Chapter 67
M y suspicions were confirmed when, upon getting off at the subway stop that was closest to Burnson Investments, the two men I had seen back at Layla’s apartment were still watching me.
They were not closing ground, but they also weren’t losing anything.
At least Edwin wasn’t going to kill me yet, but then again, not even he was stupid enough to have me killed so close to his wife’s divorce.
It would just look a tad bit too suspicious.
Though, then again, if he made me crazy enough to off myself, he could just say the stress got to me. It was maddening how cruel and dangerously effective Edwin could be sometime. Promise yourself one thing. You’ll stay alive no matter what happens.
Just like you promised Morgan you’d believe him no matter what happens.
Just like you promised Layla you’d love her no matter what happens.
Let’s try and keep this promise a little better. Third time’s the charm, right?
When John’s office came into view, I silenced the internal critic, reminding myself why I had come here—and it wasn’t so I could go down a dark place in my mind.
I opened the door and smiled at the secretary, who I did not recognize. She must have not recognized me either, because she just gave me a curt smile without having any sudden flashes of recognition or disgust at me.
“Hi, I’m here to see John Burnson?”
“You are?” she said, a look of disbelief on her face. “He’s got nothing on his schedule saying—”
The phone rang at that moment. I knew what it was even before she answered, and I just allowed her to answer, ignoring the enormous coincidence that this all represented.
John Burnson must really have wanted that meeting with me, or I had just stumbled in at the perfect time—a bit of a nice departure from the way things had gone for me before.
“Yes, Mr. Burnson? Yes, I have him in front of me. Are you Mr. Chance Hunt?”
I had to swallow my pride just temporarily, much as I wanted to be called Chance Givens.
“Yes.”
“Turns out you are wanted by Mr. Burnson. Take the elevators behind me—”
“I know how to get there, but thank you,” I said, just barely hearing the secretary inform Mr. Burnson that I was on my way up.
That Mr. Burnson had known to call down as soon as I had arrived and that this was happening so easily gave me hope that perhaps this meeting would go a bit better than expected.
I needed some good news anyways, especially since Edwin Hunt’s behavior and words had me thinking I was on the verge of getting shot down like a fighter pilot in war.
A few people got on the elevator who seemed to recognize me, if not place me entirely, because they all wore that same expression on their face, the one where instant recognition crosses over but then, for the sake of avoiding awkward conversation, they just don’t say anything and look straight ahead.
Good enough for me, I thought; I just wanted to get to Mr. Burnson with as few interruptions as possible.
Thankfully, they all got off early, and when I reached the final floor, I came to the room where Mr. Burnson worked.
“He’s right inside,” another secretary said.
I thanked her, pushed open the door, and saw Mr. Burnson with his back to me, facing out the window, looking out on the city.
The first thing I noticed was how Mr. Burnson had seemingly lost a ton of weight.
And that was closer to literal than most of the time people said it—he had gone from a stereotypical fat cat to a slim, healthy man in his senior years.
When he turned to me, I could see that it was not the result of some ill-fated disease that had stricken his appetite from him; instead, in fact, he actually looked younger.
“Chance Hunt, my old friend,” he said. When he extended his hand and I took it, it seemed much more vigorous.
I almost began to wonder if this was actually John Burnson or if someone had secretly replaced the old man with an actor of some kind.
“How are you, buddy? I have a lot to tell you. Oh, let me tell you, so much has happened since you left. Have a seat. Let me explain it all. It’s crazy. You should know—”
I knew I wasn’t going to get a word in for probably a good five to ten minutes. I sat back, relaxed in the chair, crossed my legs, and let Mr. Burnson have his moment of confession as I patiently waited for my turn.
“So, get this. Shortly after you left, the stress in my life was killer. Almost literally. I kept coming to work, thinking about what you had said when you quit, and it burned at me. Not your fault, mind you, I just created an environment that led to people quitting like that. Oh, don’t give me that look, young man, you were far from the first person to make such a dramatic scene! ”
He then let out a bellow of a laugh. I could hardly believe this was John Burnson—it was like he’d been born again or some sort of other religious revival.
This was just too crazy to believe, and yet, I had no choice but to believe it, as the office setup, the title, and enough features of his face were enough to confirm this was still Mr. Burnson.
“In any case, after all of that, one day, I’m sitting here on a Monday.
Things are just all going to hell. Awful, horrible, terrible.
And then, wouldn’t you know it, I get a massive heart attack.
A terrible one. A really enormous one. Thank heavens for Donna outside, she called 911 and had someone come and get me immediately; doctors later told me if they’d showed up five minutes later I’d be dead.
Let me pause and make clear, Chance—not your fault! I was just in a bad place.”
“No kidding—”
“But anyways! That was the first time I’d really detached from the business enough to think about everything that had happened.”
Aside from all the golf games you were notorious for playing in. But that’s a different conversation.
“I realized that I was doing the business all wrong. I was burning myself out by trying to be so involved with everything, and when I got stressed, I didn’t look at myself unless it was in the mirror by the golf course.”
Oh, so maybe you do know. And maybe this is that same conversation.
“I had to do a lot of self-reflection, and I realized it started with my attitude! So, ever since that incident, I’ve just done everything I can to make sure that my attitude is more upbeat and has less anger.
I’ve tried to get rid of all of the negativity in my life, and here I am, a healthy man, a happy man, and one looking to close out his life in a healthy, strong manner! ”
To say that my jaw dropped was an understatement, because it felt like my entire body had dropped to the floor in sheer disbelief.
Of all the stories I had heard about executives on Wall Street and in Manhattan as a whole, very few had ever had a turn like this.
Most of them either became more intense, had to outright quit, or just simply croaked in the seat. This was… this was stunning.
I was speechless.
“Surprised?” Mr. Burnson finally said with a chuckle. “My family is too. None of them ever expected me to accomplish this. Guess I proved them wrong!”
“No kidding,” I said, becoming slightly fearful that this sudden change in spirit might actually work against me—I didn’t want to have to deal with a Mr. Burnson who refused to face the negativity that my adopted father had brought to the world.
He could be upbeat and giddy as much as he wanted, but I needed to know there was at least some part of him willing to face the darkness and help me out.
“But enough about me! Heaven knows my family will help me write a book that’ll get me to shut everyone up at some point. What’s going on with you? Everything all good with Mr. Hunt?”
Noticeably, Mr. Burnson’s energy seemed to dip just a tad when he mentioned Edwin’s name; it also seemed a bit forced, like he didn’t want to say his name but had to fake a smile while doing so.
“You got time, too?” I said with a chuckle.
“Oh yeah,” Mr. Burnson said. “Normally, in the old days, I would’ve thrown you out by now for work. But one of my promises to myself is that when old friends come by, I’d give them the time they needed. Besides, I don’t think you’ll be here all day, huh?”
“Probably not,” I said, considering the fact that Layla and I had that date that I had promised her. “I know you don’t want to be talking to an employee who left the way I did.”
“Nah. Time heals all wounds. So anyways! Go ahead!”
So, while attempting to not dwell on the dark parts too much—but not ignoring them either—I outlined everything that had happened in my professional life since I had left Burnson Investments.
I mentioned the success of Morgan & Chance Holdings, how things had seemingly gone to hell with Rising Sun, how Morgan had sold me out and rejoined Edwin Hunt’s business, and how now…
I struggled at this point, trying to decide if I would continue to frame this in a relatively positive light or if I was going to crush Mr. Burnson’s happiness with the utter truth.
I decided I hadn’t come here to pussyfoot around the subject.
“Mr. Edwin Hunt has promised that he will destroy me,” I said. “And so, in return, for all that he has done, I have decided that for the sake of society, he needs to go. He hurt you, Mr. Burnson, just like he’s hurt many others. You’re probably aware that he’s going through a divorce—”
“Who isn’t?” he said with an attempted laugh, although his mood had gotten much more somber.
“Yeah, well, just recently, on a phone call, he told me he would kill me because I had bought more of one of our companies to make sure he couldn’t cancel me out. I thought he was joking but given that I saw people following me here to you, I don’t think that’s quite the case.”
“Mother of God,” Mr. Burnson said, shaking his head. “That man needs some of the lessons that I learned myself.”
He let out a long, almost sympathetic sigh.