Chapter 3
3
Preston
“ T his is a terrible time for you to take a leave of absence.”
Anjali—tall and slim in a gray pants suit, her long black hair wrapped up in a bun—delivers this piece of managerial doom and eyes me with concern.
“I know.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You know I’m not the only decision-maker here. You need buy-in from the other managing directors. The board. I can back you—but I can’t fight the tide if David is everyone else’s clear winner.” She frowns. “You can’t take a month off while your deal and promotion are hanging in the balance.”
We’re in her office, which is truly the king’s throne. Penthouse location, windows on three sides, views of Manhattan in all directions. Plusher carpet, bigger desk—though the same office chair because there is only so far you can go with office chairs. The next step would be a literal throne.
There is no bigger manifestation of power. She is the queen.
Someday, I will sit on that throne, too. But one step at a time. That’s how I’ve made it this far. One step at a time, and no missteps.
Until my grandfather spoke from beyond the grave.
Now everything I’ve worked for is in jeopardy.
“I have to do this,” I tell her. “This is my family’s land. This is my sister’s business.”
She crosses her arms. “Explain to me how no one contested the will.”
That’s the question, isn’t it?
“It was a divide-and-conquer thing,” I say. “Only one of us got hit at a time. So first it was Quinn’s problem, and he wanted to do it for my sister…and somehow none of us believed it was coming for us, too.”
But there’s more to it than that.
We all need to do this for Hanna . Because we all let her down . We all left her.
“Preston,” Anjali says calmly, “if you score this deal and win this promotion, you can buy any land you want, anywhere. You can buy your sister any business she wants to run.”
I picture how that would go over with Hanna.
Hanna, I’ve lost you Hott Springs Eternal and the family land, but no worries. I’m going to buy you some new land and throw a fuck ton of money at you, and you can start over. No big, right?
Like a lead balloon.
And it’s not only that. I wish I could tell myself the land means nothing, that I don’t care if Blue Iron strips it for everything it’s worth. But it will never mean nothing. It’s part of me. In my blood.
I’ve rarely met anyone in New York City who understands what land means to those of us who grew up in the West. It’s a different mindset. In Manhattan, 1.7 million people live in a land area of 22.83 square miles. That’s about 73,000 residents per square mile, for those who math. Land, schmand .
Growing up, hundreds of acres were my personal stomping ground, and I can’t imagine selling that land to someone who sees it as nothing more than an empty space to be stripped for heavy metals, gems, and minerals.
I don’t point out to Anjali that I could already afford any land I wanted or buy my sister any business she wants to run, anywhere. In addition to climbing the finance ladder faster than any banker in Wall Street’s remembered history—or so says the Newer York Magazine —I have invested well. Brilliantly, in fact.
I am swimming in money.
It’s not about the money. It’s never been about the money.
“I have to do this,” I repeat. “And I can do this. I can take care of business in Rush Creek and still keep things rolling here. We’re in a good spot with the merger. It’s practically a done deal.”
“You know better than to say that.”
“I’ve earned the right to say that.”
She shakes her head. “There’s a reason every major world religion warns against pride, Preston.” She sighs. “Look. Olafssen is working on something big. Rumor has it he’s aiming for an August-first announcement that’s going to change the dynamics of the promotion situation radically in his favor.”
“Shit,” I say. “That’s six weeks from now.”
“Right. Exactly. You need to ink the MegaStar deal before that,” she says. “Otherwise, you have zero chances of convincing the other managing directors and the board that you’re their guy.”
“No one can question my commitment to this job and this company,” I say.
“I would never. You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met.” She crosses her arms. “Too hard. We’ve talked about this, Preston. Your focus is always on the win, never on the people part of the equation. You get it done—but you don’t make friends doing it.”
I wave it off. Making friends has never been my goal. Installing myself on the throne has.
Anjali shakes her head. “It’s going to come back to bite you in the ass, Preston. When people raise questions about your fitness for the promotions, it’s always about culture match.”
Culture match. In other words, We like the other guy better . “You know that’s bullshit.”
“’Course I do. We both know it’s code for ‘doesn’t golf or go out for drinks or accept the Hamptons weekend invitation.’ Code for ‘doesn’t look like us, think like us, or play the game our way —’” She scowls. “And I of all people know not everyone can play that game—and also that even when some of us do, it’s still not enough.” She crosses her arms. “But, Pres, when was the last time you did anything besides work?”
“I went to my brother’s fake bachelor party.”
Her eyebrows go up. “Over a month ago. When was the last time you went out for drinks with coworkers? Or sat around in someone’s office and ate takeout? Or tried to make yourself accessible to the junior analysts working for you?”
I wince. We both know the answer to that question: Not in a long time.
“Look,” she says, “when the culture-match thing comes up, I say all the right things. I say we’re not an old-boys’ network anymore. What matters is who gets the work done. That there’s no one in finance—hell, no one anywhere—who can get this job done like you can. That they should be glad you’re serious about business, because you mint money.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“It’s true,” she says, picking up a stack of papers and moving them to the other side of her desk. “I’m just saying—and this is coming from someone who’s been called an ice queen on multiple occasions—maybe you should lighten up a little. Let a few more people around you see your—” She cuts herself off.
“Were you about to say ‘fun side’?”
She sighs. “Just—whatever it is you have to do in wherever the bumblefuck it is, get it done fast. Keep your eye on the ball, get your ass back in the office within the month, and if I say you need to show up in person, be on a plane before I can hang up.”
“Got it,” I say.
In my head, I can see my grandfather laughing, Satan with glowing eyes and evil mirth. One last obstacle thrown up in my path—but I won’t let it stop me.
I’ll fly across the country, save my sister’s business, and be home to seal this deal.