Chapter 2
O ffices always smell dusty to me. And this one is no exception. No matter how often the cleaning crew comes or how strong the candle's scent in the corner is, particles sit on the back of my throat and give me the urge to clear the discomfort. But I resist, and I even go so far as to remove my sunglasses so I don’t look too rude. Though after ignoring a dozen calls from him, I’m sure it doesn’t do shit.
My father’s former lawyer-turned-CFO-turned-my-mentor—Alan—puts a lot of effort into trying to look younger. But I remember him balding when I was a kid, and no amount of expensive hair and glue can erase the image. His face is bloated with agents to smooth out the frown and worry lines that come with thirty-some years as a corporate lawyer—and a lifetime of being a tight-assed fuckwad.
“Matt Palmer, thank you for joining me.” Finally, unsaid but implied.
“It must have been important for you to go to such lengths to reach me.” Calling my mom must have killed him. I try to keep the drollness from my tone but from the tightening around Alan’s eyes, I haven’t succeeded.
It’s not my fault Alan has so much Botox in his skin he can’t frown properly anymore—or that my mother took a huge chunk of money in my parents’ divorce—money Alan would have far preferred to stay in the company for his bonuses.
“It is a matter of some urgency, I’m afraid.” Alan steeples his hands in front of his lips after he speaks, as if thinking very hard about what he plans to say next.
I stare, waiting. No sense in giving the man a reaction when I’m sure that’s what he wants. Since my father’s death, I’ve made it a point to ignore my father’s “right-hand man” after what that fucker said at the funeral. No amount of time will get him on my good side.
Alan gives in with a barely-suppressed sigh before pulling out a stack of papers from a drawer.
“As you know, it’s been a little complicated untangling Thomas’ affairs.”
Business and pleasure .
For once, I agree with my inner asshole.
“Yes, though I’d have thought by this point, you’d have handled most, if not all of it,” I say. It is his job, after all—the one I’m technically paying for now. Alan convinced the board to let him prepare me—the CEO-in-waiting and majority shareholder by a smidge.
Questioning Alan’s ability like this is enough to piss him off. I know I don’t help the situation when something big passes his desk and I have to come in to sign off. Although irresponsible, I’ve enjoyed making this “transitionary” process as inconvenient as possible for him.
“And yet what your father left behind grows messier by the day.” Alan shrugs and I’m not sure if the double meaning is deliberate.
“Just get to the point.” I’m tired of this pissing contest, the metaphorical fencing I have no desire to dodge and dance for.
“You’ve come into some property.”
Not a huge surprise. Not considering some of the other assets and responsibilities Thomas Palmer left behind. My loft is one of those, so I can’t see why this piece of property would garner such an emergent response from Alan.
“Okay?” Again, unwilling to give even an inch.
“It’s not a sole ownership situation, hence the sensitivity around timing.”
“I’m sure you’ve dealt with enough of these matters in the last year. You should be well-versed in handling this.” I shift in my chair, ready to get up. The rough woven thread digs into my palm where I grip the armrest.
Alan flushes slightly, the first indication I’ve seen on the man’s face to imply any genuine unease.
“Am I wrong?” I push, enjoying this moment far more than I should.
Alan sighs, the sound rushed as if he gulps in air out of frustration alone. “No. Er , yes.” His nostrils flare as he struggles to answer correctly.
“This is not within my purview,” Alan says. “This piece of land was purchased before your father started the corporation. As such, I have no authority over any legal decisions. Since you have not appointed me as your lawyer—and this doesn’t involve the company—you need to be the one to make the call on this.”
No way in hell will I ever appoint this stain of a person as my lawyer. Still, it’s a better outcome than I expected. I’d assumed the worst, deservedly, but this is shades better than bankruptcy or a lawsuit. Before the corporation… I struggle to comprehend a time when my father hadn’t been in a three-piece suit and five hours late coming home—a ghost more than an example. Strange, his absence doesn’t feel all that different in death.
There never seemed to be a time before all of this.
“Prior to the corporation?” It sounds stupid repeating it, but I still can’t believe it. I’ve been spoon-fed the PR piece that my father showed up on American soil with a dream and a hundred dollars in his pocket. All bullshit, of course, but it makes for a heck of a byline.
Alan gives a tight-lipped attempt at a smile and nods.
“You mentioned it wasn’t solely his,” I prompt, interested in my father’s business dealings for the first time in years. My father was a lone wolf; kill or be killed. Partnership is the antithesis of what Thomas Palmer stood for.
“Not at all. Not even majority ownership.” Alan pushes the stack of papers toward me but I stare at the lawyer in shock, wanting to wring whatever information I can from the man before I turn to the inexpressive legal jargon waiting on the desk.
“Then why?” Why bother? Why even bring it up?
“Despite your differences, Thomas only wanted you to succeed, Matt. You have to know that.” Alan’s attempt at sincerity is about as believable as his hairline.
“Enough, Alan. You don’t need to blow smoke up my ass. We both know my father was disappointed to have sired such a lazy sack of shit. I’m not ruthless like he was—cunning in life or business. I have too much of my mother’s weakness in me. He made that evident.” I clear my throat of the unexpected emotion gathering at the memory of his parting shot at us—before the movers cleared out his closet, and I heard his Italian leathers clack on the penthouse floor for the last time. The room feels stifling despite the frigid air conditioning covering my skin with gooseflesh. I have to get out of here.
Soon.
Now .
Although this building has been nonsmoking for years, I hit my vape to calm some nerves. Hell, knowing it will piss Alan off sweetens the deal. My deep breath is followed by a plume sent in Alan’s direction.
“I’m not so clear on why you’re even telling me this. If we—I— whoever doesn’t even own this property outright, why waste time or resources on it?” It’s the most financially-sound point I’ve ever made. And all of it just to find a way out of the room as soon as possible.
“You could.” Alan wafts his hand in front of his face to clear the air and gives me a disgusted look before he pushes the papers closer to me. “Own the whole property, I mean.”
I look down at the brief impression of a contract, aging ink faded into the yellowing paper. Old. Older than me.
“Why the fuck would I want to do that?” I ask, sucking in more of the nicotine to calm my nerves. My patience wears thin, my attempt at being polite fraying with every second I’m holed up in this towering metal coffin.
“Jesus, Matt. You know you can’t smoke in here. Come on.”
I take one last drag before I stash it again and he pushes on.
“Aren’t you tired of it? Your father’s shadow?” Alan asks, the honesty of it drawing my full attention. The lawyer looks at me with what I consider a genuine expression for the first time I can remember before he urges, “This is your chance. You’re not your father. Anyone with eyes and a Forbes subscription can see it. But it doesn’t mean you can’t be something else.”
It sounds important, or like Alan thinks it’s important.
“And how do I go about doing that?” When his name eclipses everything you do and no one can see beyond it.
Alan points at the front page. “In the contract, there’s a stipulation, a clause your father put on his investment. Despite being small change compared to what we deal with now, he still had a sound mind for planning back in the day.” Alan sounds proud, and I know he loves this job, every grimy moment.
“The clause states if the investor, your father—or you for all intents and purposes—can prove his investment has not been returned or that there’s not enough of a success margin… it all reverts to you. The exact parameters are in the contract, which is in Italian, so I leave it up to you to figure out.”
“So, I’m going in there for a hostile takeover?” The idea turns my stomach.
“Not hostile. The old partner is dead, same as your dad, and these few scraps won’t make a difference to our bottom line. It might be an opportunity to find something… forge something for yourself that doesn’t have your dad’s name splashed all over it.”
Abundantia, the contract reads, the name as far away from Palmer Enterprises as one can get.
“So, you want me to see if this asset is worth procuring? And if I fuck it up, no harm done because it’s not tied to the business?” I mean it rhetorically, but Alan smirks and nods, unabashed in his lack of faith.
“Can you honestly say you have something better to do?” Alan asks, and before I can retort he adds, almost gently, “I think you need this. It’s a farm of some kind—crops, not animals. Get a feel for a slower pace for a change. You look like shit.”
My mind flashes to the sick lurch of the parties—the cramping stomach and the spinning ceilings. Not better. No.
I shrug in response, unable to word what I’m feeling. And not wanting to name the dread that sits in the passenger seat with me and has for the last few weeks—hell, months if I’m being honest.
“What’s in it for you?” I ask.
“Less than what’s in it for you, kid.” Alan pulls another stack of papers from his drawer and chucks them—one by one. Sheets of newspapers, tabloids, and print-outs of online articles land with a thunk in front of me. Weeks of indiscretions pile up and end with last night’s exploits.
Playing With Fire! Heir to Palmer fortune spotted
The headline is innocuous, as far as they can be when clickbait rules the day. It’s the text below it, the blurry image of me with a half-naked?—
In smoking hot situation with Senator’s daughter
Well, well, well.
If it isn’t the consequences of my own fucking actions.
And far worse than I expected after Alan mentioned the property opportunity. I lowered my guard—my relief too quick.
“But not nothing. The suits aren’t happy at all. These are only a few of the articles out this month—some of the more savory ones. There’s talk of a vote to remove you from the board before the one-year deadline. Because of your little stunts, we’re down ten points and it’s a shitshow downstairs.”
There it is—the real reason. Alan doesn’t have my interests at heart. Not directly, especially not when he lives and breathes this company and I’m messing with it.
“So, this is you unofficially telling me I have no choice?” I ask, wanting it confirmed.
“You pissed off the wrong person. Senator Bridges wants your head on a platter for last night and will take us on to get it. You don’t have the experience to deal with someone in power trying to tear this company down—him pushing for certain regulations can make billions of dollars of difference.”
So, I fuck the wrong girl and the company eats shit?
“You need to lie low. I’ve convinced the board to let you tackle this part of your inheritance while things blow over. This acquisition will be the way to prove you have what it takes to run this business. If you don’t manage it by the twelve-month deadline, there will be no Palmer in Palmer Enterprises.”
Rage climbs up my ribcage, burning up every rung of my ribs.
“This is bullshit. Don’t look me in the eye and pretend you’re doing this for me.”
Alan’s eyes narrow and he shakes his head, “Of course I’m not doing it for you. If you had your way, you’d be drinking and fucking your way through the company funds. Mark my words. If you can’t get yourself under control in time, you’ll lose everything.”
I don’t have to sit here and take this.
Even if he’s right about you? Even if they’re all right about you?
The chair groans as I shove it back to stand, eager to escape.
“I do think this would be good for you. Get away for a bit and breathe some new air. Straighten yourself out, for god’s sake.” Alan’s suggestion cools some of my animosity.
It doesn’t sound too unappealing. The party scene is wearing me down. If I fuck it up, then the other owner gets it all; a win for them anyway. Palmer Enterprises would be better off, but I won’t let Alan have the satisfaction. Not without a fight.
“And where is this new air?”
Please don’t be Arkansas or some shit .
“Somewhere in the Puglia region.”
Puglia?
I must say it out loud because the incredulity of my question makes Alan's face break into a proper smile or whatever he has amounting to one.
“Italy. Your father’s homeland.”
Italy… Summer, wine, and food so divine I can gorge myself and still beg for more.
“ Italy ,” I repeat with anticipation replacing the anger—snatching the stack of papers and rolling them up to tuck under my arm. “When do I leave?”
“Whenever your ass is packed and ready to go. You figure out the contract. Then gather the evidence you need against the other owner. Prove they’re lacking and come up with your business plan to create something for yourself, and then get back to me. But this trip is on your dime. No using company funds, and if you pull shit like this over there”—Alan points at the tabloid shot—“we won’t wait until the deadline to remove you, got it?”
I give him a mock salute and put my sunglasses back on. “Capisce, boss.”
“Jesus Christ, kid. You realize that’s not even real Italian. They’re going to eat you alive. Just don’t piss anybody off. I don’t want the hassle of organizing an international extraction.”
“Not your problem. You’re not my lawyer, remember? For the next three months, I’ll be out of your hair.” Every fake strand. “And you can all carry on the better for it.”
“All I need is for you to sign this agreement saying you’re going to honor the board’s stipulations.” He pushes a paper toward me, pen poised on top.
Despite better judgment—or perhaps due to the lack of fucks to give—I walk over and scribble my signature. Alan slides his business card across the desk and I slip it between my fingers, resisting the urge to flick it back into his face.
“In case you need to reach me via alternate means since I know phone calls are hard for you, that’s my email and fax.”
I nod and walk out, turning back with the door handle in my grip.
“I’ll see you around, Alan. You’ll hear from me when I have news.”
Alan nods, already returning to his paperwork and emails, and I take the elevator trip down with more air in my lungs than I’ve had in a long time. Within an hour, I have two bags packed and a one-way ticket to Italy. The nerves eating up my stomach daily are easier to ignore than they’ve been in a while.
I have all flight long to figure out what the fuck kind of business my dad had in Italy. The man hadn’t been back in close to thirty years and he never spoke about his life in Italy except to embellish the sharpness of his rise. Why would a man—one I’ve only ever known to be ruthless and efficient—bother to keep an investment this old… this insignificant?
The name on the contract says it all, one that’s been scrubbed from memory and buried long before my father’s body: Tommaso de Palma.
Whatever this is, it’s personal.