Hired by the Father I Hate
I'm at a job interview at a major company. One of the interviewers is my father, Edgar Booker, whom I haven't seen in ten years.
He wears a sharp suit and carries himself with an imposing presence.
When he sweeps his indifferent gaze over me, he pauses for a rare moment.
After the interview ends, the HR manager, Jesse Dorsey, pulls me aside.
"You're Mr. Booker's son, right? He says you can start next week."
I smile faintly and slowly tear up the offer letter.
"No, thanks. I don't want to work with a murderer."