Chapter 118 The Father’s Wish
At the private recovery room Carlos was deceptively tranquil, silent save for the predictable, rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitors and the soft, clinical hiss of oxygen flowing through the nasal cannula.
Carlos Mason sat rigidly in the vinyl chair beside the mattress; his dark eyes fixed entirely on his sleeping father.
Moises Mason looked devastatingly smaller than Carlos remembered.
Thinner. Frailer. The aggressive illness had violently carved away at the man’s physical frame over the last five years, leaving behind a hollow shadow of the strong, intensely commanding patriarch who had once built half of the multi-billion-dollar Mason Industries alongside his older brother.
Vincent and Moises. The legendary Mason brothers who had transformed their grandfather's modest domestic operation into a global manufacturing powerhouse.
But Vincent had always been the chosen king.
The undisputed CEO. The celebrated face of the corporate dynasty.
He was the brother whose name graced the glossy covers of international business magazines and whose single executive decisions effortlessly dictated the economic direction of the family empire.
Moises, by contrast, had been the younger brother.
The man left to sweat in the shadows. He was the brother whose tireless contributions were quietly acknowledged but never truly celebrated - the secondary partner who was perpetually expected to bow his head, be grovelingly grateful for his title, and never dare to request more.
Carlos had forced himself to watch his father occupy that suffocating shadow his entire life. And he had sworn a sacred vow to his own reflection that he would never, under any circumstances, suffer the same fate.
Which was precisely why he had packed his bags five years ago.
It was why he had escaped to Melbourne and built Mason Capital Holdings entirely out of raw ambition and dust.
He had needed to prove to the world, and to himself, that he did not require a handout from the Mason family name to conquer the financial district.
But now, the clock was running out on his father's life. Carlos was back in Manhattan. And he wasn't just here to offer a final, heartbreaking goodbye. He was here to violently claim the legacy that Moises had never possessed the ruthlessness to seize.
"You actually came back."
The voice was fragile, heavily raspy, but it was unmistakably his father's commanding baritone.
Carlos leaned forward instantly, his large hand gently wrapping around Moises’s withered fingers. "Of course I came back, Dad."
Moises’s eyes fluttered open with agonizing slowness, his clouded gaze adjusting until it locked onto Carlos’s face. A small, genuinely proud smile tugged at the corners of his pale lips. "You look incredibly sharp, son. Australia clearly agrees with your blood."
"Melbourne was excellent to me," Carlos said softly, an unyielding strength in his tone. "Mason Capital Holdings is thriving. We just aggressively closed a massive institutional infrastructure acquisition in Singapore last month."
"I am aware," Moises murmured, a rare, bright thread of paternal pride vibrating through his raspy voice.
"I have quietly followed every single one of your public market successes, Carlos. You have done exceptionally well. Better than well, if I am being honest. You have proven your capabilities beyond a shadow of a doubt."
"I learned how to analyze a market from the absolute best," Carlos replied quietly.
Moises’s proud expression suddenly fractured, a deep, heavy shadow of old regret and bitter sorrow passing across his weathered features.
"I should have fought harder against my brother. I should have demanded equal voting power. I should have forced Vincent to recognize that we were true partners in that building, not merely a sovereign CEO and a compliant second-in-command."
"You architected half of that entire corporate empire, Dad," Carlos said fiercely, his jaw tightening. "You deserve just as much historical credit as Vincent ever received."
"But Vincent secured the ultimate title," Moises whispered bitterly, his breathing shallow. "Vincent claimed the global recognition. Vincent got to effortlessly pass the crown to his golden boy, while I..." He trailed off into a sudden, violent fit of harsh coughing.
Carlos moved with practiced efficiency, reaching for the water cup on the bedside table and carefully lifting his father's shoulders to help him take a soothing sip.
"That is exactly why you cannot back down, Carlos," Moises continued rags-to-steel when his throat finally cleared, his eyes burning with a sudden, desperate intensity.
"That is why you must aggressively claim your seat on that board. The thirty-five percent equity stake I hold - it legally transfers directly to you the moment my heart stops beating. It is more than enough leverage to force a seat. Enough to command an unignorable voice.
Enough to make them bow to you."
"I know," Carlos said smoothly. "I went to see Justin at the headquarters this morning."
Moises’s eyes sharpened to a point despite his physical weakness. "And? How did my nephew react?"
"He is preparing to fight me tooth and nail," Carlos stated coldly. "He doesn't want a rogue element like me anywhere near the Mason Industries board. He sees my return as an existential threat to his absolute control."
"You are a threat to him," Moises murmured, a grim hint of deep satisfaction lacing his words. "You are brilliant, self-made, and you possess a completely legitimate blood claim to the empire. Of course Justin is terrified of you."
"He explicitly brought up the marriage requirement in your will," Carlos added carefully, watching his father's reaction.
Moises closed his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping his chest. "I was desperately hoping the board lawyers hadn't leaked that specific clause to him yet."
"Justin knows," Carlos confirmed, his tone hardening.
"And he is planning to use the timeline to completely destroy my claim. He made it clear: if I am not legally married at the time of your passing, my thirty-five percent share automatically defaults into a blind corporate trust controlled by the board. And Justin completely sways the board."
"Then you must acquire a wife, Carlos," Moises stated simply.
"It isn't that simple, Dad," Carlos countered, a trace of frustration breaking through his calm facade. "I’ve been isolated in Melbourne for five years. I don't exactly have a Rolodex of women I can just - "
"Then find someone," Moises interrupted, his voice gaining a sudden, commanding strength. "Find a woman you can trust implicitly. Someone who possesses the intelligence to comprehend exactly what is at stake here. Someone who won't attempt to exploit your vulnerability."
An image of Teresa instantly flashed through Carlos’s mind.
He thought about the fierce, unfiltered passion vibrating in her dark eyes as she spoke about her paintings.
He thought about her sharp, intuitive understanding of what it felt like to desperately need an ocean of space from a suffocating family dynamic.
And then, he thought about her crushing financial dilemma regarding her Brooklyn art gallery.
"I might actually have a specific candidate in mind," Carlos said slowly, the words calculated.
Moises analyzed his son's sharp features. "Who is she?"
"Her name is Teresa Stewart. She's a professional abstract painter. I met her last night at an exclusive showcase in Chelsea."
"An artist," Moises repeated, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed the information. "And you truly believe a free-thinking creative will agree to sign her life over to a marriage contract with a Mason?"
"I don't know yet," Carlos admitted honestly. "But she currently requires a massive amount of capital that I can easily provide. And I require a legal spouse that she can provide. It is a mutually beneficial trade of assets."
"A pure business arrangement," Moises murmured.
"Yes."
Moises remained silent for a long, heavy beat, his intelligent eyes scanning Carlos’s face, looking beneath the corporate mask. "Do you like her, Carlos?"
The deeply personal question caught Carlos entirely off guard, his posture stiffening. "I literally just met the woman last night, Dad."
"That is not what I asked you," Moises countered, his voice softening with an unexpected tenderness. "Do you like her?"
Carlos paused, his mind instantly drifting back to the quiet bubble they had constructed in the back corner of the Hartley Gallery.
He thought about the effortless, electric current that had flowed between them.
He thought about the rare, terrifying way Teresa had looked at him - making him feel like he was simply a man who truly appreciated her soul's work, not a calculating Mason, not an impending corporate threat, and not a pawn in a generational blood feud.
"Yes," Carlos confessed quietly, the truth leaving his lips before he could stop it. "I like her."
"Then perhaps, my boy, this isn't just a business arrangement," Moises said, a faint glimmer of genuine hope illuminating his tired eyes.
"It has to be," Carlos stated firmly, his corporate armor snapping back into place.
"She is Celina’s absolute best friend. Justin’s wife’s inner circle. Which makes her a direct piece of the exact family minefield I am about to detonate. If this becomes messy - if real feelings get entangled in the wires - it has the potential to destroy everything I am fighting to secure."
"Or it could quite possibly be the single best thing that ever happens to your life," Moises countered softly.
Carlos shook his head, refusing to look at the vulnerability of that statement. "I cannot afford to think like that right now, Dad. I need to focus entirely on the board seat. On claiming what is rightfully ours. On honoring the half of the company you bled to build."
Moises reached out across the sheets, his trembling fingers gripping Carlos’s hand with a sudden, shocking strength. "Promise me something, Carlos."
"Anything."