The Elder

There have been numerous occasions when I have heard the name of Kyle Sullivan. But there had only been a few prominent times when his name appeared in my life which I could remember.

The first time was at the beginning of high school. His name was mentioned briefly as the alumni that had just graduated right before you entered, setting the record for the highest grade ever achieved and accomplishing the fastest period of time any student had ever graduated in. I have seen his pictures everywhere, literally everywhere, in the building, displayed inside glass cabinets along with articles of his achievements―both in sports and academics―and the medals he had won from various academic tournaments. But I have never had any chances of meeting him in person. Not even when I occasionally dropped by at the Sullivan family's residence to work on my school assignments with Kyle Sullivan's younger brother, who became my partner in class projects for two years in a row.

The second time I heard of the name Kyle Sullivan was during my sophomore year in college. I was dating the captain of the rowing team who wouldn't stop talking about a certain Kyle Sullivan, the former captain of the rival team from the neighboring university― an ambitious man with a dream, a high-spirited man who would boast over his achievements through a few glasses of wine. There were times when I would join my past boyfriend on his tournaments to support him, and sometimes even stayed for the after-party when I was free of morning classes the next day, but the notorious elder son of the Sullivan family would be too busy with his group of admirers to show himself in front of the other guests.

The third time was many years later.

I had refused my dear father's request to work in his company straight after I graduated college when he asked me to assist him with my skill and knowledge. I had chosen to leave the family home to live in the small town on the foot of the mountains instead, where I started studying about wine and all the necessities I needed to start producing them.

I had everything planned from the building and the plantation, to the storage and the workers, and I even planned out its branding and distribution system. Everything was set to go.

Until I woke up one beautiful morning when the sky was the brightest when my energy was full and ready to go through the day.

I sat down for a simple breakfast of blueberry muffin and warm black coffee that morning when Kyle Sullivan's name was mentioned on the news, right when I turned on the TV only to see the handsome news anchor who was my first crush in junior year of high school. I thought I had remembered the face of the elder son of the Sullivan family, after years of seeing his pictures on my school's displays and on the campus bulletins, but he was barely recognizable the moment his face appeared on the screen.

Kyle Sullivan was much older, with thin mustache and stubble covering his face as if he had been locked away in hiding for a long period of time. Aside from the wrinkles around his eyes that were prominent as he scrunched his face while he was being dragged away with his hands handcuffed on his back. The man was screaming out of anger towards the cameras, and I couldn't keep my eyes away from him as I tried to make out the words he was shouting through the movements of his lips. I almost missed out on the title displayed on the lower part of the screen that reads;

"THE HEIR OF THE MIGHTY BUSINESS EMPIRE CAUGHT RED-HANDED IN MONEY LAUNDERING AND INVESTMENT FRAUD"

I had not thought much of it at the time, only noting silently to remind myself to contact Kyle Sullivan's younger brother and my old schoolmate, Noah Sullivan, to make sure that he was safe. It had been many years since I had heard anything regarding the Sullivan family, for I hadn't had a chance to keep in contact with my old classmate for years, while my father himself had never been affiliated with either SLV Holdings or any part of its business network for reasons unbeknownst to me.

Little did I know that my family would somehow be entangled in the mess much later. I didn't find out anything about it until around a little over a year later, when my father called me through the telephone one early morning, only to say―

"Honey, we may have a problem."

"They killed Sean. The Sullivan family killed Sean."

The very exact words have been ringing inside my head ever since the day I first heard of it. I had no suspicions whatsoever over the sudden death of my late fiancé, especially not after the officials had rendered the death as an accident. But the moment my own mother came to me bearing those unexpected words right after I came home with news of my plan on accepting Noah Sullivan's proposal, I couldn't stop myself from this one question that kept ringing inside of my head;

What exactly happened that night?

I was first introduced to Sean Danburry when I came back to my family from my unfinished quest. Sean was a young man with experience and skill, who was able to climb his way into claiming the position of my father's right-hand man. I was, of course, naturally suspicious of him at first, even hated him to his core for having my father's fondness that his name would always be mentioned at the family's dinner table.

I despised him for stealing away my already very busy father's attention from me, and had even announced straight to Sean's face that I considered him as a rival. But Sean finally managed to win my heart at last, while the same time wins your mother's.

I knew how much my mother had loved him as her own son. I could tell from her grief that the loss she felt was real, and perhaps my dear's death even hurt her deeper than it did to me― and only I knew the reason why.

Even so, my mother has always been a whole mystery herself. An eccentric lady with a character that could never be explained with mere words. She always has her own way of showing her love and her deepest thoughts, and she absolutely has her own way of grieving―either it was for what happened to my father's company or for the death of Sean―throwing her anger at everything around her, including at me, her own daughter.

That is why at first I refused to accept her accusations― until the day I found a reason to.

"What makes you think that he is no different than his criminal brother?" My mother asked me one night when I came over to the family dinner. I didn't give her any direct answer then, only silently claiming in my own heart,

"Because, unlike his brother, Noah Sullivan has never been a mere ghost to me."