44. Chapter 44
C rispin
Time barely registered to Crispin for the two weeks leading up to his birthday.
Every waking minute was spent strategizing his every move to counter his father.
Their great-grandfather had established the company more than a hundred years ago, so he knew what was at stake.
He'd spoken to the stakeholders-coaxed, threatened, bribed, whatever it took.
He would be damned if he let it go without a fight. ..even to his own father.
One shareholder, teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, had folded for double the share value.
Another, secretive and evasive, had been convinced with a veiled reference to a mistress his wife didn't know about.
Alice, his younger sister, could do nothing.
Her twenty percent was held by trustees until her next birthday and it wouldn't come into the vote.
She had called him earlier in the day and cried in frustration, unable to be of any use to him in this battle.
Alice would be by his side, through thick and thin.
His mother had only made one attempt to intervene-inviting him to lunch in an obvious attempt to reconcile him with his father.
Crispin had exploded. "Is this what you teach your children?
To take abuse and stay silent? To be ignored, defeated, and used?
" he had asked, his voice shaking with frustration.
When he had called her a coward for staying silent through years of pain, she hadn't defended herself. She had simply ended the call .
He was still burning the midnight oil when Dorian came by the office late one night. They hadn't spoken face-to-face in weeks after the apology at Crispin's apartment.
"My five percent vote," Dorian said, dropping into the chair opposite him, his eyes steady. "It's yours."
Crispin didn't respond immediately. He leaned back, arms crossed. "Why?" he asked coolly.
Dorian scowled. "Look, I know I was an arse. I shouldn't have gone to your mother. And what I said about Aria-"
"You made her feel like a gold-digger, Dorian," Crispin cut in, voice hard. "And instead of coming to me like a friend, you ran to my mother."
Dorian winced. "I didn't know what to believe then. I am sorry, alright? I thought she was dragging you into something you weren't thinking through."
Crispin exhaled slowly. "I've had to make peace with losing everything, Dorian. If this falls apart, I will start again. But what I won't tolerate is being betrayed by the people I consider my friends."
Dorian did not look away. "I'm here now, and I am not backing down, whether you trust me or not."
Crispin nodded once. "Then let's see if loyalty still means something. Trust me, there won't be any more chances. "
Crispin had hunted down three silent stakeholders, and one elderly gentleman sold his shares just minutes before Crispin's father called him.
"Oh hello, Simon," the old man said cheerfully over the speaker. "My shares? Why, I thought it was time to retire. Crispin asked me for them and paid me twice their value to take them off my hands. He is a clever boy, your son... Simon? Hello?"
Crispin gave a bitter smile. He might lose in the end, but it would not be for lack of trying.
His birthday passed uneventfully, followed by two days fraught with tension.
The board meeting was scheduled the next day.
That night, he looked at his mobile, typed a message to Aria, then stopped.
He was bone tired and didn't yet know what the next day would bring. Still, he wondered what she was doing.
He had bought the lease on her old flat and paid her rent for the year, just in case she had a sentimental attachment to the flat.
But she was never going back there, at least not without him.
All her moments were his, as soon as she forgave him.
The thought of her as a kept woman made him smirk to himself.
Aria would freeze him solid if she knew he was thinking such a thing.
And then, another thought-he needed a ring. You don't propose without a ring. What would Aria like ?
The doorbell rang. He opened it to find his uncle Marcus leaning against the wall in the hallway, one pant leg crossed casually over the other.
His full head of steel-grey hair was bent slightly as he looked up with an elegant, familiar smile.
It was hard to reconcile the sight with this debonair man to the one who had once taught him how to bait a hook and the best spots to catch trout during childhood summers.
Marcus was one of the most respected corporate lawyers in London-a mentor to Crispin and a voice of reason, even to his volatile father.
Crispin had spent many summers with him as a boy, tagging along on fishing trips, learning to read contracts long before he truly understood them.
He trusted Marcus, mostly, but tonight, caution threaded through his radar.
They hadn't seen each other in weeks, though they occasionally spoke on the phone. Crispin let him in, eyes observing his every move.
Marcus sat down and asked gently, "How are you holding up?"
Crispin didn't answer that. Instead, he said, "If you're here to offer a compromise, Aria is not negotiable."
Marcus sighed. "I came because Simon is furious. Now I can tell him I tried. But I did tell him I'm not taking sides. I just wanted to say good luck. I will be by tomorrow evening to drop off the Kervin contract. "
Crispin nodded grimly. "Thanks. I will go over it tomorrow. Or my dad will, depending on what happens tomorrow."
The boardroom was full. The space itself was imposing with heavy wood panelling, leather-backed chairs, and a vast oval table polished to a sheen. Oil portraits of past directors loomed from the walls. It had the feel of a courtroom more than a modern executive suite.
Crispin was already seated at the head of the table, Dorian on his right and his PA to his left, when the door opened. His father entered first, expression carved from stone, followed by his mother, elegant and composed. She took her seat without looking at him.
A few moments later, Alice walked in, dressed in a tailored grey sheath dress. She gave him a brief, warm smile and took the seat beside Dorian in a show of support, though her vote wouldn't count.
His father refused to meet his eye. The contempt was obvious in every line of his face, in the tight set of his jaw, and the deliberate way he avoided even glancing at Crispin.
And in that moment, Crispin felt a strange clarity-a bitter awareness of the wasted years spent trying to impress a man incapable of warmth. A man who had only ever seen his son as a tool, an extension of his own shadow .
The vote began. His father made a speech, proposing a new managing director.
Crispin countered with a presentation-highlighting profits that had doubled under his lead, green initiatives, and long-overdue modernisation.
There was the unreal feeling of being an actor in a strange play where the result was predetermined.
Tension crawled through the room like slow-moving fog as the vote began.
The first to come in was a distant vote. The assistant opened the envelope and read the verdict. "Three percent to dismiss," she said.
A flicker of unease passed through the room of stakeholders.
Then Simon, his face unreadable, leaned forward and stated clearly, "Fourteen percent to dismiss."
Crispin's jaw clenched. No surprise there. He pressed the button on his mic. "Twenty-eight percent to retain."
There was pin drop silence as all eyes shifted to Dorian.
Crispin could feel the pulse in his throat. For a heartbeat, he doubted him. After everything, could Dorian be trusted ?
Dorian glanced sideways at him before leaning forward to speak clearly into the mic.
"Five percent to retain."
A breath which he didn't realise he was holding escaped Crispin. Thirty-three percent to retain versus seventeen against.
And then it was his mother's turn. His father smirked faintly, leaning back, fingers laced together in smug confidence.
"Twenty percent to retain," his mother said, her voice calm and unshaken. Fifty-three percent. Game over.
It was a clean blow. His father blinked with shock before his head whipped towards her and muttered something furious under his breath. He grabbed her arm with a vice-like grip.
Before Crispin could step in, his mother shook it off. She turned to Simon, her eyes blazing. "Have you not done enough? Have you not humiliated me enough?"
He was rendered speechless.
Another vote came in-four percent from a silent partner to retain .
Fifty-seven percent! A clear majority.
Alice could not vote, and the remaining six percent had decided not to vote.
Crispin had won.
For a moment, he didn't breathe.
Then the relief and disbelief crashed over him like a tidal wave before dispersing like sea foam. He stared out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the setting sun.
"I need to call Aria," he said.
"Congrats, mate," Dorian said, cutting through the daze.
"I need a ring." Crispin turned to him. "Dorian, I need you to do something for me."
They were still finalising the details when Alice, who had followed her mother, came over and hugged him. "You deserve this, Cris." Her hands trembled.
"Mom?" he asked .
"She's fine. Probably throwing Dad's suits out and running them over with the Range Rover." Alice grinned.
"I need my phone," Crispin muttered and headed for his office.
Marcus was just leaving. "Congratulations, lad. I have left the contract on our table. I hope you settle things with your father, eventually. Blood is thicker than water, you know."
Crispin only nodded, impatient.
He grabbed his phone and dialled Aria's number with trembling fingers. It was finally over.
It rang once before going straight to voicemail.
Again. Same message.
He frowned. Maybe her battery had died.
He cursed himself for not getting Lule's number.
"I'll try later," he muttered, already unsettled. But the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach persisted.