“Right. Understood.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened.
“Sir, I received a report from the Finance Department earlier. The numbers aren’t looking good.”
“Be specific.”
“There’s a steep decline in customer engagement and trust, particularly in the public transportation division.”
Moore Holdings. One of the largest private transportation conglomerates in the state. We owned it all—airlines, freight logistics, metro shuttles, luxury rideshares, and an entire fleet of yellow cabs.
“Public transport is bleeding,” Henry continued. “There are consistent complaints about driver conduct, safety concerns, and negative online reviews. Something’s gone wrong at the operational level. There’s talk of toxic work culture. Mismanagement. Even rumors of internal harassment. It’s all over social media.”
I exhaled slowly, jaw locked. “And this wasn’t flagged earlier?”
“It was flagged. It was ignored.”
My teeth ground together. Too many incompetent people with inflated titles. I think it’s time I take full control of the family business. That’s the only way I can stop disasters like this from repeating themselves.
“We can’t address this with PR spin and polished statements,” I said. “This isn’t a boardroom problem.”
“What are you thinking, sir?”
“I’m thinking I need to see it for myself.”
“You mean, what, like a ride-along?”
“No,” I said, gaze sharp. “I mean I’m going in. Undercover. As one of the drivers.”
Henry blinked. “Sir… you’re Richard Moo—”
“Exactly. Which means I need to lead by example. If I can’t fix this from the top, I’ll fix it from the street.”
Now here I was, wearing the company-issued uniform that smelled like stale fries and air freshener, playing taxi driver in some sunburnt corner of Florida, with AC that wheezed like it had asthma and a steering wheel that shook if I touched 80.
I should’ve stayed in Canada.
But the second my father said my daughter was sick, I booked the first flight like a damn i***t.
Turned out it was just a lie, a bait. A sick trick to pull me back here, tie a rope around my neck, and force me to save the crumbling empire.
Marry the girl. Fix the mess.
I hadn’t looked at another woman in three years.
Not since Chloe gave her last breath to bring my daughter into the world.
Not since I watched her go pale and still in that hospital bed.
Since then, I hadn’t touched anyone. Hadn’t kissed anyone. Even thinking about it made me feel like I was cheating on her memory.
So no. I will not marry Sonia.
I will not save the company by selling my soul.
I’d rather be inside this cab, sweating and praying to God for a way out of this fuckiing mess.
I scoffed, turning onto a quieter street near Fifth Avenue, hoping I’d catch my first ride before the heat melts my brain off.
And then I saw her.
She stood at the corner like she didn’t belong to this world. Her blonde curls were a little wild, lips red like wine.
She had this Monroe thing going on. Not the cliché, overdone pin-up thing.
No.
She looked like the version of Marilyn Monroe you’d find in an old film reel someone forgot to color-correct.
My foot moved before my brain could stop it. I slowed the cab.
And as if she had been waiting for me her whole life, she slid in.
“Where to, ma’am?” I asked, trying not to stare in the rearview mirror.
She didn’t look at me.
Then, with the voice of someone who had nothing left to lose, she whispered.
“I don’t know. Maybe somewhere I could fuckiing die.”
What?
My head whipped around.
Her eyes—God, her eyes—were red and swollen.
Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Her lipstick was smeared at the corners like she had bitten her lip to keep from screaming.
Something tightened in my chest.
“Oh my God,” I said quietly, facing her. “Is everything alright?”
She shook her head, then crumbled, sobbing—no, wailing.
She wept like her heart had been ripped from her chest and dropkicked into the ocean.
Her shoulders shook like an earthquake was inside her.
She curled into herself, one hand pressed to her chest like she was holding in a shattered heart.
I sat there frozen.
Lord have mercy. I’d signed up for a chaotic day, sure. But not a woman-wailing-in-my-backseat level of chaos.
I didn’t say a word.
I let her cry.
And when the sobs quieted to hiccups and shaky breaths, I reached into the glovebox, pulled out a clean, folded handkerchief, and offered it to her.
“Here,” I said, my voice soft. “Your makeup is ruined.”
She took it like it was the first kindness she had been given all day.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
She wiped her face with trembling fingers, smudging what was left of her eyeliner. Her voice came next, soft, bitter, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t even directed at me.
“Why are men so wicked… why?”
I blinked. Oof. There it was.
I knew it. This was about a man.
She shifted in her seat, her whole body vibrating with hurt.
“Zach… how could you treat me like that? I loved you. I gave you everything. And what did you do?” Her voice cracked.
“You threw me away the second your ex-wife reappeared. You kicked me out like I was nothing. You stole my company. You ruined my life.”
My chest tightened. I thought this was the usual heartbreak. Turned out, it was betrayal, a full-blown injustice.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” I murmured, hoping she heard me.
She shifted closer, gripping the back of the driver’s seat like she was clinging to sanity. Her eyes locked onto mine through the rearview mirror.
“Tell me… please… what can I do? What?”
I hesitated. Then said the only thing I knew how to offer.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I knew people who did.”
Her head tilted. Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I could get you a lawyer.”
She blinked. Then let out a laugh that wasn’t even close to amused, sharp, bitter, and raw.
“A lawyer?” she said, her voice hoarse. “You think I could afford a lawyer right now?”
“You didn’t have to.”
She stared at me, wary. “What do you mean?”
“I know someone. A friend. Thompson Steve. He’s one of the top attorneys at R.M. Consulting.”
Her entire body went still.
“Wait… what? The R.M. Consulting? As in Richard Moore, R.M. Consulting?”
“Yeah. My friend works with the Florida branch.”
Her eyes widened, disbelief pushing through her exhaustion.
“That’s the biggest damn firm in the country. You expect me to believe that guy is just going to help someone like me? For free?”
“Not for everyone,” I said, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“But for me? Yeah.”
She narrowed her eyes, studying me like she was trying to peel off my skin and find the truth underneath.
I kept my expression calm. I couldn’t blow my cover. Not yet.
Then, without another word, I pulled out my phone and dialed Thompson, one of my best attorneys.
Two rings, then his thick voice came through the line.
“Hello, sir?”
“Thompson,” I said, keeping my tone low to mask the authority in my voice.
“I need your help. I need you to drag some cheating bastard’s ass through the dirt.”
- Writer
