Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-five
Scottie
She exited the stairs of Royal One, loaded for bear. The hot Tennessee sun met her without mercy.
During the long flight, between tea service, a lovely dinner, and a movie followed by a fitful night of sleep, and a long hot shower in the early morning, Scottie constructed not one, not two, but three robust speeches for Dad.
They’d talked long enough at the Lauchtenland airport for him to say he’d discuss everything with her when he picked her up. He’d sounded defeated. Hit by a Mack truck.
“Scottie, it was not what we wanted. The takeover was hostile.”
Hostile? She mused over that word the entire trip. Boston Brothers didn’t have the power, the money, to buy out O’Shay Shirts, let alone be hostile about it.
Scanning the chain-link perimeter, carry-on slung over one shoulder, she spotted Dad leaning against his restored dark red 1956 Chevy truck with the O’Shay Shirts brand on the door.
He drove the truck. The precious relic from Great-grandpa’s post-war years.
It was his pride and joy, purchased with cash after the company reached a million dollars in sales, somewhere around 1955.
Every O’Shay CEO inherited the truck. Dad taught Scottie to drive stick in the O’Shay “Shinner,” grinding gears all over town.
The moment hit her with a teary-eyed sentiment, trembling fear, and hurt. Anger. Dad, in his jeans, T-shirt, and boots, his silver hair loose, looking more like a rancher than a deposed CEO, stared off to his left at something unseen, his lips drawn, and his countenance pale.
Oh Dad. Now she knew. He carried the weight of recent events, knowing he’d lost the hundred-twenty-four-year history of O’Shay Shirts. He glanced around and seeing her, he waved and stepped around the fence.
“Welcome home,” he said. “Was it a good flight?”
“Y-yes.” He stood three feet from her, but it felt like a thousand miles. “Oh Dad, what happened?” A tear burned in the corner of her eye as she picked up the soothing scent of his cologne. “How could Boston Brothers manage a hostile takeover?”
“Scottie.” He lowered his head. “I never wanted this to happen.” He released a sound she’d never heard from him, something like a gravelly moan, but he rose up, breathing in, capturing whatever wanted to escape.
“Dad, oh Dad.” She grabbed him in a hug and squeezed. “It’s okay. Really. It’s okay.”
Forget O’Shay Shirts. Forget her fears and anger. Anything for her father to not stand before her broken and ashamed, choking back his sobs.
He held her in his big arms, rocking her side to side. “I wanted O’Shay for you, kiddo. Wanted to hand you the reins.”
They remained in mutual grief until Homeland cleared Scottie through security. Her bags were loaded in the back of the truck, and as she walked around to the passenger-side door, Dad tossed her the keys.
“Want to drive?”
She caught the keys along with a rush of tears. “It’s been a while. I might grind a few gears.”
“It’ll be music to my ears.”
When she got behind the big round wheel, it all came back to her. She pressed the gas to prime the carburetor, mashed the clutch, and turned the key.
“Attagirl,” Dad whispered, reaching across the bench seat to squeeze her hand. When she shifted into gear, he added, “Shug’s made all your favorites. Let’s head to the old homestead and we’ll tell you everything.”
Windows down, the warm Tennessee air flowing through the cab, the old truck bouncing down River Road, Scottie eased her grip on the wheel and exhaled. Really exhaled.
Kate, Lauchtenland, Lady Royal, Michael faded into the leafy trees, the mowed fields, and the scattering of brick ranch-style homes set back off the road.
Today was the first day of all her tomorrows.
Shug met her with a motherly, protective hug, and Fritz, dear Grandpa Fritz, who never said much but was always there, held her close, kissing her temple.
“Let’s eat,” Shug said, turning toward the kitchen. “I made—”
“No, please, I can’t until I know what happened.” Scottie pressed her hand to her middle. “I’m full of questions and anxiety, anger and sorrow.”
Fritz suggested sitting out back on the pool deck where the white concrete and blue water remained under the morning shade. Where the morning breeze stirred the leaves.
“I tried to warn you, Scottie.” Dad kicked off the conversation. “I left you voicemails to call me but—”
“I know, I know. The last few days were the busiest of my time in Lauchtenland between the ball and the whole Fickle business—”
“We read about that this morning,” Shug said. “I can’t help but think your purpose in Lauchtenland went well beyond a daughter spending time with her mother.”
“I kept telling you all, Scottie was a reckoning force.” Fritz, with his chest puffed out, sat back like he owned the world. The only thing missing from his demeanor was his signature “I told you” huff.
Dad gripped his hands together as he leaned forward, arms propped on his knees.
“It started late last year with Boston Brothers buying shares. When I brought it to the board, they blew it off as if BB’s interest showed our strength.
All those great financial minds and that’s the conclusion they came up with.
Anyway, by the spring, they’d gained another five percent, then eight.
Doug was very concerned. But we still had controlling interests.
One of the family would have to sell out for them to take over. I was sure that would never happen.”
“But someone sold out, right?”
“Your Aunt Leanne gave her shares to her kids.” Dad crunched his fist into his palm.
“She had fifteen percent of shares given to her by my grandfather when she left as an appeasement for not promoting her up the O’Shay ranks.
But in the ’80s, we weren’t on the open market.
Flash forward, cousin Ethan wanted to expand Neuheisel and sold eight percent of the shares.
Boston Brothers snapped them up. We’re not sure how they got anyone to give them the capital, but they gained controlling interests. ”
“Ethan.” Scottie was on her feet. “Why didn’t he talk to us?”
“He never was the brightest bulb in the box,” Fritz said.
“He claims he didn’t think eight percent of the fifteen percent would make a difference. By the time we learned, it was too late.”
“BB has wanted O’Shay for a long time, and they found a way.” A bird perched on a low-swinging branch began to sing his song. For a moment, Scottie stood among the lavender fields of Whistlecrag Bluff. She leaned back into Michael’s arms but—
“Ethan had little to say for himself when confronted,” Fritz said.
“He sold out the family business. He sold me out.” Scottie huffed away from the imaginary scent of the bluff and phantom feel of Michael’s arms. “What does he have to say for himself?”
“Nothing. But when Leanne called to profusely apologize, she went on and on about you being a princess and no one thought you’d want to be bothered with running a shirt company.”
Scottie sighed. This whole thing was on the edge of comical. “She can say that all she wants, but she knew I wanted to run O’Shay.”
“To be fair, Ethan didn’t know Boston Brothers had gained such a foothold.”
“He would if he’d have asked,” she said.
“He thought selling would help our stock portfolio diversify and he’d get a windfall to improve Neuheisel. As for me not telling you, the tender offer came right after you were here in May. It went straight to the shareholders.”
“And that’s what the fairness option was all about.”
“We fought a poison pill proxy fight. But with so much of Ethan’s block gone, the shareholders’ best interest trumped our heritage. Three days ago, we knew about the merger. That’s when I called you.” Dad glanced at Fritz. “I should’ve flown over. I wanted to fly over.”
Scottie returned to her seat, a resolve settling over her. “So what now?”
“We’re wealthier than ever, as if that matters when losing a family legacy.” Dad laced his voice with irony. “O’Shay Shirts will remain open in Hearts Bend with the plant and the team. Jack is staying on as Vice President of Marketing. Matteo is the new Creative Director—”
“Matteo? He’s still designing clothes to be shown in art museums. And he can’t write a tech pack to save his life.”
“He’ll have to learn,” Fritz said.
“One more thing, Scottie. There’s a three-year noncompete.”
“Three years? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Get married. Have babies.” Shug finally spoke.
And with authority. “Trust me, darling girl, family is the greatest thing in all the world. It trumps career achievement all day, every day, and twice on Sunday. Our ancestor Loom O’Shay would be busting his buttons over who you three have become.
Not over how O’Shay Shirts became a brand menswear line. ”
“Spare me the platitudes, Shug.” Scottie’s initial resolve solidified into a rock stuck between her ribs. “Who am I supposed to marry and have these babies with?”
Michael Cross. She squeezed the name from her mind.
“While I regret losing the company on my watch—” Dad glanced around the small family circle.
“—I can’t help but think it’s a good thing.
Freeing. I love Remi and want to give everything I’ve got to our marriage for whatever time I have left on this earth.
Scottie, I want love and a family for you.
” He sighed. “Maybe I took my eye of the ball, let my relationship with Remi—”
“Oh gosh, I am so your daughter,” Scottie whispered. “I said the same thing to Michael when I found out about the sale. That I’d taken my eye off the ball. Got caught up in all the royal business and—” Michael. She was completely caught up in Michael in her final days at Hadsby.