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With his father. Joel wasn’t the easiest person in the world to work for. In fact, he was a total asshole. Period.

Frankie had called Leigh last night to let her know that Sam would be in this morning, picking up the mantle of running the family firm. Had Leigh hoped for the oldest brother, Zack? She’d never let on even if this was the case. She’d work as hard for Sam as she had for Joel.

Leigh was the type of person who could host a board meeting, break up a fistfight, and deliver a eulogy all before 9 a.m. She was a formidable woman who knew how to get shit done. That’s how she’d risen to become Joel’s right hand, one of the few women on the executive floor.

Sam had plans to change that, too. Far too many talented women had been cast aside for a man with less stellar credentials.

But he’d had a penis, and that was important, apparently.

“Good morning, Sam,” she said, greeting him with a serious expression. “It’s lovely to see you, but not under these conditions. Any news?”

“No, I don’t expect to hear anything until after their rounds this morning. He’s stable. I’ll let him speak for himself if anyone asks, but for now, he’s out indefinitely. Orders are for no visitors except immediate family.”

“That’s good to hear. Please let him know I’m thinking of him.”

Sam nodded and headed through to his father’s office. To get to Joel, a person had to go through both the receptionist and Leigh.

And very few people managed that. It was a short list.

Leigh followed him, watching him closely as he placed his briefcase on the dark oak desk along with his coffee.

“What’s on the agenda today? I have a few meetings I’d like to get scheduled as well. We need to make sure that the markets and the clients know that there is someone in charge in Dad’s absence.”

“Everyone will be glad to have a steadying presence at a time like this.”

Sam had never been described that way. His father had always said that Sam liked to rock the boat and cause trouble.

“I’ll be holding an all-staff at four-fifteen, after the market closes. There’ll be changes to policies and procedures, effective immediately.”

The surprise barely registered on her face; a slight arch of the eyebrow, gone as fast as it came.

“Of course. Henry and Rick are looking for face time with you today. Should I put it on the schedule?”

“No, I’ll schedule something with them later. But I need you to prep a summary for me today. Full org chart, recent performance reviews, and flagged compliance issues, if any.”

“I’ll have that on your desk within the hour,” she said. “By the way, the legal team is already here. They asked if you’ll need an NDA addendum for the transition.”

“Maybe. Tell them I’ll see them after the staff meeting.” Sam flipped open his leather briefcase and pulled out the document he’d created for the old man over a year ago. Joel had laughed and tossed his copy into the trash, right in front of Sam, saying that no changes would be made while he was in charge.

“We’re successful because I don’t allow any of that bullshit here,” Joel had growled at his youngest son. “Paternity leave? Remote working? Salary band adjustments? Fuck that shit. Every man needs to get his ass into work every goddamn day. I don’t care if he has kids, and I don’t care if he wants to work in his fucking pajamas, and I sure as hell don’t care about his cost of living. That’s his problem. If he doesn’t like it, he can go work for someone else.”

And usually, the talent did just that. They left and went to work where they were more appreciated.

“Thanks, Leigh. I appreciate you being here.”

“I always am. I’m going to get that information for you now. Let me know if you need anything else.”

A bulletproof vest might be a good start. There were some old-timers here, only because Joel kept them on, who were going to be apoplectic by five o’clock tonight. The sad fact was that Joel kept on people who told him “yes” even if they weren’t good at their job.

Leigh exited the office, closing the door behind her softly and leaving him to sink into the expensive, soft-as-butter black leather chair. If he walked over to the wall of windows to his left, he’d see a spectacular view of Winslow Heights. The “best” view, Joel had said to him when Sam was a child.

Joel wanted only the best in everything.

Sam began to shake off his suitcoat but then paused. The room was colder than the hallway, the AC cranked to near-Arctic settings. His father always claimed he thought better in the cold. The place was staged for authority: a massive mahogany desk, each item arranged with surgical precision; leather chairs and a couch that cost more than Sam’s first car; and, behind the desk, a portrait of the Winslow patriarch looking down on everything as if evaluating the latest crop yield.

Sam stood back up, then circled the perimeter. He took in every detail, scanning for changes from his last visit. The desk was empty except for a crystal paperweight and a silver Montblanc pen set. No personal photos. No clutter. The trash can beneath the desk was empty save for a half-crumpled invoice and a takeout wrapper from the bistro down the block. He noticed his father’s reading glasses left neatly folded next to the monitor, as if Joel expected to return at any moment.

But Sam was in charge now.