Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Tristan
So it is pretty much everywhere by now. Ella has fallen asleep, and it is around eleven a.m. when I go out to a family waiting room to make a few calls without disrupting her rest. Matt is guarding her door, which means that anyone trying to get inside without authorization will most likely end up in a pile of sliced meat.
I don't even have to change channels, since it is being broadcast live right now on national news.
Tristan Ashford, heir of the Ashford Empire, loses forty-five points of stock value.
I guess it must be true if the red banner says it at the bottom of the screen, accompanied by footage of me shaking hands with the president last year.
The room is empty, thank God, because I do not have it in me to try to focus with people around.
Fake plants, wooden Scandinavian chairs, the whole thing bright and filled with tropical photos, as if it would erase the fact that we are here.
At least I brought her to the best private hospital in the city.
Most are too big, underfunded, and too easy for Cole and his rats to access.
She is much better here, with the top doctors and specialists, modern comfort, and healthy food.
“Sources close to Ashford Holdings confirm that several major assets were sold in the last four days, including private maritime property, commercial real estate, and a significant block of shares linked to the Ashford family’s European development portfolio.
The sudden liquidation has sent shockwaves through the market, with analysts questioning whether the move signals deeper instability inside the Ashford Empire.
In a few moments, we will be joined by our financial expert, who analyzed… ”
The blond woman in a navy dress and perfect blowout recites from the teleprompter.
I wish I could answer her live. Trust me, I am aware of the monumental collapse I have created.
There is no need to broadcast it. The banner changes to: TRISTAN ASHFORD, HEIR TO THE ASHFORD EMPIRE, LOSES BILLIONS IN MARKET VALUE AFTER EMERGENCY ASSET DUMP.
I stare at the screen, holding my phone with too many call notifications to even count, and an image of a ship facing a hurricane comes to me.
I am heading right to the center of it, and the only way out is through.
Running a hand over my face, I curse myself and every journalist who will delight themselves by picking me apart.
I cannot wait for the article about inside sources talking about my mental state and how unsuited I am for the job.
It is cliché, but what can you do? It’s bound to happen.
They will squeeze the headline until there is no more juice to give.
Until then, I will rebuild, slowly, in silence, until my success is too loud for them to ignore.
Napoleon rebuilt after Leipzig with half of Europe marching toward Paris, I can survive a few analysts with bad haircuts.
Would I do it again? Yes. Does it suck? Also yes. My phone buzzes in my hand. Nate.
“Hey,” I let out, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Seeing what I’m seeing?”
“Uh-huh.”
“We’re so fucked it’s not even funny anymore.”
“It was never funny, Nate.”
“Uh, a little. You missed when some so-called expert earlier talked about our hierarchical system and how outdated we were in terms of management. Like it has anything to do with it.” He sighs. “How’s Ella?”
“Not that great,” I admit.
“Shit. If there’s anything I can do…” His mellow side showing.
“Keeping the fire contained would be great.”
“Oh, you mean just trying to save us from the downfall of our company? Yeah, yeah, of course. Anything else?”
“How’s the board taking it?”
“How do you think?”
“I’ll hold an emergency meeting tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” he repeats like he is about to gently, utterly snap. My father used to say that in life, there is the important stuff and the essentials. Despite his inability to understand it, I did. Work matters. But Ella…Ella is vital. Quickest math ever done.
The news has shifted to a disaster in South America.
An earthquake. Category six on the Richter scale.
Stepping closer, my attention lands on the window to my right, where an ambulance is sliding through cars to reach the hospital.
I can hear the faint sound of the siren.
A lot of people are hurting in this world.
No matter the place. Everywhere I am, there is always someone hurting there too.
Perhaps the last twenty-four hours have filled my brain with more existential thoughts than I have ever had before.
Almost losing the woman I love and all that.
“Earth to Tristan, still there?”
“Yeah,” I clear my throat, “still there.” Peeking at the door quickly, Matt is still guarding it, hands behind his back, making nurses blush or miss a step in his presence.
“The basic message right now is that our value got a beating. It’s dropping fast and hard, and we need to fix this before everyone sells. As soon as possible.”
“Tomorrow after lunch.”
“The market will already be open. It cannot wait.”
“It’ll wait.” The earth will rotate, the sun will still rise, somewhere a mother will wake up her child for school and a lion will eat a deer.
Circle of life. Nate curses under his breath.
Turns out finding hundreds of millions in under twelve days wasn't as easy as I thought.
It seemed like it, given my net worth, but in terms of liquidity, I found myself stuck by how long things take when you go the traditional legal way.
So I sold properties, my yacht, my plane, all cash assets, to the first bidder.
Not the highest. The first. Private equity CEOs, connections from my time in college, a rich Emirati connected to one of my clients.
It did not matter who. It needed to go fast, so I sent Alfie, who was almost shitting his pants, to a warehouse at the end of the city to show the transfer online to the guy Cole had connected via proxy.
He tried putting a price on Ella, not knowing my silent princess is the kind of rare no man could ever afford.
“You’re sure you’re okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”
“I… Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”
“You don’t sound okay.”
“Can you…not.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. One of the worst kinds. Picture two steel plates being pressed on both sides of my head. I cannot wait.
“I’m not used to you being, I don’t know, emotional?”
“You know I’m not a robot, right?”
“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed. Thanks for straightening that out. It had been weighing a lot on my mind.”
“Fuck you,” I almost smirk, hearing his smile on the other side of the line. “There’s one last thing, though.” My thumb runs over my lower lip. “I need you to call Mark at the Financial Times. He owes me a big favor. You’re gonna have to ask him to spin the story before it gets out.”
“I thought you didn’t care about the news and stuff right now.
” I don't, and this isn't my business. Trust me. “Just make sure they don’t connect the dots to Ella, that’s all. Say I was reckless and impulsive as shit. That I’m arrogant and unstable if need be.
We need to make it look like it is all part of some secret master plan, but in case he does not bite, just put it all on me. ”
“Trist, I’m not sure. The news, I get it, but the Financial Times is literally read by everyone working with us. You really want to shoot yourself in the foot?”
“I’ll recover. Just make sure to steer the story far away from her.” A silence stretches, heavy as tonnes of bricks.
“Yeah, I’m… I’m on it. Consider it done. And also, call mom. She’s telling me stuff about you being in her tarot cards, and it’s freaking me out.”
Nothing out of the ordinary since Mom takes every sign and astral communication as direct messages from god. “Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”
“Well, if you need anything… Just call?” I let out a tight, “Thanks, Nate,” before hanging up, because being emotional is not part of my personality.
On the screen, my stock is still bleeding red across vertical charts and banners.
Twenty-seven missed calls. Somewhere far above this hospital room, my name is losing value in markets full of men who think I am as good as dead.
Still, behind the door, Ella is breathing.
And I guess that is enough for me. I end the call and go back to her.
A new disc of thoughts starts spinning in my head.
Fix everything. Be there with her. You’ve let her down.
You are letting everyone down. What sort of man stays here when so much needs to be done? Failure, failure, failure.
I lie back in the chair next to her, watching her sleep, my migraine growing like a disease I cannot avoid. And even as my world crumbles down, exploding for everyone to see, all I can focus on is the sight of her chest, slowly rising, then lowering.
Alive.
Against all odds, alive.
Ella
We’re all sitting at the dining table. Mara, Emily, Valeria, and…
Dad. He recovered. Isn’t it crazy? My prayers must have worked.
I am sitting too, not serving nor cooking, the air packed with laughter and joy.
Birds are chirping, a banquet of food before us, buttercream pastel layered cakes, strawberries, and in the living room, the TV is on.
They are chatting and giggling and talking about what’s her name–Chelsea something–said at tennis, and what kind of facial we should all try as Dad tells Mara how lucky he is to be with her.
The TV grows louder and I tug at Valeria, signing, “I’ll turn it off.
It’s too loud,” but she meets my eyes with a dead-eyed glare.