16
BRAD
My father’s summons was terse, as usual. Not a phone call, a text. I could feel the malice in his words just by reading them. His domination of my life was pushing me to the edge.
I shoved Accessory Ninety-Eight out of the way — I’d long since lost count of the new faces that greeted me each time I made this trek. While he pushed the button to call the elevator, I scurried for the stairwell.
He called after me. ‘You have to come back,’ he wailed.
I almost felt sorry for him. It only took a few minutes for me to get to the third floor, but realised I would have to do something about my fitness when Accessory Ninety-Eight was waiting at the top of the stairs, arms folded across his chest, face as red as my father’s company logo that was on his shirt. Again I pushed past him, att
