by Amy Brent
With a nod and a sigh, we clicked our glasses and sipped the warm, burning liquid. For the next few minutes, Hank and I sat on that couch and exchanged stories about my father. We shared tales of growing up with him—Hank as a kid and friend, and me as a son—and though our situations were quite different, dad was the same. From there, we moved on to the company and dad’s dreams for it.
It was comforting to talk about all those things with someone who missed my father as much as me, and it helped clear my head from the grief for long enough to worry about practical things. We were in middle of a merger that would make our company the biggest telecommunication conglomerate in the country and would give us the opportunity to expand to an international level. This was the biggest deal we had ever brokered and something we had dreamt about for years, which meant I couldn’t allow my feelings and the uncertainty brought by the CEO’s death to jeopardize it.
As the guests started to leave, I turned to Hank and said, “If you can stay a while longer, I’d like to talk to you about the company. I know you’re retired, but I still value your opinion, and with me ascending to CEO and consolidating dad’s shares to my name, I need to start thinking about who will take my seat as both CFO and board member.”
For some reason that I couldn’t quite comprehend, my words made Hank fidget. My brows pulled together in confusion, but before I was able to ask him what was wrong, he said, “C’mon, Ben. Today is about how big of a pain in the ass your dad was and how much we’ll miss him. Let’s not ruin it by talking shop.”
“Why would it ruin the day?” I asked in a matter of fact tone. “My dad built that company, it was his baby. I just want to make sure that the transition will go smoothly and his legacy will be protected.”
Hank shook his head and gave me a ghost of a smile. “You were your father’s baby. Even at forty and with gray hair on your head, you were his boy. The company was just a way to provide you with a good life.”
“And he has,” I assured Hank, hoping to dissipate some of the worry plastered on his face. “He gave me a great life and will spend the rest of it making sure that what he built for us lasts longer than me. That’s why I don’t want to waste time. I’m leaving for NYC to finish the merger in the morning, and I want to have a game plan for when I come back.”
Unfortunately, the worry in Hank’s face didn’t dissipate. If anything, it intensified to the point of looking pained. Puzzled by his reaction, I held his dark eyes and tried to figure out what was eating at him.
As if feeling my request for him to open up and level with me, Hank ran his hands through his jeans and sighed. “You don’t have to concern yourself with that, Ben. The board will make those decisions together at the next meeting.”
His words fell on my ears like gibberish, and though I tried, I couldn’t understand them. I was the CFO, my father’s right-hand man and the only member of the board who had devoted over twenty years of his life to building this company. Above all, I was my dad’s only son and heir. The company was mine and, therefore, the decision should have been mine as well.
Once more, the shock and confusion plastered on my face prompted Hank to speak, and he explained, “Your father wrote a will and left me in charge of it. It would be best for us to talk about it in my office, but knowing you as well as I do, I have no doubt you won’t allow me to leave this house without the proper explanation.” Even though it wasn’t a question, I nodded in agreement and Hank went on. “The will states that you may act as CEO and head of the board—if the board votes in your favor, of course—but his shares and titles are to remain his until your first wedding anniversary.”
“What the fuck?” I barked outraged. My father had always annoyed me about still living the bachelor life at forty, but I had always thought his nagging was just fatherly concern. The thought he would refuse my birthright because of it had never even crossed my mind. Apparently, I was wrong.
I shook my head in disbelief and received a sympathetic glance from Hank. Clearly, at a loss for words, he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved an envelope which he handed to me. “Just for the record, I told him not to meddle in your personal life like that, but you know how he was—stubborn as a cow stuck in the mud. But don’t let your anger keep you from reading the letter. You dad loved you more than life itself, and these are the last words he has for you. You should know them.”
With that, Hank patted me on the shoulder and got up from the couch. He said a quick goodbye and walked away, herding the last remaining mourners out of my mansion. My eyes, however, paid no attention to his actions or to the people saying goodbye as they left. All of my focus was on the envelope in my hand and the last words I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Still, curious as to what explanation my father would give for his betrayal, I waited until I was alone in my home and opened the envelope. With a deep breath, I started reading.
My dearest Benji,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m dead. Although I’m happy to finally be reunited with your mom, I must admit I’m also sad because after learning about my will I won’t be your favorite person anymore—a pity since you’ll always be mine.
The fact that you are my number one is precisely why I included the marriage clause in my will. I’m proud to say that I’ve built many things in my life. I’ve built homes, careers, a very profitable business and a massive fortune, but the thing I’m proudest of is the life I made with your mother. Now, as I approach the end of my life, I see that our family and you, my beloved son, are my biggest accomplishments.
For the last fifty-five years, I’ve loved intensely. First your mother, the love of my life and soulmate whom I’ve missed for over a decade now, and then you, my buddy and best friend. It was that love that made me wake up in the morning and work my ass off all day. It was that love that guided me to create the empire we now own. And, contrary to what most people—you included—may think, it was that love that made me a billionaire.
I am a firm believer that the love our family shared was what made us wealthy and not the money we acquired. For that reason, although I’m very proud of how hard you work and all the amazing accomplishments you’ve amounted in your time working for our company, I must admit that it worries me that those will be the only accomplishments in your life. You deserve so much more than just work and money, son. You deserve to be happy and fulfilled in all aspects of your life, and that’s my final fatherly wish for you.
My wish is that you find a nice woman to love. Don’t settle for one of your brainless bedmates just to fulfill the clause in my will—Hank will see through that, and you know it. Instead, find someone who cares more about who you are than about how much money you’ve got, and enjoy being a whole person with her. Have kids and a home that isn’t tidy and perfect all the time. Get a dog and let it sleep in your bed. Go on vacations and turn your damn cell phone off every once in a while.
The company and the money will be waiting for you—for the two of you. And life will be just as you’ve dreamed, only better. Trust me on this, I know.
With all my love,
Dad.
I read that letter three times, and each time the result was the same. My whole being was filled with a terrible mixture of love, pain, and anger at my dad.
There was a part of me that understood his motivation for forcing me to get married. His marriage to my mother had been one of those fairy tale affairs, and, of course, he wanted that for me as well. However, that was his life and his happiness. It wasn’t mine, and I resented him for forcing me to either lose what I loved most or fake something for his benefit. It was selfish and wrong, and I didn’t want to deal with it.
Pissed and drunk, I shoved the letter back inside the envelope, tucked into my jacket pocket and called my driver to come pick me up. Since my fate now rested in the hands of the board, I was determined to go back to NYC, finish that merger and prove to everyone still alive that my father and his policies were wrong.
Challenging
my father’s will wasn’t going to be easy, and I knew it, but the company was all I had now, and despite my dad’s Disney dreams for me, I wasn’t going to let it go because of a stupid rule. No fucking way in hell.
Chapter 3 — Pam
“What are you doing here?” James asked as I walked into the airline’s staff lounge at LAX.
I looked sideways at my friend and smirked at his question. With a raised a brow, I parked my suitcase next to him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before walking to the counter to collect the paperwork for the flight.
“Working,” I deadpanned in a playful tone that made him roll his hazel eyes.
“Considering you’re in your uniform, I’d say that part is clear.” I chuckled at his usual sarcasm as he continued, “What isn’t clear is why you’re working when you just got back from London this morning.”
I shrugged and turned to look at him. “Lori’s sick with the stomach flu and asked me to cover for her. Since I’m a single mom putting her daughter through college with no financial aid, I can’t refuse extra shifts when they come around.”
“Damn,” James muttered under his breath and stared at me with admiration in his eyes. “I wish my mom had been that committed to my education. Jess is a lucky girl.”
I laughed at his comment and walked back to where my suitcase was waiting beside my friend. “Be sure to tell her that when you see her next. That brat sometimes forgets it.”
James assured me he would do as requested and walked to the coffee machine. Moments later, he returned with two steaming paper cups, and then asked, “Where are you going?”
“JFK,” I replied as I retrieved my much-needed dose of caffeine from his hands.
He rose a brow and gave me a smirk. “Nacional. How long has it been?”
“About three years, but at least I get to serve in first class.”
“Uhhh . . . Fancy!” he teased as we left the lounge and started making our way through the airport to our gates.
As we walked, James babbled about his life. As per usual, I laughed at his drama but still lived vicariously through him. Aside from our age and profession, our lives were complete opposites. While he lived an exciting life filled with lovers and adventure, I lived a dull existence of work and bills. Although I sometimes envied him, I wouldn’t change the life I had with my daughter for anything in the world.
“Okay, honey, this is me,” I told him as we arrived at my gate. “You have fun with Giuseppe and text me about it.”
He nodded and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Will do. Have fun with your coast to coast rich people.”
“And you have fun with your economy adventurers,” I replied and, at his eye roll, I urged, “At least try.”
“Yeah, yeah . . .” he said as he walked away.
For a few moments, I just stood there and watched as my friend walked away. Then, I turned around to walk to the aircraft. As I approached the gate, I saw from the corner of my eye, a man at the waiting area with his chin propped over the knuckles of one hand while the other tapped a white envelope against his knee. The gray streaks at his temples told me he was probably around my age and the unkempt scruff on his chiseled jaw looked contradictory to the perfect fit of his suit. His eyelids were a little droopy like he’d been drinking too much, but a flash of pain and maybe anger was still visible in his blue eyes.
In my forty years, I had known a lot of pain, and for that reason, my heart broke for that stranger. But I had work to do, and so I pushed thoughts of him aside and walked my ass to the plane.
After greeting the rest of the crew, I stored my stuff and started getting the first class ready for our guests. As much as I enjoyed traveling the world, I had to admit that I missed my days of continental first class flights. There was something deeply satisfying about fluffing actual pillowcases and serving food on porcelain plates.
Once we were all set and the boarding process began, I positioned myself at the plane’s entrance to welcome our guests. We would be flying at max capacity, and as customary, I checked the tickets and greeted all ten passengers by name as I directed them to their seats. The last person to board was the man in the tailored suit who still had the envelope in his hand.
“Welcome on board, Mr. Walker,” I greeted in my kindest tone after checking his ticket. He looked me in the eyes and forced a ghost of a smile as he nodded, but didn’t say a word. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your seat.”
I received another nod and led the way to the very first row where his seat was located. Once he was settled, I asked, “May I bring you something to drink before we take off?”
“A bourbon, please,” he said, and I quickly went to the galley to fix his drink.
As I made my rounds through the cabin, I realized that for some reason I couldn’t quite explain, my mind and gaze kept returning to Mr. Walker time and time again. My staring had nothing to do with how handsome he was. Honestly, he wasn’t really my type and, judging by his trendy haircut and hip reading glasses, I could tell my twenty-two-year-old daughter would interest him a lot more than me. Still, between the discomfort in his face, the compulsive drinking, and the daggers his eyes were throwing at the piece of paper in his hands, there was something that made me feel like he needed me somehow.
Knowing that those were crazy thoughts induced by too much work and not enough sleep, I kept my distance and tried to remain professional and out of his business. But my efforts only lasted until after dinner when all the other passengers were either sleeping or with their headphones on. He pressed the call button for yet another refill of his bourbon and I was quick to answer.
“You know that there’s a limit of how much you can drink in the air, right?” I asked him in a friendly tone I hoped would alleviate some of my intrusion.
He raised one perfectly groomed black brow and retorted, “And what would that limit be?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted with a shrug, then added, “But I think you’re at least two shots beyond it.”
Mr. Walker sighed and nodded, but remained quiet for a few seconds. Then, just as I was about to turn around and walk away, he said, “I just buried my father today. I’ve looked up to him my whole life and considered his old ass my best friend, and in return, all I received was this letter right here.” He raised the envelope he had been holding in the air and looked at it. “His last goddamned words for me and they were disappointing as shit.”
His words tugged at my heartstrings, and though I knew I should keep quiet and just listen, my curiosity got the best of me. “Why were they disappointing?”
“Because they proved that he never really knew me,” he deadpanned, demonstrating that by some miracle he was a lot less drunk than I initially thought. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted was to be him—the powerful CEO of the company I helped to build—but instead of giving me that, he slapped me with a marriage clause.”
My brows pulled together in confusion. “A what?”
“A marriage clause,” he repeated. “Apparently, being married to my work wasn’t good enough for him, and so, he wrote a will stating that I can only receive his shares in the company and assume my rightful place there after I’m married.”
“Wow,” I said, not really knowing what else to say.
Chuckling, Mr. Walker nodded and agreed, “Yeah, wow. Unbelievable, right?”
I looked at him—really seeing him for the first time—and tried to put myself in his father’s shoes. Despite his powerful appearance, there was a loneliness in his eyes that was confirmed by the fact that he was on a plane, alone, on the day he buried his father. As a mother, I had to admit that the thought of leaving your child alone and lonely in the word has a very bitter taste.
“Not really,” I said before measuring my words. His face hardened, but since I had already put my foot in my mouth, I had no other option than to explain myself. “I’m the mother of a twenty-two-year-old who is in a committed relationship with becoming a doctor, and I worry that if I die t
omorrow, she’ll be left alone and with no one to care for her. So, I understand your father. If I knew that there was a sure way to assure that wouldn’t happen with Jessica, I promise you I would take it.”
He was silent for a few moments as he pondered my words. Then, he asked, “But do you think it’s fair for him to meddle like that? To force me to have a relationship when I clearly don’t want one.”
“No, it’s not fair, but most dying wishes aren’t. My mother, for example, asked me to bake a pie for my cheating father with her ashes mixed in.”
Mr. Walker blinked a few times at me before bursting into a fit of laughter. Once his outburst subsided, he asked, “Did you do it?”
“Of course, not,” I assured with a shake of my head. “She’s in her urn right at the center of my mantel. I loved my mother too much to let her turn into shit, especially my bastard of father’s shit. What I did instead, was tell him that she had confessed to me, on her deathbed, that I might not be his daughter. It was BS, but the look on his face was the revenge we both needed and a much better sight than a mouthful of ash.”
He raised his brows at me and gave me a smirk that was almost admiring. “And you don’t feel like you cheated by not honoring her request?”
I shook my head. “Not at all. What she asked for was revenge, not the actual pie, and though I didn’t follow it to the letter, I still honored her wish. Maybe it was the same for your dad. Maybe he knew that you couldn’t just pull a wife out of your hat, but he still wanted you to open yourself to the possibility of having a family. What you have to figure out is how to give him what he wanted while still remaining true to yourself.”