Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
HAPPILY EVER BEFORE
Will
The Sterling Financial Group office towers over lower Manhattan, existing on a high floor of another one of the gleaming monuments among the forest of skyscrapers in the Financial District. From street level the building seems to pierce the morning haze, a reminder of everything I've been avoiding for the past month. Not just since the Memorial Day disaster in Newport, if I'm being honest with myself, but that particular spectacle has driven home exactly why I’ve kept my distance all these years.
The Memorial Day party replays in my mind, crystal champagne flutes catching the evening light, forced laughter from people who'd rather be anywhere else, and my father's booming voice cutting through it all. 'My son William will be joining the board next month.' Just like that, he'd tried to chain me to his world without an ounce of my agreement.
That night had changed everything, not just with my father, but with Arden too. Sometimes the worst moments spark the best revelations. Standing on the street, still in our formal wear, we'd finally stopped dancing around what we meant to each other.
The three-hour drive from Boston this morning gave me too much time to think, to second-guess, to rehearse this conversation a hundred different ways. But with the weight of the manila envelope heavy in my hand, I know there's no turning back.
The elevator ride feels longer than usual, each floor bringing me closer to a conversation I've avoided most of my adult life. Up here, the city sprawls beneath us with the morning rush of Wall Street's usual frenetic energy.
My father's secretary, Margaret, looks up as I approach. She's been here since before I was born, her hair grayer now but her smile just as warm. Sometimes I wonder if she knows more about the Sterling men than we know about ourselves, at least three of them.
"William," she says, genuine pleasure warming her voice. "It's been too long."
"Hi Margaret, is he in?"
She nods, already reaching for her phone. "Let me tell him you're here."
"No need," I say, moving past her desk. "I'll surprise him, he likes that, right?" I wink, knowing full well there is nothing my father likes less than a surprise. But in this case, sneak attack is for the best. The element of surprise might be the only advantage I have left.
Learned from the best.
He's standing there, at his floor-to-ceiling windows when I enter, hands clasped behind his back as he surveys his kingdom. The pose is so familiar it almost makes me smile, how many times have I seen him just like this growing up? Before I went 'rogue' as he calls it. Light gleans across his silver hair, and for the briefest of moments, I see him as others must. Powerful, unwavering, a force of nature. But even nature can be destructive.
"Dad."
As he turns, surprise flashes across his face before it settles into a mask of careful neutrality. He's always been good at controlling his expressions, his emotions, everything except his youngest son.
"This is unexpected," he says, and I can hear the unspoken additions of everything he is holding back until the opportune moment.
"I thought we should talk," I say, closing the door behind me. The soft click echoes in his corner office, high above Manhattan.
"There's nothing to discuss." He moves behind his desk, shuffling papers with practiced dismissal. "When you're ready to stop this?—"
"I drove three hours to have this conversation, and you still can't see me as anything but a child having a tantrum."
His eyes narrow, probably noting the wrinkles on my shirt and the one between my brow where frustration is folding itself into my face.
"Some people don't have the luxury of romance, Will. Some of us have responsibilities, obligations?—"
"This isn’t about romance, this is about the fact that for the first time in your life you’re not getting what you want." I interrupt, my voice steady despite the familiar anger rising. “You think any love I have for something that isn’t this,” I gesture broadly, “isn’t valuable. You never wanted to be a husband. You wanted a wife. Not a partner, an asset like everything else. That's why you look at people in my life as a risk, because in yours, it was only you."
There's quiet between us. I can almost hear him thinking through his next move, calculating risks and returns like he does with everything.
He turns back to his view, the one that costs millions to maintain, overlooking the heart of American capitalism.
"She got promoted, I hear," he says, and I'm not surprised he's been keeping tabs on Arden even from here. "She's young for it, especially there."
"She earned it."
"I'm sure she did." His tone suggests otherwise. He strides and takes a seat in his leather chair, large as he is, and perhaps there's something about him trying to come across as fatherly. But it's an ill-fitting role, like a suit bought off the rack, and he’s never had one of those.
"Just remember, Will, love is wonderful in theory, but in practice, it needs to be managed like any other asset."
I drop the manila envelope on the desk, the real reason I came here. Inside are the papers that will free us both, my abdication from a throne I never wanted. "Maybe that’s where you’re right, it is an asset, it’s a choice."
"What is this?" he asks, pulling the papers from it, scanning them with a dawning understanding. I watch his face carefully, seeing the moment he realizes what I've done. His fingers tighten on the paper's edge.
"That, is another choice."
My involvement here, in this whole thing, has less to do with me and more the fact that just my existence was allocated a portion of voting power for something I have neither the understanding nor interest to participate in. I began the process months ago, before the great war they waged, before the Memorial Day ambush. They don't need me. This absolves them of that.
"You'll have the vote you need this time, but I've assigned a proxy from here on out."
I think about Simon, my oldest friend, about our conversation when I asked him to take this on. 'Are you sure?' he'd asked, understanding the weight of what I was asking. 'Your father won't take this well.' But he'd agreed. He'd vote with them this time, a compromise to ease the transition, but after that, he'd be free to guide my shares according to his conscience. It’s why I asked him, he has one.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words. I wonder if my father sees what I see. The merger will still happen, probably. The hostile takeover will wear its sheep's clothing of friendly acquisition, and business will continue as usual. But it will happen without my name attached to it, without my silent complicity.
As I step into the elevator, I catch a glimpse of my father watching from his office doorway. He raises a hand in what might be a wave, and I nod in return. It's not reconciliation, we're too far past that, but maybe it's pride for something he didn't see coming.
He made his choices long ago, now I'm making mine.
The revolving door spits me out onto the street, and I breathe deeply, feeling lighter than I have in months. Neither the building nor the man in it can cast a shadow over my life any longer. I check my phone, if I leave now, I can make it back to Boston before evening. Back to the life I've chosen and more importantly, the one we are building.