Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Beckett
Unfortunately, I’m not a kid anymore.
The following day, I wake up to a dozen alerts on my phone and spend an hour scrolling through news feeds, hoping like hell this is some kind of sick joke.
By ten o’clock, it’s official. We’re fucked. Royally. Up the ass without lube.
I grab the stress ball off my desk and squeeze the shit out of it while I pace, phone to my ear. Each step I take is heavier than the last.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” Grayson says for at least the dozenth time. He sounds stunned. Shell-shocked.
I can’t believe it either, and out of the two of us, I’m the bigger cynic. Royce Capital is teetering on the brink of collapse, and it all happened virtually overnight. So the deal we’ve been working on for over a year? It fell through.
It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut then kicked in the balls. Repeatedly.
We were only three days away from closing. Three days .
Which just goes to show that nothing is a done deal until it’s been signed, sealed, and delivered.
“We have two options,” I say reluctantly. “We either have to find another buyer or we need to go with Plan B.”
At this point, neither option sounds appealing. Plan B— the plan we didn’t think we’d need —is to hire a new CEO so we can step down.
Grayson groans. “We worked on this deal for an entire year,” he says, his frustration bleeding through every word. “We don’t have that kind of time to do it again.”
He’s right. If we went down this road again, it could take another year to find the right buyer. If we even found the right buyer.
“We took it as far as we could,” he says. “We did everything we set out to do and more. We did a brilliant job of building something from nothing…”
What he’s not saying, what he doesn’t have to say, is that neither of us has the fintech operations experience to continue in the leadership role and drive the business forward. It’s a hard thing to admit, but it’s the truth.
If we were to stay on as CEOs, we’d be making promises we can’t keep, and ultimately, we’d end up driving the business into the ground.
On the flip side, if we hand over the reins to a veteran CEO and step down, we’ll have to leave the cash on the table.
Either way, we lose. But if we hire a new CEO, at least our reputation will remain intact. There’s no shame in stepping down. That’s just a natural progression for startup founders after scaling up. But destroying the business we built by letting our egos call the shots…that would be a huge fucking mistake.
Even so, I’m still leaning toward finding a new buyer.
“Mentally, I’ve already moved on. I’m ready to get out,” Grayson says, echoing my thoughts.
“Let’s touch base at the end of the day,” I say when it becomes clear that neither of us is prepared to make a decision yet.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. I think we just need a minute to wrap our heads around this.”
This Royce Capital debacle was a crushing disappointment. To have come this far and to be so close only to have the rug pulled out from under us is a cruel twist of fate we never saw coming.
It’s going to take more than a minute to bounce back from this.
I hang up and drop into the leather chair in the corner, my eyes on the corniced ceiling.
My father’s words echo in my head. Technology? This won’t make you happy.
Fuck you, old man. I’m not giving up on technology. I’m just as determined as ever to launch a new startup. But now that this deal has fallen through, I’ll need this inheritance money even more.
I roll out my shoulders and try to shake it off but the pit in my stomach sinks lower. Maybe a five-mile run will help me clear my head and figure out the next logical step.
I walk out the front door just as a silver Mercedes pulls into the driveway. Harold steps out of the car, looking like Colonel Sanders in a white linen suit and straw fedora.
Harold is the executor of the will. He was also my father’s closest friend. And the very last person I want to see right now.
He ambles across the driveway with a fat cigar clenched between his teeth and claps me on the shoulder. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
“I’d love to stay and chat but I’m going for a run.” I make a move to leave but he tightens his grip on my shoulder.
“I’m afraid the run will have to wait.” His smile is pleasant, but I know better than to trust a shark in a rumpled suit. I very much doubt that this is a social call. “Now, where can we find Daisy?”
From his seat on the rattan sofa across from us, Harold is waxing poetic about God knows what while I’m trying to figure out what the fuck to do about our startup.
I tune back into the conversation when Harold starts tripping down memory lane, recounting stories about my father that paint him as a larger-than-life character with charm and charisma who was loved by all.
“I have better things to do than listen to you pontificating about my father,” I say. “He wasn’t a saint so let’s just stop pretending he was. Cut to the chase, Harold. Why are you here?”
His brows rise at my tone, and he takes a puff on his cigar, regarding me for a moment through the haze of smoke. I can already tell that whatever he’s about to say is something I won’t like, but he’s taking his own sweet time getting to the point.
“Okay, let’s get down to business,” he says finally. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Pete is leaving.”
I was not aware of this because Pete never mentioned it, but Harold is lounging in his seat smiling like the Cheshire cat, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing my surprise, so I don’t even bat an eye.
“Pete’s leaving?” Daisy blurts out.
Harold’s gaze moves to her, and his smile softens. I’m surprised Dirty Harry didn’t go into cardiac arrest when he set eyes on Daisy.
“He was planning to leave last year but agreed to stay until you got here.” He gestures to both of us. “As he understood it, you would take over the reins.” Those words are directed at me.
“He never said a word to me,” Daisy says, the corners of her lips turning down as if Pete is her bestie, and she can’t believe he would leave without consulting her first. She glances at me. “Did you know about this?”
I give a noncommittal shrug that could be a yes or a no or who gives a shit.
No, I did not know. But now I’m starting to understand why Harold is here.
More head games.
More tricks my father had up his sleeve, no doubt.
I have a bad feeling I’m about to get fucked up the ass without lube for the second time today.
“I asked Pete to keep it under his hat,” Harold says with a smug smile, eyes on me. “I wanted to see if you’d step up to the plate on your own but that doesn’t seem to be the case from what I’ve heard.”
I shoot Daisy a glare, eyes narrowed in accusation. Are you spying on me? Did you run to Harold and tattle on me?
Her eyes widen and she gives a little shake of her head like she understood my nonverbal question and wants to assure me she had nothing to do with this.
“Just to clarify, your father’s instructions were very specific,” Harold continues, hooking a thumb in his suspenders. “Live and work on the vineyard. Together. So if you want your share, you’re going to have to start doing the work.” He points his cigar at me. “And I’m afraid you’ll have to stay on for an additional two weeks to meet the conditions.”
I lean back in my seat and let out a derisive laugh.
This fucking day just keeps getting better and better. “Let me guess. If I don’t do it, you’ll make sure everything goes to Daisy,” I surmise.
Harold shrugs and holds out his hands like it can’t be helped. “Don’t shoot the messenger,” he says with a hearty laugh that makes him wheeze. “I’m simply ensuring that your father’s wishes are carried out. And from what I’ve gathered, you haven’t been doing your share of the work. In fact, you haven’t done a single day’s work on this vineyard or in the winery, have you?”
It’s his tone that pisses me off. So fucking smug and dripping with condescension. Like I’m still a kid and he’s schooling me.
I’ve heard enough. I stand up from my seat. “Thanks for stopping by. You can see yourself out. But if you think I’m going to be someone’s puppet, think again.” I turn on my heel and start walking away but then turn back to drop another truth bomb on him. “One more thing, Harold. You can go?—"
“He has,” Daisy says quickly, jumping up from her seat and coming to stand next to me, as if we’re a team and we’re in this together.
“Beckett has been working on the vineyard. Just behind the scenes. He planned and hosted a party for the employees to boost morale and thank them for their hard work. He’s also been overseeing all the work that needs to be done to the house and the winemaking facility.” She sweeps her hand toward the roof where the ringing of a hammer and the scramble of footsteps on the terracotta tiles can be heard.
“Daisy, save your breath. I don’t need?—"
She cuts me off and grabs my arm to stop me from leaving. “And he dealt with an employee who stole valuable goods from his father. Thanks to Beckett, she returned everything.” She flashes Harold a bright smile even as her fingers bite into my skin. “So you see, Beckett has been working. And everything he’s done has been for the greater good of this place.”
I stare at her. This was the perfect opportunity to throw me under the bus. Why did she jump to my defense?
My eyes narrow on her. She must want something in return.
What? she mouths.
I shake my head.
“Well, if this is true,” Harold says, getting to his feet, “I’m willing to waive the extra two weeks. But you will need to take over for Pete. And you will need to be involved in every aspect of running this place. Just to clarify, you are not permitted to hire someone to do it for you. Any questions?”
His smile is smug like he knows he’s won this round and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
But that’s not entirely true. I have a choice.
“No questions. But I didn’t get to finish what I started saying earlier.” I give him a smile that is in no way pleasant. “You can go fuck yourself, Harold. Have a good day, now.”
On that note, I walk away and leave Daisy to deal with him.
Fuck my father. Fuck Harold. And fuck Daisy for trying to play hero.