Chapter 17 #2
But that’s not what I get. There are no exposés.
No headlines about communities flattened.
No think pieces calling him a corporate vulture.
Instead, there are small stories. A community park renovation in Brooklyn funded quietly by Grayson Global.
A scholarship program expanded last year without fanfare.
Further back, architectural features on luxury developments in Dubai and Singapore.
The sleek glass towers and private villas that made him his fortune.
Homes for the ultra-rich, yes. But built. Not stripped.
The only negative articles appear when Grayson Global is mentioned alongside Ashborne Holdings. Nothing I’m reading fits the villain Denver thinks he is. Or the villain I decided he must be when he bought my bar.
Outside, the man’s shoulders finally drop. Grayson says something else and after a long pause, they shake hands. Only then does Grayson circle the car and slide into the seat beside me. He’s tense. Brow knitted. He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath the entire time.
“Sorry about that.”
“What did you say to him?” I ask.
“The truth.” He rubs at the back of his neck as the car pulls into traffic, stadium lights shrinking behind us. “I told him his grievance was with Ashborne Holdings. That it’s my father’s company. And that I’m not my father.”
He stares out of the window for a second, before continuing.
“Then I listened.” His jaw tightens. “He owned a small grocery store out by Bennett Creek. After Ashborne Holdings bought the automotive plant nearby, they sold it off piece by piece and flipped the land. The jobs went. The foot traffic went. His store didn’t last six months.”
I swallow.
“It’s a health spa and golf complex now,” he adds quietly. “Then I told him to contact my office in the morning and we’d help.”
“Help?”
He shrugs, but there’s no defensiveness in it. “Grayson Global has charitable arms that support displaced families and small businesses. It’s not a fix for everything. But it’s something.”
“Why do Ashborne Holdings always sell the businesses they buy?” I ask.
He shoots me a wary look.
“I don’t want another fight. I want to understand,” I say.
He gives a small nod. “Imagine a large shipping company. Ships. Warehouses. Freight containers. Maybe a fleet of trucks. Let’s say they’ve got five thousand employees, most of whom come from the nearby town.
The shipping company hits financial trouble.
Ashborne Holdings steps in. Either through one of its umbrella companies or in a hostile takeover that’s been forced by the banks.
The first thing Ashborne Holdings do is shut the company down.
Everyone is fired from the cleaners to the CEO.
Then they sell everything. Because the sum of the parts—the ships, the trucks, the warehouses, the land—is worth more separately than as the business it was. That’s how they make their profit.
“They’re as bad as you think,” Grayson says quietly.
“Worse. Because that town with those five thousand employees is now also in trouble. Suddenly there’s no money to buy groceries or hardware or to eat out.
So, all those businesses fail too, which means more people out of work and unable to pay bills. ”
The next words are no longer matter-of-fact, but ringing with a lifetime of hurt and anger.
“My father is a ruthless, cruel man. I hate him with every fiber of my being. And I will never forgive him for the things he’s done. I grew up watching him destroy businesses, livelihoods, and people. He doesn’t care about anything except profit, and that includes his wife and kids.”
In that moment, Grayson doesn’t look like a wealthy businessman with the world at his fingertips. He looks like a man with scars. The vulnerability in his words, the way he’s opening up to me, I can see it costs him, and so I give something back.
“Yeah, I know all about dads who let you down. Mine was a deadbeat,” I say, voice rougher than I expect.
“I wish he’d focused on profits instead of drinking them all.
He never lifted a finger to help. Left my mom to do everything, and it stretched her too thin to be anywhere close to a good mother. ”
“Sounds like we both grew up with two parents who failed us. My mother was around, but she checked out. She became a Stepford wife, spending more time at the country club than at home. She’s stayed with my dad for the money and the name. She never once stood up for us. Still doesn’t.”
The admission digs under my ribs. “But I had the Sullivans,” I say. “When Harry convinced my mom to let me stay at Oakwood Ranch on weekends, it became more than a refuge. It became home.”
Inside, I feel it all. How the Sullivans shaped me, loved me, taught me what family actually means, when my own mom was too busy to do those things.
I look at Grayson and I’m not sure he’s ever had anything close to that.
It’s the oldest cliché in the book, but it’s true: Money doesn’t buy love or happiness or any of the things that really matter.
Our eyes lock. I see the weight he’s carrying. The exhaustion and the hurt. The impossible pressure he must feel he’s under. It makes me wonder why he’s trying so hard. He’s made his money, and yet there’s something driving this man.
“And Grayson Global?” I ask.
He draws in a slow breath. “Grayson Global is a property development and architectural innovation firm. I like to build things. I don’t think the world should have to choose between the functional and the beautiful.
” Everything about him lightens at the mention of his company. “We should be striving for both.”
“It’s your passion,” I say quietly, thinking of The Hay Barn and what it means to me. The way I’ve fought for it. The way it feels like an extension of my being. I recognize the same thing in him.
Grayson’s eyes hold mine with an intensity that’s starting to feel familiar. Then he nods once.
“So, you really bought the Stormhawks because you wanted to be part of something that matters?” I ask. “And because the Stormhawks were in financial trouble.”
Another nod. This time he looks away, shifting in his seat, like we’ve moved too close to whatever edge or line Grayson doesn’t want to cross.
Except this time there’s nowhere to pull back to.
We’re trapped in the back of a car in slow-moving traffic, city lights streaking past the windows, and I don’t stop. Because I’m starting to understand.
“And Donny’s your best friend, and you couldn’t stand by and watch the thing that matters most to him fall apart.”
Grayson continues to stare out the window as he talks. “He didn’t ask. I offered. I insisted, actually. I listened to Donny talk about the team every damn day in college. I admired that kind of passion. I wanted to feel it, too. In a way I never have for buildings or housing.”
For a moment it seems as though he might say more.
His mouth parts slightly, his gaze flicking from the window to me.
Then the wall slides back into place. But as the car cuts through traffic and takes the turn toward the airport, city lights blurring past the windows, I acknowledge that I was wrong about Grayson.
He is a good man. And somewhere between the anger and the arguments and the times we’ve spent together, the laughter and teasing, I’ve started wanting him.
The question is—what does he want? Because there’s still a part of himself he’s holding back, I’m sure of it.