CHAPTER ONE
CORMACK
I hang up the phone and sit back in my chair feeling pretty bloody good about myself.
Everyone told me there was no way I could get approval to demolish the Stamford building.
My contact at the planning office just told me, it’s now a sure thing.
For two years I’ve worked on these plans.
And now it’s finally going through. It’s a victory, along with everything that comes with it.
Power.
Control.
Money.
My brothers and sisters are going to hate me even more than they usually do.
Once the new Stamford building is developed, it’s going to be the single biggest and most profitable development the Hart Group has ever seen.
That means it will guarantee that it will be me not my siblings that heads up the Hart Group when my father retires.
It’s what I’ve worked my entire life for.
There’s a knock at my door—it will be my assistant or my sister. I don’t want to see either. I want to be on my own to bask in my success a little longer.
“Come in,” I snap.
It’s Jenna, my assistant. It could have been worse.
“Goldie wants to see you. Says it’s urgent,” she says, tilting her head slightly, letting me know that my head of PR is behind me.
I roll my eyes. I hate the entire idea of having someone in charge of PR—official ridiculous title: Chief Reputation Management Officer. What the hell does that mean?
Goldie mutters something behind Jenna.
I shake my head, exasperated. “I have five minutes.”
Goldie comes in with the iPad he’s never without. I swear he sleeps with that thing.
“We have some activity on social media around the Stamford building.”
At least he gets right to the point. I hate wasting time on how-are-yous and did-you-have-a-good-weekend. Because the answers are always the same: I’d be better if I wasn’t wasting time chit-chatting with you. And what I do with my weekends is none of your bloody business.
“@LondonSavvy has posted from outside the building saying how there are plans in place to demolish it and she’s complaining,” Goldie announces.
I stay quiet. My question is implied and it’s always the same question—why do I care?
“I’m concerned about the rate at which it’s gaining views and likes. And some of the comments are…they’re talking about contacting the planning office and they’re blaming Hart Group for everything from the destruction of a piece of thirties architecture to the potential fall of democracy.”
My jaw tightens, but I don’t speak. Because my question is implied: What are you going to do about it?
“We have people in the comments giving the counter view obviously,” Goldie says. “And we have other people posting a pro-Hart Group stance. We’re doing everything we can.”
I still don’t speak. Because my question is implied: Why are you in my office taking up my valuable time.
“You should be on notice,” Goldie says. “Government departments are increasingly taking…” He makes air quotes with his hands.
“public opinion into account. Basically, they don’t want their decisions to go to the judge and jury of social media.
We’re seeing growing capitulation by local and national governments in the face of social media criticism. ”
I’ve just been told my plans are almost complete. So this social media criticism is too late. I pull in a breath. Except, I don’t like to count my chickens until they’re properly hatched and showing up on the profit and loss account.
“Can’t we just call Zuckerberg and get this account taken down?” I ask.
“We need to let it burn itself out.”
“But what happens if it picks up traction? I will not lose this approval.”
“It’s a risk,” Goldie says.
I don’t want risks like this when it comes to the Stamford building. I have no control. I hate that. There’s too much at stake.
“Tell me again why I can’t pick up the phone and have this blogger cancelled.”
“Influencer,” he corrects me. “We need to use our power wisely. If it gets out, it could play into the narrative that big business is bad and it becomes even more of a David and Goliath situation. You know what Brits are like. They’re always rooting for the underdog.
We don’t want to create that underdog. We want her to be a slightly hysterical voice on social media. ”
I cringe at his use of the word hysterical when attributed to a woman having an opinion. Hysterical is never a word used when describing a man. “Don’t describe her as hysterical, please. Insignificant is a better alternative in the context.”
“Of course,” Goldie says. “Insignificant.”
“We’ll go with your strategy,” I say, “but there’s a lot to lose in this situation. Everything looks positive in relation to the application. I wouldn’t want that to change.” I fix him with a look that tells him his job is on the line when there’s another knock at the door.
It will be Jenna making sure Goldie doesn’t overstay his welcome.
Except then I hear an excited squeal and the door busts open to reveal a head of tumbling golden curls and a smile that could melt even the coldest heart.
“Uncle Cormack!” Maddie shouts, running toward my desk.
Before I have a chance to get out of my chair, she climbs into my lap.
“Spin, spin, spin!”
I lift her up, give her kiss on the forehead before plonking her back down on my chair, and spinning her around.
My sister, George appears in the doorway. “You’ll make her sick.”
I don’t reply, but pull out the drawer under my desk and pull out a Freddo. I look my sister in the eye, as I open the wrapper and present it to Maddie. “Hey beautiful, have some chocolate.”
“You’re a terrible uncle,” my sister says. “And a worse brother.”
“He’s the best!” Maddie says, taking the chocolate frog from my hand.
I shrug and smile sarcastically at my sister.
My siblings and I are not the archetypal happy family. We’ve been taught since we were Maddie’s age to be competitors. Instead of saying grace at mealtimes, my father would lecture on his philosophy on life.
How business is a zero-sum game.
How coming second is losing.
How there are no second chances.
And then he would go around the table and get us to tell him what our wins were for the day.
I’ve never asked, but I hope my sister doesn’t take the same approach with Maddie. Sometimes I think it must be nice to have siblings that celebrate each other’s successes and cheer each other on, instead of what we have between us.
The ice.
The distrust.
The distain.
If it wasn’t for Hart Group, I’m not sure any of us would still be in each other’s lives. Hart Group brings us together. The business has us compete against each other and anyone who dares to come up against us.
The upside is we all have skin as thick as a rhino and no matter how many times we get knocked down, we get back up and fight on.
“Are you coming to family dinner on Sunday?” George asks. “I need to know if to prepare the poisoned potatoes.”
“You’re hilarious.” I know she’s joking, but there’s always an edge to our banter, and honestly, if George thought she could get away with murdering me, I wouldn’t put it past her.
My siblings know I’m most likely to head up Hart Group when my father retires, and none of them are happy about it.
It means I have to watch my back. I’m the common enemy that unites them.
Individually, I can handle them. But together? I have to be careful.
Maddie thrusts the empty chocolate wrapper at me and I lift her from my chair. “Are you going to Grandpa and Granma’s on Sunday?” I ask. “I’m not going if you’re not going.” She’s the only reason I’d go. That and my mom. I have enough of my dad in the office.
“Of course. I love Grandpa.”
I let out a half laugh at the same time as George does.
“Who would have thought he’d be soft as shit as a Grandpa?”
“Mummy, shit is a bad word.”
George rolls her eyes at her daughter’s admonishment. “Sorry.”
“You two need to get out of here so I can make this company some money and keep your mummy in her nepo-baby corner office.”
“Fuck you, Cormack,” George says.
“Mummy!” Maddie protests.
“See what you’ve done?” George says to me.
“Oh yeah, your swearing is definitely my fault.” Just like when we were children and my father was in a bad mood it was because his kids didn’t know how to behave.
I put Maddie on her feet and give her a kiss on her head. “See you later alligator.”
“See you Sunday, Uncle Cormack. Not later. I have to go home for my dinner now.”
I laugh. “Okay, sunshine. You go home with mummy.”
Maddie always lightens my spirit slightly. And it’s just what I needed after Goldie brought me the news he did.
I need to demolish the Stamford building and get started on the new one. Then everyone can stop jostling for the crown.
It will be mine.