Page 8 of Christmas Coffee

I brace myself, steel my expression, and remain silent. I nod and raise a brow, waiting for him to spill whatever he wants to say.

The corners of his lips rise slightly, making his mouth look like a bloated snake. “After careful consideration, your seat on the board has been revoked.” Aldrich spits out the words like nails, not buffering a damn thing.

“You can’t do that.” I’m the sole heir to my father’s fortune. Dad split up the payments and when I could take control of the company. My first million paid in at eighteen years old, then another chunk when I got my MBA. I had to follow in Dad’s footsteps, become his legacy, to get the family fortune. I did that. I checked every box, crossed every t, and dotted every i.

“I can, actually. Your father left Reginald Palmer, esquire, with a list of provisions. If certain conditions were not met,” he twirls his wrist as if this entire conversation is beneath him, “then your seat would be forfeited and with it your stake in the company.”

I’m on my feet, seething, hissing through my teeth. “Why didn’t I see this paper before now?”

“Sit down, Celyn,” he snaps at me like I’m a dog.

“No, I’m going to see Palmer and straighten this shit out.”

“The man is already here. I knew you’d want to see him.” He presses a button under his desk and the door to the side of the room opens.

Reginald Palmer is ancient, with snowy hair and timid blue eyes. He’s always looked like he was one hundred years old, but today he looks older.

Uncle gestures to me much in the same way he did when I was eight. “Come in, Reginald. Explain matters to the boy.”

I stand there, frozen. This can’t be happening. This is crazy. I manage to calm myself and sit back down. I incline my head toward Reginald. The guy has always been kind to me, from the day he read my father’s will through forming my first corporation. He’s patient and kind, which is a rarity for someone in his line of work. Most of his peers are monsters made to devour people, and win at all cost.

Reginald clearly doesn’t want to be here. He sits in the seat next to me, tension lining his pasty body. His pin-striped suit fits him well, but then it should. The guy is loaded. He handles all the Bardenbey legal needs.

He clears his throat, but it still sounds raspy. “While I was preparing your father’s estate to fully transfer into your hands, and drawing up the paperwork for Bardenbey, a time-sealed letter from your father came due. I remembered drawing up the papers prior to his passing, but years passed and I never thought it’d be an issue.”

“What would be an issue?” I ask, not understanding his implications.

Uncle Aldrich cuts in. “Your financial failures—specifically that little stunt where you nearly made the pharmaceutical arm of Bardenbey hemorrhage a billion dollars with your snake oil, RequimX. Remember that? Well, I certainly do. Your father put a failsafe in place to protect the company. In the event that you were not interested, or were unable to fulfill your duties as a member of the board of Bardenbey, he adjusted the will to bequeath the remainder of his estate, including all assets and Bardenbey, to your uncle. The thought was that you’ll be very comfortable with the sum already bestowed upon you and—”

I’m on my feet again, fingers clenched to fists, palms sweating. My heart slams into my lungs, stealing all the air. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking believe this. Everything I did to get to this moment is being torn away. Silently, I manage to pad to the massive window at the far end of the room and try to steel my nerves. It’s hard to stand here and let someone fuck with me like this. The pharmaceutical blunder should have never happened. We did everything we were supposed to do, but we got caught off guard. It cost people their jobs when the cancer cure turned lethal. People died because of me and I’ve had to live with that. Uncle said it was my youthful zeal that blinded me, the eyes of an idealistic youth deceived me. That mistake haunts me to this day. The money wasn’t the worst of it, it was that I robbed people of their last few moments with their families. It’s something I could relate to so much, that I wanted so badly. If I could give them a way to live a little longer, then it’d be worth it. In the end, it was my lowest hour and I’ve paid for it ever since. RequimX was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Now it’ll cost me any chance I had at making amends. Well, amends beyond monetary restitution. I already did that, without Uncle’s knowledge. It’s why I’m broke, save the few status symbols that prove to the world that I’m a Ryan—my car and my clothes.

Staring out the glass pane to the city below, I ask, “Is it true, Reginald? I lose everything?”

Reginald’s voice, once booming, is now a timid whisper. “I’m afraid so, Celyn. It could be deemed that you’re incapable of serving the company in the way your father desired. Your spending, though not lavish, is beyond modest. And in business, most of your companies have failed to be successful. Unfortunately, if your uncle challenged the court to hear the case, I believe he would win.” The old man brushes a piece of lint from his suit, avoiding my eyes. “He could challenge your competency.”

“And there’s nothing to be done? No way I can prove to you that I am capable? That I can fulfill my father’s wishes?” I turn on my heel and beseech the old man.

Uncle scoffs, “You’ve less than forty-five days. How on earth could you prove a thing by then?” He stands, shoves his hands in his pockets and mutters something about this being utter nonsense.

Reginald doesn’t agree though. I see it in his old gaze. He nods to me slowly, “I could arrange a task, terms of which are pre-agreed upon by both parties. Should you achieve the desired results, then your inheritance proceeds as planned. However, if you don’t meet the terms of the agreement—there will be no question about the succession of the company to your uncle.”

Uncle Aldrich blurts out. “How, Reginald? There are only forty-five days. What could he possibly do in so little time? There’s no way.”

Reginald pulls a legal pad from his attaché case and starts scribbling. I’m rubbing the scruff on my jaw and trying not to glare at Uncle while we wait. A moment later, Reginald hands me the legal pad. “That would more than prove the issues at hand: frugality, competence, and a solid work ethic.”

I blanch when I see what he’s written down.

Uncle snatches the pad from me and looks it over. The man starts laughing. “Are you serious? You’re giving him five grand for a holiday start up?”

Reginald isn’t deterred by Uncle. “Certainly. Most retailers earn over seventy percent of their income in this one month. Thanksgiving is tomorrow. It gives him a few days to get set up.”

“What about employees?” I ask, while completely ignoring the pittance offered for the start up. There’s a bigger obstacle in the way. “How will I hire people in that amount of time? Management searches take months.”

“We’ll provide your employees. You decide everything—rate of pay, position, etc. We’ll tap into Bardenbey’s personnel department to fulfill employee placement, but you have to take care of payroll.”

“With five thousand bucks?” I look out the window and consider it. The city is gray today, the sky covered in thick clouds, plump with unfallen snow. There’s a sharp chill in the air that makes the pedestrians scurry faster, keeping their chins tucked tightly as they clench their coats at the neck.

Most of the businesses we’ve started through Bardenbey had a minimum of fifty grand to start up. Petty cash usually has twenty grand. I’d have no money for rent or inventory. I couldn’t get most items delivered in a few days anyway, because it’s too late in the season. This seems impossible.