He stepped out wearing the same tailored suit he’d worn when he found me behind the restaurant.
“You ready?”
I looked down at myself.
A clean white shirt.
Dark trousers.
The only decent pair of shoes I owned.
I nodded.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Richard smiled.
“Good.”
He opened the passenger door.
“The board is waiting.”
I got inside.
As we drove toward downtown, the skyline appeared through the windshield.
At the center of it stood the Brooks Holdings headquarters.
Thirty-two floors of glass and steel.
My grandfather’s company.
My company.
At least, that was what the documents said.
But I still
couldn’t believe it.
“Richard?”
“Yes?”
“What if they don’t accept me?”
He glanced at me.
“They will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because your grandfather planned for everything.”
The elevator took us to the thirty-second floor.
When the doors opened, I stepped into a boardroom larger than my entire old house.
Seven people sat around a long black table.
Executives.
Lawyers.
Accountants.
Senior partners.
And at the far end sat the chairman.
An elderly woman named Margaret Ellis.
She stood as I entered.
“Nathan Brooks.”
I nodded.
“Ms. Ellis.”
She smiled.
“Your grandfather spoke very highly of you.”
I swallowed.
“He knew me?”
“Better than you think.”
Richard placed a folder on the table.
“Before we begin,” he said, “there is one issue we need to resolve.”
I looked around.
“What issue?”
Richard glanced at the door.
It opened.
And my father walked in.
Behind him were his wife and my
stepbrother.
My blood ran cold.
My father stopped when he saw me.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
His face went pale.
Then his expression hardened.
“What is he doing here?”
Richard answered calmly.
“He was invited.”
My father’s eyes narrowed.
“You have no right.”
Margaret Ellis stood.
“Actually, Daniel, we do.”
My father looked around the room.
Then back at me.
“You.”
I said nothing.
He took a step toward me.
“You’ve been looking for me?”
“No.”
His expression shifted.
“Then how—”
“I didn’t find you,” I said quietly.
“You found me.”
He stared at me.
My stepmother stepped forward.
“Nathan, this is ridiculous. Your father has been worried sick about you.”
I almost laughed.
“Worried?”
She gave me a pleading look.
“You were eighteen. You needed to learn responsibility.”
I nodded.
“You’re right.”
My father looked surprised.
