Chapter 13. #2
Holly leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, eyes on Brian.
“And the girl herself? Once she commits, she’s his.
Salary, housing, everything paid by you, but her place is at his side the same way Constance and I are at yours.
No divided loyalty. No reporting structure that pulls her back here unless he sends her. ”
“Exactly,” Brian said. “She belongs to his new life, not to the tower. Make sure she understands that before she ever gets in the car.”
The table fell into a brief, working silence broken only by the soft taps of Constance’s stylus and the occasional chime of Dani’s phone.
Brian picked up his fork and took another bite of the steak.
The meat was perfect… charred on the edges, pink and tender inside…
but he barely tasted it. His mind had already left the dining room and traveled the four hours of highway that separated him from the man whose world was about to be rewritten.
Somewhere across the city and beyond, Danny Hollinger was probably finishing a shift or sitting in a small apartment that still smelled of laundry detergent and takeout.
He still believed his biggest problems were overtime and whether the car would start on cold mornings.
He still thought his best friend had simply gotten lucky in a way that would never touch him.
In the morning that illusion would end. A capable, willing woman would knock on his door, sit across from him, and tell him that five hundred million dollars was already his, that an entire corporate empire would one day fall to him if Brian Thomson died, and that from this day forward he would never again walk through the world unprotected.
Brian set the fork down.
“I want updates,” he said. “Not every detail. Just confirmation when she leaves, when she arrives, and when the conversation has begun. After that, give them space. Danny is going to need time to breathe.”
Constance nodded without looking up from the tablet. “Understood.”
Dani glanced up from her phone. “Bar side is coming together. Gloria found a place on the east side… old neighborhood joint, sticky floors, actual jukebox that still takes quarters, no cameras that report to anyone who matters. Advance team is already doing a quiet walkthrough. We can leave whenever you’re ready this evening. ”
Brian looked at each of them in turn. The weight that had sat on the blank succession line for days was gone.
In its place was a different kind of gravity…
the knowledge that by tomorrow morning his oldest friend’s life would be permanently altered, and that the alteration was both a gift and a burden Brian alone had chosen to place on him.
He exhaled slowly.
“Then we finish lunch. You three handle the machinery. I want the legal envoy on the road before the sun starts dropping. Danny’s morning is going to be hard enough without us adding delays.”
The conversation continued around the table in lower, more focused tones…
exact wording of the disclosure script, contingency language if Danny refused the money at first, the composition of the overnight security rotation, the route the legal team would take to avoid unnecessary attention.
Brian listened, contributed when needed, and let the three women do what they did best.
His decision was locked. The name was written. The future contingency was set.
And four hours away, still unaware, Danny Hollinger slept or worked or simply lived through what would be the last ordinary night of his life.
In the morning, everything would change.
A lot.
---
Brian pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the bar, Dani a half-step behind and to his right. The moment the door swung shut behind them the outside world of polished towers and camera flashes fell away.
He took a slow, deep breath.
The smell was exactly what he had wanted.
Old wood saturated with decades of spilled beer.
The faint metallic tang of a well-used tap system.
The honest sweat of people who had spent the day on their feet, on a line, under a hood, or behind a counter.
Cigarette smoke from the back patio drifted in every time the rear door opened.
A jukebox in the corner was playing something older and scratchy…
real vinyl or a very good imitation. The floors were sticky in places.
The bar top was scarred and dark. Neon signs for local lagers hummed softly against the walls.
This was not a place that knew how to pretend.
Dani’s eyes were already moving, cataloguing exits, sight lines, and the scattering of patrons. She stayed close without crowding him.
It took less than ten seconds for someone to recognize him.
The bartender… a thick-shouldered man in his fifties with a graying beard and a faded black T-shirt… froze with a glass halfway to the tap. His eyes widened.
“Mr. Thomson…”
The name carried. Conversations died in a ripple that moved outward from the bar. Heads turned. A few people actually stood up a little straighter. The jukebox kept playing, but it suddenly felt too loud in the new silence.
Brian lifted one hand in a small, easy gesture and gave them all a half-smile that was more sheepish than commanding.
“Please don’t worry about me,” he said, voice carrying cleanly through the quiet room. “I was a working stiff like every one of you not that long ago. I’m just here to enjoy a beer, some pleasant company, and a chance to relax. That’s all.”
No one moved. A few people glanced at each other. The weight of who he was still hung in the air.
Brian’s smile widened a fraction.
“Let’s do this then. Next round is on me.”
The cheer that erupted was immediate and genuine… loud, rough, and full of the kind of gratitude that had nothing to do with corporate press releases. Someone clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. Someone else whistled. The tension broke like a wave hitting the shore.
Brian walked the rest of the way to the bar with Dani still close. He rested both forearms on the scarred wood and looked at the bartender.
“Cold tall glass of beer. Something local.”
The man nodded quickly, still a little stunned. “Yes, sir. Got a solid IPA on tap from a brewery two miles from here. That work?”
“Perfect.”
Brian glanced sideways at Dani. “You?”
She smirked, the expression small and professional. “On duty, sir.”
“Club soda, then,” he told the bartender. “And make sure I pay for the next round for everyone in the place. Keep them coming until I say otherwise.”
The bartender’s eyes lit up. He poured Brian’s beer first… tall, amber, with a clean white head… and set it on a paper napkin. The club soda followed with a wedge of lime. Then he turned and started calling out to the other end of the bar, already filling glasses.
Brian took his first long drink. The beer was cold, slightly bitter, and perfect. For a moment he simply stood there and let the ordinary noise of the place wash back in around him.
It did not stay ordinary for long.
People began to approach.
The first was an older man in a worn flannel shirt and work boots still dusted with concrete. He waited until Brian set the glass down, then stepped up and offered a thick, calloused hand.
“Mr. Thomson. Name’s Ray. I just wanted to say thank you. My nephew works one of the site crews on those new apartment buildings you’re putting up for people who need a second chance. He said the standards didn’t drop even after what happened with that contractor’s wife. Means something.”
Brian shook his hand firmly. “Ray. I appreciate that. Tell your nephew the standards aren’t going to drop. Not on my watch.”
Ray nodded, gave Dani a respectful glance, and stepped back.
A younger woman in a waitress apron from the diner next door came next. She was nervous, twisting a napkin in her hands.
“My sister works in the Dranning Tower mailroom,” she said. “She told me after the press conference that people upstairs actually seem to give a damn now. I just… I wanted to say it out loud. Thank you.”
Brian smiled at her. “You’re welcome. Tell her I said to keep doing good work.”
She blushed, nodded quickly, and retreated.
More came.
A pair of brothers who worked maintenance in one of the subsidiary warehouses.
A woman whose husband drove for a logistics company under the Dranning umbrella.
An older couple whose daughter had gotten a job in accounting after the hiring freeze lifted.
Each of them offered a handshake, a few quiet words, and the same underlying message: they had watched the press conference, they had heard what he said about family and protection, and for the first time in a long time it felt like the man at the top meant it.
Brian met every set of eyes. He shook every hand. He listened more than he spoke. Dani remained a quiet, watchful presence at his shoulder, never interfering, never relaxing completely.
Then the flirting started.
The first was a bold redhead in tight jeans and a tank top who had clearly decided the billionaire in her local bar was an opportunity worth seizing.
She slid onto the stool beside him, ordered a beer on his tab without asking, and leaned in close enough that her perfume cut through the older smells of the place.
“So the famous Brian Thomson drinks regular beer,” she said, smiling with open interest. “I was starting to think you only drank champagne out of crystal.”
Brian chuckled. “Champagne has its place. Tonight isn’t it.”
She stayed for three or four minutes, asking light questions, laughing a little too easily, letting her knee brush his. When she finally slid off the stool she left her number on a napkin and a lingering look that promised more if he wanted it.
The second was quieter… a dark-haired girl in her mid-twenties who worked the evening shift at a nearby auto parts store. She waited until the redhead had gone, then approached with a shyer smile.