Chapter Three
Marcus
Caesar’s late. Again.
Dad announced he wanted to wait for his arrival before diving in, so Aurelia, the three independent directors, and I have all been quietly looking at our phones since we took our seats.
At the head of the table, Dad glances at his watch for the third time in a minute, then huffs impatiently through his nose.
Without moving my head, I lift my gaze to Aurelia, who’s sitting opposite me. She crosses her eyes, and I stifle a laugh.
The glass door opens, and Caesar comes in.
“Apologies,” he says. He lets the door swing shut behind him and puts his phone on the table next to Aurelia. “Anyone else want coffee?”
Everyone declines. He looks at me. I gesture at his shirt buttons. He throws me a sarcastic look and goes over to the table by the window to pour himself a cup.
“Glad you could make it,” Dad says dryly.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Caesar brings the cup back and sits beside Aurelia. “The traffic was worse than usual.”
“And yet somehow we all managed to make it on time.” Dad glares at his firstborn, then looks down at the folder in front of him and opens the cover.
Caesar looks at me and quirks an eyebrow.
I give a slight shrug of my shoulder. Yesterday, I spent most of the day with a group of Japanese businessmen who are interested in acquiring some of our technology, so I haven’t yet had a chance to catch up with my brother.
I assumed he’d know why Dad has called us in, but it doesn’t look as if Dad’s told him, either.
“Thank you all for coming,” Dad says. His hair used to be the same shade as Caesar’s and mine, but now it shines silver in the sunlight streaming through the window. “A week ago,” he continues, “Tom Rutherford called me and requested a confidential meeting.”
He’s named the CEO of Rutherford Agricultural Group, an old, powerful, New Zealand family empire with huge land holdings. Tom Rutherford is a notoriously ruthless negotiator who is well known for buying family companies and dismantling them.
Caesar and I exchange another glance, sitting up in our seats.
“We arranged to meet on the morning of the twenty-first,” Dad continues. “Following this, I met with Malcolm, Hemi, and Caroline yesterday.”
He met with the other board members without us? It’s not unheard of, but it is unusual.
“What did Tom want?” Caesar asks.
“He said that if the Ashford family is ever open to discussing the future of Ashford AgriTech, the Rutherford Group would be interested in exploring an acquisition. He knows that our pasture intelligence system collects massive amounts of farm data, and he understands that whoever controls the data controls the future of agriculture.”
Caesar stares at our father. “He’s heard that you’re thinking of retiring.”
Dad doesn’t answer straight away. He studies the paper in front of him, then continues, “He said a preliminary valuation suggests the Rutherford Group would be willing to acquire Ashford AgriTech for approximately 3.2 billion dollars.”
Caesar, Aurelia, and I all inhale. A recent valuation of our company came to 1.8 billion, so it’s a significant amount more.
It’s a staggering amount for a man who built his empire from scratch. Fifteen years ago, Dad was just the son of a farmer, learning the ropes and doing his best to keep the family farm in profit. Now, he’s the head of a globally successful conglomerate.
He owns a controlling stake—forty percent. The rest is split between us and a group of investors.
However, his wife is sick. He’s close to retirement age anyway. He wants to make sure his family is secure and leave his children a legacy he can be proud of. From a purely personal level, it would make perfect sense to sell.
But if Tom Rutherford buys this company, the Ashford name will disappear within a year.
“You’re not thinking of selling,” Caesar says bluntly.
Dad thinks for a moment. “I want the company to remain in the family,” he says eventually. “But I met with the independent directors to ask their advice and garner their opinions. I wanted honest feedback before I spoke to you.” He looks across at the man sitting closest to him.
Sir Malcolm Reid is the CEO of one of the biggest banks in New Zealand, with a sound understanding of the country’s economy. He clears his throat and looks at the three of us. “The board has concerns about succession.”
Our eyebrows all rise. “Succession?” I repeat.
“Investors need confidence in the leadership transition,” adds Caroline Bennett, an agritech investor. “The company depends heavily on the Ashford brand, and investors will want reassurance about leadership continuity.”
“You’re all incredibly talented,” says Hemi Te Rangi, a large dairy industry leader. “But the board needs to see long-term stability before it rejects a serious acquisition offer.”
Dad sighs and leans back in his chair, visibly less stressed now the Rutherford cat is out of its sleeping bag.
“None of you is settled,” he says, “or even close to being, as far as I know. You’re thirty-three,” he reminds Caesar.
“I was married and had three children by your age. You’re a hard worker and you could run this company while you’re asleep, but you’re unreliable, son.
Easily distracted. Unfocused. And it shows. ”
Caesar glowers, but he doesn’t say anything because it’s hard to argue with the truth.
“And you can wipe that smirk off your face,” Dad says to me.
“You’re twenty-eight and photographed with a different woman every week.
You’re innovative and a true visionary, but you like to act the playboy, and it’s irresponsible when you’re in the public eye so much.
I’d hardly call you an exemplary role model. ”
I drop my gaze to the table, embarrassed to be scolded like that in front of the rest of the board as if I’m the son of an English earl who’s been caught making out with the governess. But I’m unable to think of a comeback when he’s only laying out the facts.
“And you’re the youngest,” Dad says to Aurelia. His expression softens. “And my little girl. But your mother was married and had Caesar by your age. You do an amazing job controlling the company’s public face, and I don’t expect you to be a nun. But life isn’t just one big party.”
She blushes scarlet and swallows hard, shocked by his honest assessment.
The terrible thing is, we all know he’s right.
His direct gaze takes all three of us in.
“I’ve let you lead your own lives in the hope that you’ll all find your way eventually.
But, understandably, the board wants continuity of leadership.
Marriage. Heirs. I know it sounds medieval, but it’s the price you’re going to have to pay for what we’ve built here.
We have a responsibility to our investors and our employees.
So, the fact is, if you want to keep Ashford AgriTech in the family, the board needs proof the next generation is committed to its future. ”
Silence falls. I think the other two, like me, are completely shocked.
“These things don’t happen overnight,” Dad says.
“Tom Rutherford told me the offer will stay open until my retirement. So I’d like to put forward a proposal.
I’ll stay until my sixtieth birthday—December the first, next year.
If, by that point, none of you has married and produced an heir, I sell the company to him.
” He closes his laptop. “Right, I have another meeting to go to. Malcolm, Hemi, Caroline, have a great Christmas.”
“You too,” they say, getting to their feet and packing up their things.
“And you three,” he gestures at the rest of us who are still sitting at the table, and looks pointedly at Caesar, “don’t be late on Christmas Day. No stressing your mother out.”
“Yes, sir,” Caesar says, and Aurelia and I nod our agreement.
Dad walks out of the office, the three independent directors following in his wake, and the door swings shut.
The three of us stare at each other.
“Fuck,” I say.
Caesar shakes his head and looks out of the window. “What a bomb to drop right before Christmas.”
I get up, the chair scraping along the polished floorboards, and go over to the table to get myself a coffee. I need something stronger, but somehow I don’t think pouring a whiskey at ten a.m. is what my father had in mind when he used the words ‘responsible’ and ‘reliable’.
I bring it back to the table and sit again, stretching out my legs. “Do you think Rutherford’s offer was real?”
Caesar frowns. “What do you mean? You think Dad made it up? What, to force us to face our future?”
“It’s real,” Aurelia says. “Dad definitely met with Tom Rutherford. I saw it on Rebecca’s calendar.” That’s his PA.
“He wouldn’t really sell to that arsehole, would he?
” Fury rises within me. Rutherford is in his seventies, with six sons, three daughters, and about five hundred grandchildren.
He thinks of himself as if he’s the head of the Italian Mafia, probably because he is one of the most powerful men in the country.
The thought of Ashford AgriTech falling into his hands makes bile rise up into my throat.
But it’s impossible not to see why the rest of the board is concerned.
We’re a relatively new company, and it’s still tied primarily to its founder.
Investors fear instability. The three of us work hard, but in the board’s eyes, we haven’t proven ourselves yet.
Dad’s created a legacy, but there’s no obvious succession.
We’re all young, and I’m sure at least one of us will marry and have children over the next five years or so…
but that’s not good enough when there’s an offer like this one on the table.
Possible inheritance doesn’t hold up well against a certain fortune.
“Jesus.” Caesar rests his elbows on the table and covers his face with his hands. Then he drops his head and sinks his hands into his hair.
I look at Aurelia. Her cheeks are still pink. “I feel about two inches tall,” she mumbles.
My lips twist. “Yeah.”