Chapter 25
Bash
His father was dead. It hadn’t been a painful death. Bash and Lotte had rushed to his side with their mother, and they had sat with Gerard. Their father was basically comatose. He had said nothing when he died. The monitors, which had been beeping, had just gone silent, and they knew he was gone.
The aftermath of death was too logistical for Bash’s tastes. What he wanted, needed, was space to grieve. But Gerard Koning had barely breathed his last breath when the lawyers descended.
Bash and Lotte were ushered from the room while Sophie, still weeping, was drilled with questions.
Koning Kapitaalgroep released a statement later that day. By evening, the phones were ringing with reporters.
Lotte found Bash in his bedroom. “It’s made its way to social media,” she said glumly.
“Fuck,” Bash said from his bed, where he was trying to read to distract himself.
“Do you think if I just DM all news outlets telling them to ‘fuck off’ that’ll work?”
“Worth the shot,” Bash said. “Or maybe talk to your boyfriend and see if the royal family can do something.”
Lotte made a face as if she were considering it. “If he did, that would certainly get him back in my good graces. Have you talked to Adonis yet?”
“I haven’t.”
“He won silver.”
Bash sat up. “He did?”
“Yes. You should call him.”
She was right. It had been too long since they’d spoken. Bash felt bad about how he’d left it. He had barely contacted Adonis since getting to Amsterdam. He had been too distracted with family shit, but that wasn’t a good excuse.
“I’m going to call him,” he said. Lotte nodded and left.
Bash took a couple of calming breaths and then called Adonis’s number. It took a few seconds, but then Adonis answered.
“Bash!” he cried. “Oh my god. I’ve missed you. Is everything okay?”
Bash squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly overcome by the urge to cry.
“My dad died today,” he said, which wasn’t the first thing he’d meant to say, but it just jumped out before he could stop it.
Adonis was silent for a moment. Then, “Bash, I’m so sorry. How are you doing?”
Bash took a deep breath. “I’ve been better.”
“I’m sure. Do you need anything?”
Bash sank back into the cushions on his bed. “Hearing your voice helps,” he said.
He could almost hear Adonis smile. “I like hearing your voice, too.”
“I heard you got silver in your free skate. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Were you able to watch the performance?”
“Yeah. I saw it all, but just missed the announcements at the end. I didn’t see them give you the medal.”
“That was the best part.”
“No, I think your performance was the best part. You did a great job. I’ve never seen anyone skate like that.”
“I’m headed back to Massachusetts soon. Can’t miss many more classes. What about you?”
“I’m not sure, honestly.” Bash looked out his bedroom window at the other houses and the tops of trees. “It will depend on how things go here. You know, the funeral and everything. There will be some things to figure out with the company, too. Dad…dad wanted it to pass to me.”
“That’s right. I’ll get started working on extradition.”
Bash chuckled. “I miss you,” he whispered.
“I miss you, too. You better come back to Bellford.”
“I’m going to try. I promise, I’m going to try.”
——
The funeral for Gerard Koning was held three days later. It was massively attended. Even the Dutch Royal Family was there, though Gustav and Lotte weren’t currently on speaking terms.
Bash spoke at the funeral. He rewrote his speech four times before it, sending each draft to Adonis, who was by now back in Massachusetts. Bash wished he were back at Bellford with Adonis, with his friends.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet, and he had to pause several times so that he didn’t cry.
After the burial, there was a dinner at the Konings’ house, and many people came to wish them well and to talk about how good a man Gerard had been, though most of their comments were about how good a businessman he had been.
“None of them really knew him,” Lotte commented to Bash when they were hiding out from everyone in the kitchen. “They just talk about what he did for the company.”
“That was him, no?” Bash countered. “He was the company. What else did he care about?”
Lotte didn’t seem to like that comment, but she said nothing. “Are you going to miss him?” she said at last.
“Of course. I loved him. But that doesn’t mean that I liked him.”
——
Bash wanted to go home immediately—home being Bellford, not Amsterdam—but after the funeral, there were still things to handle.
Most importantly, according to the Koning Kapitaalgroep board, Bash had to attend a board meeting.
“Je hoeft alleen maar te zitten en te luisteren,” Sophie promised him as they took a car from their house to the company’s headquarters. You just have to sit and listen. “Je hoeft niets te zeggen, als je dat niet wilt.” You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to.
“Mooi, dat wil ik niet.” Good, I don’t want to.
“Sebastiaan,” she said, gently taking his hand. “Dit bedrijf was belangrijk voor je vader. Het is belangrijk voor ons gezin.” This company was important to your father. It’s important to our family.
“Ik weet,” he said. I know. “Het is ook belangrijk voor mij, maar ik wil er niet de leiding over hebben.” It’s important to me, too, but I don’t want to be in charge of it.
“Lieverd, jij hoeft niet de leiding te hebben over binnen. Nog niet. Je moet je studie afmaken, en dan beslissen we wat daarna komt.” Darling, you don’t have to be in charge of in. Not yet. You have to finish college, and then we will decide what’s next after that.
“Ik weet wat het volgende is. Ik verhuis naar Seattle om voor de NHL te spelen.” I know what’s next. I’m moving to Seattle to play for the NHL.
“Is dat wat je vader wilde?” Is that what your father wanted?
Bash looked out the window, away from his mother. “Mam, het spijt me, maar hij is dood. Ik wil zijn nalatenschap eren, maar wordt het niet tijd dat ik volg wat ik wil doen?” Mom, I’m sorry, but he’s dead. I want to honor his legacy, but isn’t it time that I follow what I want to do?
Sophie released his hand. She had no response to that.
Their black SUV, driven by one of the family’s personal drivers, parked outside the sleek building that formed the headquarters of Koning Kapitaalgroep.
The building was called the KAC, the Keizerlijk Amsterdam Centrum, or the Imperial Amsterdam Center.
It was a monstrosity of modern architecture, a glass-and-steel blight on the horizon.
Thirty-five of the building’s fifty floors were made up by Koning Kapitaalgroep.
It was a cold, rainy day in Amsterdam, and the driver, a man named Jan, got out first and held an umbrella over Sophie’s head. He offered an umbrella to Bash, who waved it away.
Sophie wore a smart black dress with a black veil, a full, old-fashioned widow.
Bash wore a black suit with a black shirt, no tie.
He followed Jan and his mother into the KAC, where they entered a vast, vaulted lobby.
Businesspeople in dark suits and snappy dresses were hurried about, doing important things (or things they thought were important).
“Dankjewel, Jan,” Sophie said. Thank you, Jan.
Their driver nodded, closed the umbrella, and hurried back into the rain.
“Ben je er klaar voor, Sebastiaan?” Sophie said, turning to Bash. Are you ready, Sebastiaan?
A slim blonde intern met them in the atrium, offered his condolences, and then led them to the forty-ninth floor, where the board met in a massive conference room, which had two full walls of windows.
A long table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by people in dark business clothes.
Their faces looked mostly sour. Bottles of still and sparkling water sat before them.
Two chairs were empty, one for Sophie, one for Bash.
The president of the board was Kristof Ooms, a professional boards member and retired businessman from Belgium. He stood when Sophie and Bash entered, inclining his head at them.
“Madame Koning, Monsieur Koning. Mes sincères condoléances,” he said in French. My sincere condolences.
“Merci, Monsieur Ooms,” Sophie said. She switched to Dutch. “Nu. Moeten we bespreken wat we met het bedrijf gaan doen.” Now. We must discuss what we’re going to do with the company.
“Ja. We moeten ervoor zorgen dat de aandelenkoersen niet dalen,” Ooms said. Yes. We must make sure that stock prices don’t go down.
Bash tried not to roll his eyes. His father was barely in the grave, and they were talking about stock prices. Absurd.
Ooms must’ve seen Bash’s facial expression, because he turned to him and said, “Aviez-vous quelque chose à dire, Monsieur Koning?” Did you want to say something, Mr. Koning?
Bash switched to French to address the board president. “Oui. Je trouve cette entreprise ridicule et je ne veux rien avoir à faire avec elle.” Yes. I think this business is silly, and I don’t want any part of it.
There were murmurs around the table.
“Sebastiaan,” hissed his mother.
“Nee. Dit is niet de plek waar ik thuishoor.” No. This isn’t where I belong.
He stood. “I’m going home,” he said in English.
“Sebastiaan,” his mother said.
He bent down to kiss her cheek. “Dit is jouw plek, moeder. Niet de mijne.” This is your place, mother. Not mine.
She looked up at him with sad eyes and then sighed. “Ga maar. Ik zie je later.” Go ahead. I’ll see you later.
He left the boardroom without another word and didn’t look back.