Gaye Tusk #1

Gaye Tusk’s Gambit

The morning sun streamed through the massive windows of Gaye Tusk’s penthouse, casting golden rays over the pristine white and gray décor. The skyline of Manhattan stretched endlessly beyond the glass, a sprawling testament to the wealth and power she had cultivated over decades. But Gaye Tusk wasn’t basking in the view this morning. Instead, she paced the length of her sitting room, her heels clicking against the polished marble floors with a determined rhythm.

Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, and as was her habit when agitated, she voiced them aloud.

“It’s always the same with him,” she muttered, gesturing as if addressing an invisible audience. “Brilliant, yes. Ambitious, absolutely. But does anyone ever mention where it all began? Does anyone ever say, ‘Thank you, Gaye, for the foresight, for the connections, for the sheer audacity to make it happen?’”

She stopped in front of the marble fireplace, where a gilded frame held an old photograph of Egon. He was younger in the picture, just stepping into his role as CEO of Voltify, the electric car company that had transformed the automotive industry. His confident smile stared back at her, but Gaye’s expression was a mix of pride and frustration.

“No, of course not,” she continued, shaking her head. “It’s always ‘Egon the visionary,’ ‘Egon the genius.’ Never mind the fact that I identified Voltify when it was nothing but a ragtag team of engineers tinkering with batteries in a dingy warehouse. Everyone else laughed, but I saw the future.”

She moved to the grand piano in the corner of the room, absently trailing her fingers over the keys. “Spacerix,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “Private space travel? They called it absurd, a billionaire’s vanity project. But I made them take us seriously. I negotiated with governments, secured the patents, and got those contracts signed. And Tweeter? Don’t even get me started on that disaster.”

Gaye paused, narrowing her eyes at another photograph on the mantle—this one of Egon standing in front of a massive Tweeter logo, his arms folded confidently. “He didn’t even want it,” she said, her voice tinged with annoyance. “‘Too much drama,’ he said. But I knew better. I knew it would make him indispensable to the media, to politics, to culture itself. I made the deal happen. Me.”

Her heels clicked sharply as she strode to the bar cart and poured herself a small glass of mineral water. She took a sip, exhaling slowly. “Making Egon CEO was easy,” she mused. “When you own the majority of the voting stock, people listen. But does he ever thank me? No. It’s always about his vision, his brilliance, his—”

The shrill ring of her phone interrupted her monologue. She frowned, glancing at the screen. Her expression softened instantly when she saw the name.

“Lillian,” she said aloud, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She swiped to answer. “Darling, it’s so good to hear from you.”

“Hi, Grandma,” came the hesitant reply. “I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.”

“Nonsense,” Gaye said, sinking gracefully into an armchair. “I always have time for you, my dear. How are you?”

“I’m okay,” Lillian said, though her tone betrayed her uncertainty. “I... I wanted to talk about Dad.”

Gaye’s smile faded slightly, but her tone remained warm. “Go on, darling. What about him?”

“I heard...” Lillian hesitated. “I heard he’s changed. That Vivek’s turned him into some kind of philanthropist now. Is that true?”

Gaye tilted her head, considering her response carefully. “That depends on what you mean by ‘true.’ Your father is many things, but predictable isn’t one of them. If this transformation is real, it’s because Vivek has managed to do something extraordinary—get through that thick skull of his. But if it’s a ruse... well, you know Egon. He’s always been a master at spinning a narrative.”

“Yeah,” Lillian said, her voice tinged with bitterness. “That’s what I thought. He’s probably just using this as some PR stunt to make himself look like the savior of the world.”

Gaye’s heart ached at the pain in her granddaughter’s voice. “Lillian,” she said gently, “you’ve always been the one to challenge him, to make him think. That’s part of why he’s so angry with you. You hold up a mirror to him, and sometimes he doesn’t like what he sees.”

“He called me Woke, Grandma,” Lillian said, her voice breaking slightly. “He said the ‘Woke Mind Virus’ killed me. Like I was some kind of disease.”

Gaye closed her eyes briefly, fighting back the surge of anger she felt toward her son. “He was hurt,” she said finally, her voice steady. “And Egon... well, he lashes out when he feels vulnerable. It’s one of his greatest flaws.”

“It doesn’t excuse what he said,” Lillian replied.

“No, it doesn’t,” Gaye agreed, her tone firm. “Listen, I’m planning a trip to India around the New Year. I want to see him, to understand what’s really going on. I’ve already spoken to Vivek, and he’s going to ask Egon if he’ll agree to see you.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Lillian asked, her voice sharp.

Gaye smiled faintly. “Then I’ll make him. But, darling, the real question is—will you come with me?”

“Grandma, I don’t know if I can do that,” Lillian said. “He’s said some horrible things to me. I don’t think I can face him.”

Gaye leaned forward in her chair, her voice soft but resolute. “Lillian, I know how much he’s hurt you. I know it’s hard. But you’re my granddaughter—my favorite, if we’re being honest—and you’ve never been one to back down from a challenge. If there’s even a chance to heal this rift, don’t you think it’s worth trying?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Gaye could almost hear the gears turning in Lillian’s mind.

“I don’t know...”

“Darling, listen to me,” Gaye said, her tone becoming more forceful. “This isn’t just about him. It’s about you, too. You deserve closure, clarity, and the chance to speak your truth. And if Egon has truly changed, wouldn’t you want to be part of that? To see it for yourself?”

Another silence, but this time Gaye knew she had struck a chord.

“Okay,” Lillian said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go. But only if he agrees to see me. I’m not going to beg.”

“Of course not,” Gaye said, her voice softening. “Leave that part to me. I’ll handle him.”

They exchanged goodbyes, and as the call ended, Gaye set her phone down on the table. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes drifting to the photograph of Egon on the mantle.

“Step one,” she murmured to herself, “is bringing this family back together. Step two...” Her lips curved into a small, determined smile. “Is reminding my son exactly where he comes from.”

She stood, smoothing the folds of her silk robe as she prepared for the day ahead. In her mind, the pieces of the puzzle were already falling into place. Gaye Tusk wasn’t one to sit idly by. If anyone could orchestrate a reconciliation—and perhaps nudge Egon toward redemption—it was her.