Epilogue
Caroline
Lucien was announced as the interim CEO a few days later. The market’s reaction was swift: Blackstone & Moreau stock immediately dropped almost ten percent.
That changed when he gave a speech the next day in front of the building.
“I have been called a chaos agent,” he said, smiling at the gathered reporters as if they were old friends.
“I do not feel as though I have deserved this nickname, but if I am being completely honest with myself? I have earned it. Sometimes. However, that will change today as I temporarily replace Harrison Blackstone during the SEC investigation. I would like to emphasize the word temporarily, because this investigation will clear Blackstone—and our firm—of all wrongdoing. Perhaps we could have used more due diligence, as we all could from time to time, but our firm did not act maliciously. On the contrary: as soon as we realized the extent of the problem in Namibia, we invited the SEC to investigate us. And we have cooperated every step of the way. Until Blackstone returns to his office, I will maintain the dignity, respect, and intelligent investing that has made our firm one of the greatest in the world. Thank you.”
They were my words, but they really packed a punch when delivered with Lucien’s accented charisma. The stock immediately rebounded after the speech—not quite to the same level as before the scandal, but close enough that we all considered it a victory.
And Lucien proved to be a steady-eyed leader in the interim. He still had a chaotic flourish to his mannerisms, but he was far tamer than before. Soon, our principle investors enjoyed having him as the face of the firm. He was suave and charismatic… and good at managing investments, it turned out.
“It’s been a week,” I said to Rafael one day while meeting him for lunch. “What do you think? Are we ready to mutiny?”
“He’s actually… good,” Rafael blinked as if he were surprised by the admission. “It’s like he’s been fucking around all these years out of boredom, but now that he’s the one in charge, he’s taking it seriously. Like a gifted student who hasn’t been challenged enough.”
“Imagine that,” I said. “I guess some people grow up at twelve, and others at thirty-two. Aside from how he’s running the company, what’s it like working for him?”
Rafael shrugged. “It has its ups and downs. He’s demanding. But that’s not unusual. Overall, I think we’re working well together. Nobody could be as great a boss as Harrison, and things have gotten easier once I’ve accepted that fact.”
Lucien’s speech was the last thing I wrote for Blackstone & Moreau. A few days later, I put in my resignation letter.
It was all so obvious in retrospect. I never should have taken that position.
It wasn’t the kind of job I wanted, and there were too many conflicts of interest. I’d accepted it because it was a temporary paycheck.
That was a good enough reason when you were fifteen, but not when you were older and had a career to maintain.
I didn’t regret my short time at Blackstone & Moreau. Sometimes you had to make a few wrong turns before you realized what road you were supposed to be on.
Regardless of all the speed bumps along the way, it was time for me to sit down and focus entirely on writing biographies. And I couldn’t be more excited. My first order of business was Lucien’s book.
Which I quickly decided to decline.
I’d learned plenty of lessons writing Harrison’s biography.
It was important to me to keep my work objective, without my personal opinion tainting things.
And that was impossible while I was in a relationship with the French billionaire.
It was crucial for me to keep my love life separate from my career…
at least, going forward. It was too late to do anything about Harrison’s book.
“This breaks my heart,” Lucien said when I told him. We were on the balcony of the New York loft he was borrowing from another billionaire, overlooking Manhattan. “But of course, I understand. And a small part of me is relieved.”
“Relieved?” I asked.
“Relieved that there is nothing to get in the way of our relationship,” he said, sweeping me into his arms. “Assuming you do still wish to have a relationship with me?”
I couldn’t hide my grin. “I do want that. I want that very much.”
He smiled, then carried me inside to show me how grateful he was.
I know it was ridiculous since I already had two men who adored me, but Lucien was a welcome addition to my love life.
Instead of seeing him infrequently, he was always in New York, now.
Sure, he was busy running the company and meeting with our investors and other big-wigs around town, but he still made time for me at least once a week.
And when we did get together? I was sore for days after. In the best possible way.
Fortunately, turning down the Moreau book didn’t hurt me.
If anything, my agent was able to use that as a way of negotiating higher royalty advances from everyone else who did want me to write their biographies.
“Ms. Fairfax just declined the biography of the most famous man in New York!” he had grown fond of saying.
“She is very exclusive with who she selects.”
The scandal at Blackstone & Moreau also meant I had plenty of big names fighting for me to write their books.
Everyone in New York was whispering about the biography of Harrison Blackstone, the billionaire hedge fund manager who was currently under investigation from the SEC.
My book wasn’t even out yet, and my agent had two or three new offers coming in every week.
One offer was to write the biography of Carolyn Bertozzi, who had won the Nobel Prize for Chemistry in 2022 for the development of asymmetrical organocatalysis.
I had no idea what that meant, but after meeting her for dinner, I was hooked.
She was brilliant, delightful to be around, and her publisher—Random House—was offering a six-figure advance.
“I am so happy to hear you will work with me!” she said when I told her.
“I’m the one who should feel honored writing about someone like you, who has done incredible research in this world.”
She shook her head. “My publisher has suggested half a dozen writers for this project. I have turned them all down. But you?” She gestured at me like it was self-evident. “You are a journalist with principles. Someone who will always do the right thing, and give a fair assessment.”
I smiled. “That’s what I try to aspire towards.”
Along with her book, I had two more deals signed within the week.
The advances were all large enough that with some careful budgeting, I would be comfortable for at least two years.
By then, I would be in a good place to decide whether to keep focusing on biographies, return to my job at The Wall Street Journal, or try some hybrid of both.
But for now, this was a good start. I was excited about the future of my career, whichever way it led me.
Honestly, my biggest concern was Harrison and how he would handle his time away from the firm. For a Type-A man like him, who was used to being in charge and busy seventy hours a week, I thought he would go insane with boredom.
I was shocked to learn it was the opposite.
Harrison spent his time at his penthouse, relaxing and trying out new hobbies.
He read books, watched movies, and kept a journal.
He spent a few days obsessed with chess before deciding it wasn’t for him.
He allowed himself to wander from one hobby to another, rediscovering himself in a way most people rarely got to do until retirement, if ever.
“I used to love reading science fiction when I was a kid, back before all I cared about was how to make money,” he told me one afternoon.
“It’s been great jumping back into that.
Catching up on all the amazing stories I’ve missed in the past two decades.
Have you read The Expanse series? It’s nine books, and it’s phenomenal.
There was a show on , but it got canceled.
I wonder if I can buy a streaming service and pay them to revive the show. Give it a real ending.”
“That sounds an awful lot like investment talk,” I warned him. “You told me not to let you do anything related to investments or money until the SEC investigation was over.”
He winced. “Right, right. Sorry. It’s hard to turn off, sometimes.”
I spent most of my days at his place. I would set up my laptop at his dining room table, and he would hang out in the adjacent den, focused on whatever new project or hobby he’d decided to jump into that week.
We enjoyed each other’s company, even if we weren’t doing anything together.
Just being near one another was satisfying in a deep way.
“What’s on the schedule for next week?” I asked him one day before packing up my things.
“I’m hiring a tutor to help me learn Python,” he said, typing furiously on his laptop.
“That’s a coding language. I just want to screw around a little, give it a try.
Maybe develop my own videogame or something.
I just want to create something for this world, rather than just investing in stuff. Making a real impact in some way.”
He made it seem like he was hiring a part-time college student, but when I went over to his place on the following Monday, the tutor ended up being Linus Torvalds, the man who had invented the Linux operating system.
If that’s too nerdy of a name-drop, don’t feel bad, because I only knew about him because of a piece on Microsoft I had written a few years ago.
And Harrison had the power—and money—to summon him to his New York home with the snap of his fingers.