Billionaire Flawed 1(334)

Three weeks after the funeral, Tyra stood outside the jewelry store on West 47th Street and looked at it, really looked at it, for the first time. I've been working here for seven months, and this is the first time I've properly taken the place in, she thought. Grief-stricken and riddled with guilt; she felt her senses had become sharper since the passing of her parents. It was as if someone was making her take notice of the world. Making her appreciate what can so easily be torn away from you, in an instant.

West 47th Street was full of jewelry shops, but none as grand as J.P Samuels. They might as well have called it, 'Jewelers to the rich and famous,' she thought. For that's what it was. A place where the rich came to gorge on expensive stones. The front of the store was imposing. Between the cleanest store windows in New York, there were columns of polished black granite. The entrance was in the middle of the store and it too was surrounded by shiny black stone. The door itself was made of bulletproof, reinforced glass. What Tyra liked best about the facade was the sign. It was made of copper and ran the length of the store. The background was dark and the letters that had been forged onto it were polished and stood out better than any other letters on the street.

Welcome back Tyra. I'm so sorry to hear about your mom and dad, Leon said. Thanks, Leon. It's very brave of you to say so. She'd found that most people just turned away from her, not knowing what to say. Not Leon. It was his job to stand inside the door and keep out the undesirables. He was perfectly equipped to do so at six feet seven and two hundred and fifty pounds, but it involved hours standing in the same place, day after day.

Tyra, my girl, Radley Samuel's said. He'd been waiting for her. Normally, he didn't stand in the shop.

He had others to do that for him. His job was managing the business that his grandfather had started. Come with me.

Tyra followed him through the store. They walked past glass cabinets filled with beautiful necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings, and watches. At the back of the store, they went through a door and down a corridor. The first door on the right led to a security room. Tyra had never been in the room, but she had seen inside once when the door had been open. It was full of monitors and the latest lock down systems. It was all hi-tech, and she had no idea about any of it.

Radley pushed open the first door on the left and showed her into his office. How can anyone spend hours in an office with no daylight? she wondered. There were pictures of his ancestors on one wall and a giant flora vase in the corner. What she liked most about his office was the carpet. It was deep red with the company crest woven into it.

Tyra, please sit down. He pointed to a button backed armchair that stood in front of his mahogany desk. I want you to tell me how you are feeling. You've been through a lot, and I want to make sure you’re feeling up to working again. I wish I had a daughter like her, she's so graceful and kind, yet determined and motivated, he thought.

Well, honestly speaking, I'm still feeling awful. You can tell him everything; he cares for you, she told herself as a moment of doubt crept into her mind. I weep a lot, especially in the evening and I feel guilty. So guilty. She noticed how closely he was listening to her. The furrows on his forehead were deep with concern for her, and his eyes were looking directly into hers, seeking any sign that a return to work may be too early.

There is nothing I can say to you that will make you feel better. All I can do is tell you what happened to me when my son was killed. Killed? I didn't know he'd had a son, she thought. The thought that someone close to her had also suffered such a loss made her feel better.

My son was only nineteen. He was studying business at New York University and working here at the weekends. He stopped talking for a moment, took out a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his forehead. Tyra knew him to be fifty-nine. He was quite tall and very thin. It was as if he was so involved in his business he forgot to eat.

He looked at her with a pained expression as he continued. One morning, he left home to go to college, and he never came back again. A man who had been drinking all night decided to get into his car and drive to the girlfriend he had left for dead in her apartment the previous evening. When he fell asleep at the wheel, it was my son he hit. Tyra noticed a crack in his voice. Walking down the street minding his own business. He took the handkerchief and blew his nose.

Oh my God, that's awful, Tyra put her hand to her mouth.

He nodded. Perhaps I shouldn't have burdened her with this, he thought. At first, everything was a blur. It was only after the funeral had taken place that it really hit me. After the funeral, everyone seems to disappear. All the kind words and supporting arms are no longer there. You are suddenly alone. He ran his hand through his thinning gray hair and looked towards a photo on his desk. Tyra couldn't see who it was. She assumed his son.