Arthur

The common folk knew who we were. Maybe not all the legend that encompassed us, but they could recognize a Howlland student when they were in front of him. Who in their right mind wouldn't? Our academy was an imposing construction and from head to toe its boarding students exuded authority.

We never interacted with commoners and considered them useful parasites just to serve us. So I was totally taken aback when my father informed me of his decision to send an ordinary girl to the academy.

"Are you crazy?" I spit the coffee I drink into the cup.

It's six in the afternoon and the three of us usually get together on one of the terraces of the Mansion, the one overlooking the pool, to drink 'Irish Coffee'; an Irish cocktail made up of whiskey, sugar, coffee and cream.

"It's decided," he responds passively as he flips through the New York Times of the day.

"I do not understand how I am not informed of these things other than at the moment they are going to take place." I protest.

I'm supposed to handle this kind of thing because he doesn't have time.

"Arthur ..." he puts down the newspaper with a sigh. "You are my son, you are not above me."

"Still." I clarify. "I can't imagine how O'Brien has so easily agreed to this ridiculous idea of ​​yours."

Jonan O'Brien was, along with my father, the other owner of Howlland Academy. I happen to dislike his whole family extremely, especially his first-born Jason. They were the typical snooty people who didn't want to accept that the Kanes were above them. I still don't understand the reason why my father agreed to share control of the academy with those egocentrists. True, their lineage also descended from Ireland and they had had a part in the heritage of the star. But we could do well without their help.

"I will speak with Jonan in due course; there is one day in between before the start of the school week."

"You complicate yourself too much." I reply. "That little girl must not enter the academy. I reiterate that it is totally insane." I pinch the bridge of my nose, my head is already beginning to ache.

"She's the daughter of our new housekeeper, we can't have her wandering around the house all day."

"Put her to work," I reply, calling to a maid who was passing by.

"He is Seventeen years old. Do you think we are in the time of the slaves?" She turns to the next page of the newspaper.

"The difference is that the slaves nowadays get paid." I proceed to put the coffee cup in the woman's hand. "Take it away and bring me another one." I ordered.

"Yes my lord."

"What did I say about answering unnecessarily!" scolding.

I hated it when the mob spoke to me when it was their duty to obey in silence.

"I'm sorry sir, I don't ...

"You are fired."

"But please!" She kneels on the ground. "I promise it won't happen again."

"What good is a foul promise to me? Get out of here right now, you obstruct my sight."

"I have a daughter and ..."

I exhale tiredly and take the trouble to get up from the seat. She recoils but not enough to keep my eyes from glaring at her.

"I said 'G-E-T O-U-T' Or do you want to end up in prison for the rest of your pathetic life?"

The woman with tears in her eyes finally understands who is in charge and disappears before I can deign to expend any more energy with her. I return to my seat, not without first signaling to the gardener who has witnessed the scene and understands that he will have to put down the hedge trimmer and run to get my cup.

My father did not get involved in what he did with the servants because I was in charge of the contracts and did and undo what he wanted. That is precisely why I am doubly irritated now that you hired the new housekeeper without consulting me.

"You shouldn't have been so rude." interrupts my brother, who has remained silent until now, checking his cell phone.

"Did someone ask you?" Oh wait ... no.

"She apologized, couldn't you just ignore him?"

"Mind your business, Aaron."

"She has a daughter," he continues, exhausting what little patience I have left.

"Am I the father?" I reject the cup the gardener offers me, standing up. "I can't even relax in this house." I snort in annoyance.

"Where are you going? Remember you have to close the month-end accounts by eight o'clock." My father says, referring to some pay bills for our workers.

"I'm going for a ride, I'll be back early." I withdraw from the terrace.

At this moment, the only thing I need like is the adrenaline rush of a good vehicle to get rid of my discomfort.

I enter the house crossing the threshold that separates the terrace from the dining room and then the kitchen.

"Would you like a specific snack, sir?" Asks one of the middle-aged servants.

I only allow them to speak to me when they are waiting for orders. She is preparing my father and brother their Saturday jello.

I hate jello.

"No need." I open the refrigerator and grab an apple.

I walk into the main room looking for the set of keys to all my cars. I keep it out of habit in one of the drawers positioned under the painting of our late mother. The brushstrokes on the canvas are so perfect they are mistaken for a photograph. The black hair that falls over her shoulders in defined curls, the blue of the inexorable gaze and the white skin like a seashell, with that pearly tinge provided by the saltpetre of the sea. It is a beautiful but indifferent portrait for me. I barely remember her, for she was one year old when she lost her life from a hemorrhage during Aaron's birth. My father says she was an amazing woman and her death affected him to the point that he struggled with the possibilities of serious relationships. In these last eighteenth years, if he has dated five women it's a record.

I'm glad I didn't inherit anything from him in this matter.

I'm just passing the bodega when a rather large hairy lump crosses between my legs.

"Hey Ulysses!" I bend down to pet him. "One of these days you're going to knock me down, my friend."

The Malamute barks playfully and sticks out his tongue.

"Not now, Ulysses, I'm not in the mood."

The canine plants a saliva-laden lick on me and I stand up to avoid the next one.

"Seriously ..." I protest at my dog's barking. "Hey! Quiet. You are forgiven because you are one of the few beings I appreciate in this world." I say, wiping my face with a handkerchief I always keep in my pants.

I caress the gray fur between his ears, realizing that it needs a trim. Ulysses is huge, and with his hair untrimmed it looks twice as big as it really is.

I leave him behind with effort and head for the plant where a dozen cars occupy the five hundred square meters I have set aside for storage it. It's a clear October afternoon, it's the beginning of the school year, so a convertible would be the ideal choice. This Autumn weather invites you to enjoy it in direct contact. I walk through the middle of the rows on either side of the cars, letting the Aston Martin, Mercedes, McLaren... pass by. I own a black Ferrari but have never used it since I bought it, Jason O'Brien has a similar one, so it has stayed in the garage as a decorative vehicle.

I finally decide on the slate grey Bugatti Chiron. It's not my favorite, but it contrasts well with my eyes. I start the engine and the garage glows with the intensity of this baby's lights. I press the left button on my keys and the sliding garage door lifts up presenting the road with the powerful noise of the W16 engine of 1,500 horsepower; and finally I drive out.

The sunset contrasts with the mountainous region of Westlake Village, my city in California. There is nothing better than driving with the air beating in your face, with the shocking speed of 250 MPH and the clear feeling that you fly. It is not his top speed, but enough to make me feel like the venerable master of the world.

—☆—

I arrive on time to organize the payment to the workers. I close these accounts once a month, giving the money for the service of the previous month. When I finish, I notice that there is money left over belonging to the useless woman I fired a few hours ago. Since I was supposed to give it to her the August money today, I call Aaron to take care of it.

"Why don't you take it to her yourself?" Practically spits when I explain the matter to him, handing him the money in an envelope.

"Do you see that I have the face of making home deliveries?"

"And I do?" You do it so as not to swallow your huge ego.

I don't answer and go to get the keys to close the office. It's late and I need a hot bubble bath.

"Why don't you send Jackson over?" he Insist.

Jackson is my right hand man in all matters, whether employment or not. My father hired him six years ago for Fortress triviality, but since last year he has been working exclusively for me.

"It doesn't cost you anything Aaron," I breathe "you spend the whole day doing nothing. It's time you take on responsibilities, you're also a Kane." I answer, gesturing for him to leave the place and close the door.

"It's not fair, you control me and act like you're my father, and you're barely a year older than me." he answers.

We are exactly ten months apart, but in the academy he is one grade below me.

"Look Aaron, I'm not in the mood and I don't have the time for your complaints as a child. If it's sooo difficult for you to run a paltry errand, prepare yourself to be mediocre all your life." I snort, closing the office.

"You know ..."

"And now," I interrupt him before he continues with his stupidities, "don't chase me all over the house for this trifle, I want to take a quiet bath.

I'm leaving before he can complain again. I don't get on badly with my brother, but sometimes his impertinences fill my patience. I will not stoop to going to the house of a rabble that today I very well kicked out of the mansion to give him a handful of bills. Sure, I can send any servant, but it's time for Aaron to start doing something productive.

When I was his age I started with the dealership and ran the odd family business. My father has made it easy for him because the heavy burden has always fallen on me.

Arthur the firstborn Kane, Arthur the one who keeps the surname, Arthur the one who hones the knack for the lineage ...
Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Maybe one day I'll get tired and change my name.

Finally I go into the bathtub that has been prepared for me with sandalwood oil and ginger. It's usually the mix I demand on days I work out at the gym, but somehow a toxic feeling linked to exhaustion doesn't leave my body. Thank goodness I have finished my homework for the day. Tomorrow I must settle the matter of the housekeeper and avoid the folly of having her daughter entering the academy.

《Tomorrow Arthur, tomorrow is another day》

I close my eyes and sink until I am completely underwater.