Chapter 30 A Little Healthy Competition #3
There was an art to his theater that I’d learned to recognize over the years but had never mastered myself.
The crowd repeated after him like a congregation at Mass as they raised their glasses and took a sip.
It was so odd to be cheered, and yet barely anyone looked our way.
I may have been the heir, but he was the king.
I wondered if I’d ever actually be able to fill those shoes.
For the first time, I wondered if I actually wanted to.
“And while you’re all here,” he continued, “I have another announcement.”
My gut twisted, and a glance at my siblings told me they were feeling the same way. Owen’s face tightened, Ronan affected insouciance, though his eyes sharpened, and Shea straightened in her heels like she was standing on tiptoes.
“I’ve spent my life building Blackguard from the bottom up.
” Dad paced slowly with the microphone with the natural cadence of a born public orator, even with his cane.
“Over the last sixty years, we’ve turned a one-room betting box into the largest investment company in the world.
It’s taken blood, sweat, and a whole lot of guts, but we did it.
And it’s with the dedication of many people here tonight. ”
He offered pointed looks at Liza, me, my siblings, and finally Violeta, who now stood at the edge of the stage. She offered him a too-wide smile and blew a kiss. The rest of us barely managed to nod.
“As most of you know, recently I’ve had a little mishap with the old ticker.”
His audience chuckled with him, like his heart attack was the joke he was making it into.
“Bullshit! You’re a lion, Dad!” Ronan shouted, prompting even more laughter. Out of all of us, he was the only one who seemed to have inherited the gene for showmanship.
“Agreed. It is bullshit,” Dad replied to even more laughter. “Unfortunately, it’s also the sad reality of getting to this time of life.”
He beckoned Violeta to stand next to him. She floated in chartreuse couture up to the stage, happy to be in the spotlight, if only as his accessory. There would be no speeches from her or announcements of her admiration. She knew exactly what was expected of her in situations like these.
What was expected of me and Simone, I realized.
Silence. Acquiescence.
And my sweet fake fiancée had already broken that silent accord.
“My darling wife and I have had a lot of intense discussions, and we’ve decided the time is right for a…transition.”
My eyes widened right along with my siblings’. He was really going to do it. He was going to announce his retirement and someone as his successor.
Finally.
It had to be me. It fucking had to. Simone’s small, unintentional rebellion couldn’t have ruined that so quickly.
Right?
“After my rehabilitation, I was set to return to Blackguard at full capacity. However, we have decided that next month, I will instead be returning with the intent to retire as CEO by the end of the fiscal year.”
A hum rose through the crowd. They’d come here for theater, and they were getting it in spades.
“Say it, you bastard,” I found myself whispering. “Say it out loud for everyone to hear.”
I could feel Simone’s concern as she shifted to look up at me. Just like I could feel every other gaze in the room flicker my way.
I didn’t move a muscle.
“It’s not easy, handing over the reins to an empire,” Dad went on. “But I’m confident that I will be leaving it in the best possible hands…which will no doubt belong to…”
I closed my eyes, imagining the moment he said my name. How I’d have to smile, then straighten my back and look like the competent CEO I was, go up on stage, shake my father’s hand, and accept the crown I’d been born to wear.
Ignoring the unfamiliar dread in my stomach that mounted at the idea.
“…one of my four children.”
The announcement fell like a hammer. And the mirror of my goals, or at least my expectations, shattered.
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t see. I couldn’t fucking breathe.
“Brendan?”
Simone’s sweet voice forced me to return to the present and assume the mask that had protected me my entire life. I ignored the amusement dimpling Ronan’s face. The shock and eagerness coloring Shea’s. The satisfied grin splitting Owen’s.
Somehow, I forced a smile myself. I released Simone and clapped my hands along with everyone else, raised my champagne glass in a too-loud toast to my father’s health, and joined everyone in a nauseating chorus of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”
Simone sang with me, but I could feel her nerves shaking when I wrapped my arms back around her shoulders, if only because I needed something solid.
As Dad left the stage, she turned in my arms and tapped my chest. “Brendan. What does it mean?”
My father was now accepting handshakes and congratulations from his executives, board members, and other countless people looking to squeeze their last bit of profit from riding Niall Black’s coattails while they could.
At one point, that razor-sharp gaze found me, and a white brow arched wryly, as if to say, your move, son.
“It means our work isn’t done yet,” I told her. “It means we still have three months to go.”