“Mike darling, what is happening? What order did you give to your security concerning me? I have been around yet they wouldn’t let me into your office. I thought they were bluffing not until I saw my photo which you gave them for the purpose of recognizing men and stopping me…” she said coldly taking each word with the caution that it was deserved.
I stood at the door staring at her with disdain hanging in my eyes and all that she did to me as a pauper replayed in my head, my lips trembled within my jaw and I fought back words that could make me curse her in a furious manner.
Seeing that I wasn’t going to utter a word she pled pitiably, “Please you must order these men out of my way now. We have got a wedding to plan.” She raised her finger with the diamond ring as though to remind me of where we started and what we were supposed to be doing now. “I have chosen the best wedding gown for me. It is worth one million dollars…” she intoned gently and pressed her lips when I shot a frown at her.
“What wedding do you speak of, Sarah?” my voice came banging and my face frowned menacingly at her, “I can’t remember promising to plan any wedding with you but if you insist I would want you to think hard perhaps you are being deceived by your infatuation…”
“No! No!” she yelled at the tops of her voice, “There is nothing like infatuation here.” She pulled out her phone and showed it to me on her phone, “you proposed marriage to me on your gold –plated private jet …”
She was yet to wailing further when I gestured at her to keep shut.
“Sarah sweetie,” I called and pranced out of the door, all smiles while she sniffed, “Do you know Morgan Harris?” I asked gently.
“Morgan Harris? She retorted, “Yes of course I do very well. Morgan is my associate and a good business pal to the Canon Group. Why do you ask? Has Morgan Harris got anything to do with our wedding?”
I gestured at her to hold on as I could see anxiety cloaking her tone, “I am glad you know Morgan Harris. Whenever you did your business with the Spanish clients at the Morgan Group, a boy did your Spanish translation right , uh?”
“A boy?” she dimmed her eyes thoughtfully and stared at the floor to recall. Quickly she clicked her fingers once she could recall, “Yeah! Yeah! I could remember Morgan’s delivery boy, who often obliged to do my Spanish translations at no cost. He was such a good lad and he had also saved me from the attack of a mastiff. But that was almost a decade now. I don’t really know where he is now.”
I interrupted her, all smiles as I queried yet further, “I know you won’t recall the name of the boy or would I say you could but you must have forgotten…”
She interrupted me, “No, I think I should be able to recall his name.” she dimmed her eyes once again to recall, “I think he told me his name…he mentioned…” she paused to recall, “Yeah! Yeah! Patrick …Brian Patrick. I had given him my card and promised to be of help to him anytime in future.”
“Good! Good!” I shook my head in agreement, “Did Brian Patrick later come to you in future demanding for your help?” I queried coldly.
“Help?” she retorted and scowled her face as though to bicker with me.
I shrugged, “Yeah, help,” I replied, “Did he come begging you for his mother’s medical bills and house rent?” I queried, “did he?”
“Yeah! Yeah!” she gave a firm nod, “Not quite long though, just some months ago he came gate-crashing on my birthday, demanding I be of help to him. But I couldn’t stand his poverty-stricken looks. Oh my God!” she frowned in irritation. He was looking ragged, unkempt and oozing. He really embarrassed me with those poverty-stricken looks of his. I ordered him out; come on I don’t have anything to do with the poor. They beg a lot.” She explained further in an almost arrogant manner.” Preferably, I advised him to go to the road stand and beg, rather than disturb money bags like you and I, you know what I mean …”
“Sarah!” I called loudly, interrupting her with my emphatic tone, “I am Brian Patrick!” I beamed firmly.
The hand bag in her hands left and dashed on the floor before she widened her gaze at me, gaping and staring unavoidably into my hostile face. “Brian what? You are who?”
I hit my chest, “I am Brian Patrick. I am the same delivery boy that did your Spanish translation at Morgan Group; the same poor delivery boy who saved you from the attack of a mastiff. I am Brian Patrick, same boy that came to source for his mother’s medical bills from you; same poverty-stricken boy who you called ragged, unkempt, stinking and told to go and stand on the road and beg…” I was yet speaking when tears surged down my eyes.
“No! No! it can’t be true! You are not Brian Patrick you are Mike Don! Are you high on cheap drugs? Brian Patrick can’t be this rich and influential! The last time I saw him he was poverty-stricken, unkempt and a castaway. What are you talking about? Why would you want to impersonate the low-life of a poor delivery boy? You are Mike Don and not Brian Patrick!”
“Sarah!” I called even more emphatic and horrid, “For the last time, I am Brian Patrick. I never knew who I was at the time. I never knew Mike Don was running in my veins. I was on the verge of committing suicide when big wigs and tycoons recognized me and made me realize who I was.” I stamped my feet on the floor and neared her, “When you rejected Brian Patrick you never knew you were rejecting Mike Don, the true heir to the Saint Don Group, uh!”
She fell upon her knees and wept like a kid…